The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  Victorine stared at him, wishing she had been more vague. “Now, that’s an interesting theory.” She played it off. “What else you got? Hypothetically speaking, that is.”

  He chuckled, and noticing his dimples for the first time made her cheeks feel warm. She quickly shook it off and forced herself to focus on what he was saying. “It could be that this hypothetical character is coming from your subconscious.”

  “How so?”

  “How do you feel about killing this... Emily character?” he asked, and Victorine thought about it for a moment.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then maybe that’s the question that needs to be answered,” he said. “And until that happens, you may not be able to kill her.”

  “What if I can’t answer that?” Victorine asked. “I mean, what if it’s too complicated.”

  “Try writing her a letter,” he suggested. “Maybe letting her know how you feel could help you move on.”

  “You want me to write a letter to a fictional character?”

  “Treating her like a real person may help you to view your own feelings as real.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I hope it works out.” He flashed her a heart-stopping smile before reaching for the door. “I should go. Thanks for turning the music down.”

  “Right. Sorry about that.”

  He pulled open the door then glanced over his shoulder. “Good night, Victorine.”

  She leaned against the doorway as he walked away. “Good night, Charles.”

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Victorine poured a cup of coffee then went to catch the sunrise on the roof. It wasn’t often that she did that. After all, she couldn’t really see the sunrise from that spot except for the orange rays breaking through the highrises. But lately she felt a strong need for a little quiet, and that was the quietest time of the day in the city. The loud buzzing—at least on her street—didn’t start until after seven, so she had about an hour of peace and relative quiet to think.

  The air was cold, and she pulled her hoodie over her head. The coffee mug felt nice and warm on her fingers.

  “You’re up early,” Charles said, coming to stand next to her with his own cup of coffee. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Sleep is overrated.” She sipped her coffee and enjoyed the warmth that washed over her. “How about you?”

  “Trying to figure out whether or not to pack my bags and leave for the weekend,” he replied.

  “Why the sudden escape?”

  “My father’s coming to the city for work, and I really don’t want to be here when he shows up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s gonna bug me about taking this job in England, and I really don’t want to keep arguing about it.”

  “Then don’t,” she said, turning to face him. “What’s keeping you from leaving?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t think of anywhere to go, I guess.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “That, and…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t have anyone to go with. My sister is out of town with her boyfriend and… I can’t really think of anyone else who would be up for a last-minute trip.”

  “I would be up for it,” she said, gulping what was left of her drink. “And if you need a place to go, we could meet up with my sister.”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Not at all. You need a destination, and I need to get this manuscript off my hands sooner rather than later, so… I’ll go with you.”

  “Are you even done with your book?” he asked.

  “No, but...” She raised a hopeful finger. “I’m pretty sure if I left the city to a quieter place, I could finish it.”

  Charles leaned on the concrete ledge and narrowed his eyes. “You’re serious about this?”

  “Oh, I never kid about finishing a book,” she said. “But you’ll get to dodge your father’s visit so... it’s a win-win.”

  Charles thought about it for a few seconds. “Where’s your sister staying?”

  “South Carolina.”

  Charles laughed. “It’s amazing how you make an eight-hour drive sound like it’s just around the corner.”

  “I’ll tell you what…” She put her cup down on the ledge and turned to face him. “You take me to see my sister, and I’ll let you have my parking spot.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her again. “How do you know I’ve been trying to get a parking spot?”

  “Well, it’s not like you whisper when you’re on the phone up here. Quite distracting, actually.”

  “Is that right?” He crossed his arms. “And which parking spot is yours, exactly?”

  She hesitated but only for a moment. “The one by the back door.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He looked at her as if she’d slapped him. “I’ve been trying to get that spot for three years.”

  She flashed him an apologetic smile. “I know.”

  “You don’t even own a car.”

  “It’s for my sisters when they come to visit. They hate parking five blocks away.”

  “I have to park five blocks away. Every. Day.”

  “Not anymore,” she cheered, flashing him a cheesy smile. “So, what do you say, neighbor? Should I start packing?”

  Hours later, Victorine waited in Charles’ Subaru Forester as he went into a roadside diner to use the restroom. They had been on the road for hours, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was the trees or the single-lane roads that were filling her with inspiration, but she had already written six pages in her notebook.

  If she had known that leaving the city was all she needed to get rid of her mental block, she would have done it weeks ago. And Daniel hadn’t shown up to bother her, not once. She hadn’t felt this relieved in weeks. Oh, how she missed feeling like herself again.

  Though Emily was still alive, Victorine had a feeling she wasn’t going to be for long. If she could only find a creek nearby, perhaps with a cottage, it would be perfect for her next scene. But what would be the procedure of finding a body near the water?

  Surprisingly, none of her characters were ever found in a creek. Most of her thrillers took place in cities instead of small towns. Would the procedure be the same? When Victorine looked up from her notebook, she spotted a police officer walking out of the diner.

  Perfect!

  She rolled down the window and waited until the officer approached his vehicle, which was parked next to her. “May I ask you a quick question, Officer?”

  He turned around. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Is there a creek nearby?” she asked.

  “There’s Long Teeth Creek just about a few miles down that road,” the officer replied, pointing in the direction of the creek.

  “Great. Now what would you do if you found a dead body near that creek?”

  The officer’s eyes shot open in alarm. “Excuse me?”

  “What would be the procedure for finding a dead body near a creek?” She held up her notebook and started going down the list of possibilities she had written down. “Would you immediately call the homicide detectives, or would you do a perimeter check first? Wait, I guess that would depend on how long she’s been dead, right?”

  “I’m gonna need you to step out of the car, ma’am.”

  Victorine looked at the officer and noticed he had stepped away from her window for some reason. Okay. She put her notebook aside and stepped out of the car.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the vehicle, please?”

  “What?” It suddenly dawned on Victorine what was happening, and she laughed. “Oh! Okay, I see how bad this looks—”

  “Hands on the vehicle.”

  “Officer, I was just doing research. Here, I’ll show you my notebook.” When she tried opening the door again, the officer grabbed her hand and twisted behind her back. She grimaced as he pressed her against the side of the car.

>   She tried explaining, but the officer was too busy stating her rights while handcuffing her. When he turned her around, she spotted Charles staring at her with his mouth agape.

  “Oh, hey! Would you mind telling him that I was just—” The officer shoved her into the backseat of his cruiser and shut the door.

  “Would you mind opening your trunk, sir?” the officer asked, walking toward the back of the car.

  Charles let out a tired sigh as he placed the coffee cup on the hood of his car then reached for the key fob. “Let me guess…” he said, opening the trunk for the officer. “She asked you about police procedures in murder cases or whatnot?”

  “I’m gonna need you to open these bags,” the officer said, watching as Charles did what he asked. “Does she do this often?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Charles replied, stepping back after unzipping all of the bags. “That’s Victorine Leesky. The thriller author from New York.”

  The officer looked at Charles in surprise. “You mean the writer of Chasing Skulls?”

  That was the movie adaptation of one of her books, which Charles had never seen but spent hours that morning listening to Victorine talk about how it didn’t do justice to her book. “That’s the one.”

  “Why didn’t she just say that?” The officer opened the door and helped her out. “My wife is obsessed with your books,” he said, removing the handcuffs from her wrists. “Would you mind if I took a picture with you?”

  “I don’t really do pictures—”

  “Sure, she would.” Charles pinched her side, and she forced a smile. “After all, you’re being such a nice guy for letting her go.”

  The officer handed Charles his smartphone then flashed a smile as he posed next to Victorine. “Can I also have your autograph?” he spoke through his wide grin. “I’m gonna give it to my wife along with your new book that’s coming out in a few months. Oh, she’s gonna freak out!”

  After Charles snapped a few pictures, he handed the phone back to the giddy officer who already had a pen and his ticket notepad ready for Victorine to autograph. She scribbled on it and handed it back to him. “Thank you so much. Y’all have a good rest of your trip and be safe.”

  “Thank you, Officer.” Charles waved until the officer drove off. “Well, that took an unexpected turn.”

  “I know,” Victorine mumbled, crossing her arms. “He didn’t answer any of my questions.”

  Charles gave her an amused smile. “Not quite what I was thinking but okay.” He pulled the door open, and she got back in the passenger seat. He shut her door, and after grabbing the coffee from the hood, he jumped back in the driver’s seat. But before he could turn on the engine, his phone rang.

  He looked confused when he answered the call, and Victorine wondered who it was. “Hello? Yeah, this is he... Is she okay?... Are you sure?... Okay, I’ll tell you what…” Charles glanced at his watch. “I’m just three hours away. I’ll be right there. Thank you for the call.”

  After he hung up, Victorine turned to look at him. “Is everything okay?”

  He let out a long sigh. “My grandmother’s in the hospital.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She seems to be fine, but… I should still go check. It shouldn’t take us too out of the way, though,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. “She’s in Virginia. Would it be okay if we swung by?”

  “Of course.” She opened her notebook and wrote the initials VA in the corner of her page with a question mark. “She wouldn’t happen to live by a creek, now would she?”

  Victorine moaned as she took a bite out the most delicious pulled pork sandwich she’d ever had.

  “Told you,” Charles said with a satisfied smile. “This place has the best barbeque.”

  “Oh, this sauce!” she reveled with her mouth full. “It’s amazing!”

  “They make it fresh every day,” he said. “In fact, this place was in one of those shows from The Food Channel. My grandfather loved it here.”

  Victorine moaned again. “It’s heavenly.”

  Charles’ phone rang, but when he silenced his ringer and continued with his dinner, she wiped her mouth.

  “Was that your father again?” she asked, noticing he had ignored several of his calls during the drive.

  “I already know what he wants,” Charles admitted. “There’s no need for him to keep calling, or even make a special trip to the city. I’m not changing my mind.”

  “About the job in England?”

  “Not just that. He wants me back in the medical field.”

  “Aren’t therapists already in the medical field?”

  “Not according to Mr. Thoracic Surgeon.” Charles deepened his voice to portray his father’s authoritative tone. “Therapy is nothing but soft science, son. You need to choose a real career.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Oh, and that was him being nice.” Charles chuckled, reaching for more fries. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. How did you get into writing?”

  Victorine didn’t have to think too hard. She remembered the exact day she started writing her first book. She was sixteen years old, and it was the first night in yet another foster home. It was also the first night away from her sisters after spending two years together in the same house. Victorine never seemed to mind the constant change. She was perfectly comfortable keeping to herself. But after bonding with those girls for two years, being separated from them was the hardest thing she ever had to do. She missed them terribly. Even though they kept in touch, it wasn’t the same. Especially during storms, because that was when they would all huddle together on Victorine’s bed and listen to her tell them stories all night. Not horror stories, though. Judy always liked fairy tales, and because she was the youngest, Victorine would give in. “I guess, the short answer is…” she said, “I wanted to escape reality.”

  “And the long answer?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to bore you.”

  Charles leaned forward on the table, his lips lifting at the corner. “Victorine Leesky may be a lot of things…” he said, holding her gaze. “But boring isn’t one of them.” He flashed her another heart-melting smile, and her cheeks turned hot. And when she couldn’t look away, she found herself wondering what type of aphrodisiac was in that barbeque sauce?

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked, taking one last sip from his water before pushing his chair back.

  “What about the check?” she asked, looking around for their waitress.

  “It’s already taken care of,” he said, waving it off. “I’m going to use the restroom before we go. There’s still an hour left.”

  “Any update on your grandmother?”

  “Yeah, they’re waiting on the results of the X-ray. Looks like she might’ve broken her wrist.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “I just want to get there and find out more details.”

  “Would you like me to drive the rest of the way?” she offered, and he gave her a skeptical look.

  “Do you even know how to drive?”

  She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Yes, Charles. I’ve driven a car before.”

  “All right.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and handed it to her. “Just making sure.”

  When he finally dropped the keys in her hand, she beamed. “I got this.”

  “Watch out!”

  Victorine veered away from the truck that sped past her, slamming on the horn. “Well, that was rude.”

  Charles was sweating with nerves. “Rude is not turning on your signal when switching lanes,” he ground out through his tight jaw.

  “I figure if I do it slowly enough, they would see me coming.”

  He let out a long breath, forcing himself to relax. “You said you knew how to drive.”

  “I said I had driven before,” she corrected. “You don’t want to know what happened to that car, though.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “It
’s fine. Look…” She pointed to the road. “As long as I stay in the slow lane, we’re good.”

  “You’ve been behind this truck for forty-five minutes.”

  “Which means you could have taken a forty-five-minute nap by now but no… You keep bugging me. Besides, I only offered to drive to give you a break,” she admitted. “You looked so tired. I couldn’t have you sleep behind the wheel.”

  “Right... because your driving is so much safer for us—Victorine!”

  Another truck sped by and she veered back into the slow lane, clutching the wheel for dear life. “See! That’s exactly why I don’t like switching lanes.”

  Charles let out another breath. “Forty more minutes,” he whispered as if it were a silent prayer. “We can survive.”

  “So dramatic,” she teased. “Why don’t you put on some music? Distract yourself. I got this.” She leaned forward and squinted at the road. When she bit her bottom lip in concentration, Charles found himself suppressing a smile.

  “Fine.” He grabbed his cell phone and started to scan through numerous playlists. “What kind of music do you like?”

  “Pick whatever you want,” she replied, still highly focused on the road even though she was only going fifty miles an hour behind a slow-moving truck.

  “How about I shuffle through songs we both like? Give me an artist.”

  “Hans Zimmer.”

  Charles looked at her, surprised. “The movie soundtrack composer?”

  “Yep. I don’t care much for lyrics. It’s not helpful when I’m writing. Although, I do like Enya.”

  “All right. Let’s try it.” He pressed play then slid his phone into the cup holder. “So, how’s your book going?”

  “Surprisingly well,” she admitted. “I haven’t been able to kill Emily yet but… it’s getting close. I can feel it.”

  “Have you been able to pinpoint the real problem?”

  “I think she’s too much of a fighter,” Victorine said as if it were a bad thing. “It doesn’t matter how many dead-ends I put in her way, she always finds a way to survive.”

  “Sounds like a strong character.”