An Unexpected Love Story: A sweet, heartwarming & uplifting romantic comedy (Falling into Happily Ever After Rom Com)

by Ellie Hall

  “But—”

  “It’s not going to turn out like it does in the book. I’m leaving.”

  “Again?”

  “I left her the option to join me, but she won’t. She hates me.”

  Hazel shakes her head, refusing to believe the truth.

  “I tried. Too little. Too late. But thanks for reading, Hazel. You’re a good friend. Please take care of Cat.” I gather up my things and say goodbye as my heart hits the depths of my being. I don’t think even the romance of Italy can restore my hope.

  I’ve lost the love of my life.

  The security line at the JFK International terminal is interminable. I scan the crowd, searching for Catherine’s cocoa eyes, the curves of her jaw, and that dimple.

  Wishful thinking. She’s not coming.

  I was crazy for thinking she would. But love makes us think and do silly, risky things. I won’t let myself fall in love again. No, Cat will always own my heart even if she doesn’t want anything to do with it.

  Leaving the note and plane ticket at her parents’ house was stupid. I spoke to them, explained myself, and took a big risk, asking if I could marry her. Mr. Kittredge is traditional like that.

  I wanted to see her, but they said to give her time and that she’d come around. More wishful thinking.

  The security officer calls me forward. I scan the crowd for Catherine one more time while fumbling with my ticket and ID.

  Once I’m on the other side of the terminal, the large, square windows stack like building blocks against the night sky. Yet everything inside is lit up, blinking, flashing, rushing, and dashing.

  Against the frenetic energy surrounding me and inside of me, I take my time putting my shoes back on and gathering my luggage. I wander over to the newsstand and buy a few magazines, a giant bottle of water, and some snacks. I drift toward the gate, enveloped by a sense of the surreal. Am I leaving again? I could go back now, try again, or even go home and work in finance like my brothers. Business as usual. I could apply for a position inside the status quo.

  I could.

  But the point of life is love. Everything I learned about myself since leaving Catherine and then in the last month is that I can think and contemplate and write and all the rest, but none of that will substitute living more, following my heart, seeing where it leads me, and what kinds of dreams materialize.

  I thought it led to her.

  Maybe Cat and I aren’t one true pairing. Soul mates. True loves.

  I continue through the terminal, past people coming and going on business trips and from faraway places to see friends and lovers. Families say goodbye and hello. In a way, I’m saying goodbye to the past and hello to something else, yet to be defined.

  My body is heavy, laden with sorrow.

  I unfocus my eyes and then gaze into my reflection, a wavy blur in the glass. The snow melts on the window and if I didn’t know better, it would look like I’m crying.

  Drawing a deep breath, a shadow crosses over my reflection. I focus this time.

  A winter hat with a pom-pom.

  Sparkling eyes.

  Heart-shaped face.

  A dimple.

  Is it a trick of the light? I spin around.

  Catherine stands several paces away.

  I step closer.

  There’s no turning back.

  My heart accelerates.

  My surroundings turn fuzzy.

  I wobble on newborn pony legs.

  Life is about to change. Either we’ll be in it together or it’ll be over.

  I close the space between us in several long strides, dropping my bag at our feet.

  Catherine beams a smile.

  I pick her up and swing her in a circle.

  She melts into me as if relieved to be in my strong embrace—a pillar against our mutual uncertainty.

  “I’m sorry,” I speak the muffled apology into her shoulder.

  She repeats the words.

  Linking my pinky in hers, I lead her over to the windows and out of foot traffic. We face each other. Our eyes meet. Soft, warm latte-brown. I drink them in.

  “You gave up on me once. I gave up on love once, let’s see what happens if we don’t give up,” she says.

  I lean in and whisper, “I gave up on myself. But I never gave up on you, not during all of the years we were apart. I thought of you every day, regret haunting me, desire moving me. I don’t know how else to say it, write it, or tell you. I have a few typos, some misplaced commas... I’m more of a work in progress than a finished draft.”

  Her expression brightens. “I’m alright with that. I haven’t even gotten that far. I’m like an outline.”

  I smooth Catherine’s hair back and her face brightens with a dimpled smile.

  “From now on, let’s promise to each be an open book. No secrets. No regrets.”

  “Agreed. I’ll start. I believe in true love and in happy endings.”

  “Not endings, beginnings,” I say and we meet for a kiss.

  Buon San Valentino

  Catherine

  Butterflies dance across my skin and then swoop in my belly. I’m not a nervous flyer. I’m excited! I’m with Kellan! Together at last! We’re going to Rome for goodness’ sake!

  This isn’t a book boyfriend scenario. There isn’t a second love interest I’m leaving behind, a love triangle of sorts with my heart torn between two uncommonly attractive men. I’m not giving up a career/house/dream for a guy. This is real.

  In fiction, all the loose ends are resolved and wrapped up in a tidy little bow. The couple walks off into the sunset, hand in hand. That can’t truly be the happily ever after because they’re not going to keep walking forever, no beach is that long.

  What happens next? What’s the next chapter after the last one? The reader in me MUST KNOW what goes on in a writer’s mind. If I asked an author...

  “Kellan, what happens after the last chapter?”

  “Huh?” he asks, inclining his head in question and running his giant hand across his attractive stubble. I gaze at the strong, angular planes of Kellan’s face, his broad shoulders, and summer blue eyes.

  He links his pinky in mine.

  Simple fact #1: they fit together.

  Simple fact #2: I never want to let go.

  He squeezes and then doesn’t let go. A certain book cover comes to mind.

  “Did you finish the book?”

  “Yes. I have to admit I was upset partway through, feeling like it drew too much attention to what happened. Then Hazel insisted I finish it on the train back to Manhattan.”

  He flinches. “I’m sorry. I meant for you to read the book and see that there could be a happy ending. Instead of the end for us, I wanted there to be possibilities, and I didn’t know how else to show you or tell you because I’m a big meathead.”

  I nudge him with my elbow. “I’ll add that you’re a hot meathead. Jarhead, whatever. I realized it was a story of what could be. But we’re writing our own story.”

  I take his entire hand in mine, our contrasts rarely more apparent.

  Big, little.

  Disciplined, a bit chaotic—or rather, neurotic.

  The beauty, the beast. Well, maybe we each inhabit both. Maybe we’re big and little in different ways. I can be very disciplined about having very little self-restraint. And he’s a beast, a foxy one. And perhaps he sees the same in me.

  But my original question pesters me. “I still wonder, after you write The End, what then?”

  “I wrote the second book in the series,” he answers. “It follows a different main character—she was a secondary character in the first novel, but you find out more about everyone’s lives after the last page in the first book.”

  I sigh. “Hearing you talk about novels is—” A swoony sigh escapes. “You’re a real-life book boyfriend.”

  His lips quirk with amusement.

  We both shift in our seats so we’re face to face. He leans close, our eyes meet—blue so clear and beaut
iful even though they’ve seen destruction and pain in the world. Yet he still creates love stories. Kellan sees love everywhere.

  I watch his lips form the words, “What could be between us?” His voice is a whisper, and he dips his nose to the side of mine and tilts his head slightly.

  I smile, envisioning us starting over, starting anew, and kissing like mad. “Remember you asked if I was going to give your book a chance? I’m going to give us a chance.”

  He presses his lips to mine.

  The world falls away.

  Time stops.

  There is nothing but now.

  Words, thoughts, questions disappear into the simplicity of our beating hearts. This is what my father meant about mystery. There is no need to understand it. It just is, and it is beyond delightful, blissful, enjoyable, and pleasurable. It’s something else.

  A kiss isn’t just a kiss. It’s more—the beginning, what’s always been, and the future.

  Kellan wraps his fingers around the back of my head, pulling me to him. I grip his shoulders, pressing my chest as close as the armrest will allow. Every inch of my skin responds to his touch.

  His thumb on my jaw between my chin and ear.

  Fingers pressing into the side of my neck and the back of my head.

  His other arm wrapping around me, gripping my shoulder as we become part of each other.

  The pads of my fingers meet warm skin, firm and muscled beneath my touch. I press down as though leaving a handprint, covering the surface area, drawing him closer, mine, mine, mine.

  I shrug off my jacket, my breath heavy and my heart racing. His touch makes me think he’s trying to catalog my body. There’s a burn, a spark, a surge of electricity across the surface of my skin. Energy builds between us, like the friction and heat created by two hands rubbing together.

  Someone clears their throat nearby. “Excuse me, we’re starting our in-flight service, can I get you a beverage?”

  The flight attendant douses us with icy words. We sit there stunned, returning to planet earth or somewhere about twenty to thirty thousand feet off the ground.

  Kellan closes the little first class privacy screen, “No thanks, we’re good.”

  At last, we are.

  We kiss some more.

  When we part I say, “This isn’t how I expected to spend Valentine’s Day.”

  “On a plane? With me?” he asks.

  “Check and check. And in love, my heart tells me that is the truth. And maybe it’s always been this way like my dad said. If we’ve felt this way for each other since we were teenagers and suppressed it, ignored it, fought it, and denied it, now we’re just making up for lost time.”

  “I suppose, instead of walking off into the sunset, we’re flying,” Kellan says.

  “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have as a co-pilot.”

  He adds, “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather write the story of us with.”

  We kiss one more time. I’m filled with the beauty and fullness of right now as well as hope for what’s to come.

  When the plane touches down in Rome, my hair is up to its usual unruly tricks, and although the food in first class was decent, by airplane meal standards, I hardly ate. My lips were too busy taking kissing the guy I missed for the last ten years.

  The drive to the hotel is a blur until we arrive at the lit-up entrance.

  “Wait,” I say, resting my hand on Kellan’s arm. “Before we go inside—” I inhale deeply, breathing in romantic Rome, tour bus exhaust, the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread, the chill of winter, and the faint salt of the sea a few miles to the west.

  Golden haloes ring the streetlights like mini radiant suns. The sounds of honking, laughter, and a moody violin melody are clear, dreamy, and sonorous. I rush down the sidewalk to a small bridge, running my hand along the rough stone railing. I stop in the middle, turning in a circle at the surrounding enchantment. My heart leaps when I stop, my eyes landing on Kellan standing a few feet away.

  Once more, I peck him on the cheek instead of pinching myself, just to make sure this is real. It is.

  The light sparks in Kellan’s eyes as he draws me into a hug.

  Inside, I feel full of cotton and marshmallows. I’m a happy ball of fluff floating on clouds. Except the sharp edge of something stabs me in the side.

  Kellan pulls an envelope out of his pocket. In a curling script, I read my name printed on the front. “I almost forgot.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I had a trail of letters to leave for you in case we didn’t connect on the plane. Open it,” he says.

  After walking over to a fountain with a merry little cherub drawing back a bow and arrow, I carefully tear the seam of the envelope and pull out a stiff piece of cardstock. I turn it over and read:

  Dear Catherine,

  I want you to know, it’s always been you. I’d tease you to hear you talk. I’d playfully wrestle with you so I could feel your touch. I’d take the drink out of your hand and take a sip so I could be closer to your lips. I’d sneak around, bothering you and my sister so I could be near you.

  I wish I hadn’t waited so long. I wish I had then the words I have now. But there’s no going back, only forward. I wish when I started writing the Love Letters book series that I wrote them to you instead of hiding behind Xavier and Olivia. I wish more than anything I hadn’t waited so long. But here we are. We have now.

  However, there is pleasure in anticipation. I’ve spent countless nights envisioning this moment, us talking to each other like civilized human beings, our lips pressing together. But I venture to say there is even more pleasure in the action.

  It’s always been you, but if things had been different, I wouldn’t have had time to make mistakes, to realize what a thoughtless jerk I was, and become the man I am. I’m afraid it wouldn’t have worked. You’d probably end up hating me, anyway.

  Now we can do it. We get to experience all the firsts:

  Flirting

  Kissing

  Traveling

  Exploring

  All the -ings and we don’t have to worry about what it’ll be like if we get into an argument: we know we can make up. We don’t have to worry about farting in front of each other (I know, gross) because you’ve heard me and my brothers do it plenty of times. We don’t have to be afraid of hurting the other because we both did that and know well enough not to do it again.

  I’ve wanted nothing more than to start over. To meet you for the first time. To begin again. We can, sort of, but it’s built on everything that came before which strengthens us.

  There are so many what-ifs, but you will always be my favorite.

  Want to see where this takes us?

  XO,

  Kellan

  I lift onto my toes and kiss him on the lips. “For a while, I wanted to stop believing in love. But you’ve shown me not to give up. Love is comfort. Love is understanding. Love is forgiveness. Love is home. And when you love someone, no matter what happens between you, love can become something else, something more. Nothing can keep us apart.”

  Kellan kisses the soft crest of my ear, the curve of my neck, then along my jaw to my lips.

  The kiss stretches beyond land, the sea, and time.

  I understand what my father meant about love and the mysteries of the heart.

  At last, it happens. I am Kellan’s and he is mine.

  I breathe, “Kellan.”

  He rejoins, “Catherine.”

  We press together, deepening the kiss.

  We explore new and familiar terrain, hills and valleys, mountains and rivers of pleasure not yet tapped.

  Seated next to the fountain, we draw apart. On his arm, I trace the letters of another tattoo. “Semper Fidelis. What does that mean?” I ask, knowing it’s a Marine slogan.

  His summer blue eyes are soft. “Always faithful. That’s what I promise you, Catherine, from here forward. I will always be faithful to you and us.”

  I kis
s him gently on the lips, sealing the promise.

  “Hazel said this whole thing started as a game of truth or dare. I dare you to tell me the truth.”

  “No, this whole thing started years and years ago between two crazy kids. But if you want to know the truth, it’s that I love you, Kellan.”

  We snuggle closer, heart to heart.

  He kisses me gently on the lips then says, “I love you, Catherine. Always have. Always will.” Then he lowers to one knee.

  My hands clap my chest, right over my heart.

  “The first time we decided to get married, it was on a whim. Two people with big feelings but not sure what to do with them. Thank you for giving me a second chance. I’m going to do it right this time. Will you marry me, Catnip?”

  “I said yes then. I say yes now. I’ll say yes forever,” I reply.

  Kellan slides the ring on my finger and gets to his feet.

  All around, people cheer and wish us a Buon San Valentino.

  Epilogue

  This will be my final entry into the Boyfriend Book Blog before I hand the torch off to someone who has been very active in the comments. You know who you are! I’m coming for you and with Hazel’s help, there will be no getting out of this one, lady! Wink, wink.

  Date #5 The Romantic Marine (name changed for privacy)

  Appearance: muscular in all the right places, strong jawline, light brown hair, and blue eyes. Although his smile is relatively rare, when he gives me that look, I melt. Smells like soap, sunshine, and comfort. Okay, okay, I’ll stop.

  Behavior: thoughtful, protective, and determined.

  Connection: The ultimate one true pair. Okay, I’ll come out and say it: we’re engaged. Details to follow!

  Overall: There’s no one in the world I’d rather spend the rest of my life with...so I will.

  Even though our first attempt at eloping resulted in one of the most tragic events of my life, the second chance with Kellan was an absolute success. While traveling through romantic Rome, I could no longer delay marrying my romantic Marine.

  Was my mother upset? Understatement.