The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  But now the door had slammed shut. And Lainey found herself once again without the key.

  Lance brought the RV to a stop in front of Lainey's building. He wanted to say something. The right thing. He wanted her to know that the week had meant so much to him. That she had meant so much to him. For the first time, he was questioning his plan to never marry. Maybe he was even ready to start a relationship now. With her.

  But what words were the right ones? She wouldn't even look at him. Somewhere in New Jersey, she'd fallen asleep. But Lance suspected she had been faking. He'd seen her sleep before. He knew the way her face relaxed when she was dreaming. But today, the tension in her face hadn't eased.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come.

  She swung the door open. "I can get my own bags," she said.

  "No, I'll get them." He watched for traffic, waiting for an opportunity to open his door.

  Before he had the chance, she'd already hopped out, flung open the compartment beneath the RV, and yanked out her luggage. She began to walk away, weighed down by the weight of the bags, pulling Chonk along behind her.

  Finally, a break in the traffic allowed Lance to jump out of the RV. He ran to catch up with her. "Lainey, let me help you."

  "Chonk and I are fine on our own. Thank you for the job this week. But it's over. Let us go."

  "At least let me buy you coffee sometime?" He cringed at the stupidity of his words. He wanted to give her so much more than coffee. He wanted to give her the world.

  "Let's not do this," she said, a hard edge to her voice.

  "Do what?"

  "The thing where people say they're going to call. Or that they're going to meet up for coffee. But it's a lie. A pleasantry that people feel obligated to say. I'm done with liars, Lance. This week was more than enough."

  And with that, she walked away, with Chonk grinning at her side. Neither of them aware of just how gutted Lance felt.

  Chapter 17

  Lance sat at his desk at Peabody and Schultz. He should have been working through his slush pile but instead he was scrolling through Lainey's website. Again. He had done so at least ten times a day since he'd last seen her.

  Six days, four hours, and thirty-seven minutes ago. Not that he'd ben counting.

  He was filled with pride as he scrolled through her work. She was extraordinarily talented. He'd shared her online portfolio with a colleague who specialized in children's books. She'd loved Lainey's samples and promised to contact her to discuss career goals and the possibility of representation.

  Lance hoped he'd be able to play a small role in Lainey's future career by making the introduction. Then again, maybe Lainey wouldn't want his help. She'd said as much when he'd dropped her off at her apartment last week. So, he'd told his colleague not to mention his name when she talked to Lainey.

  He closed the window on his computer screen. Why couldn't he stop obsessing about her? She'd told him to let her go. Why couldn't he just do as she asked?

  Because I love her.

  With a groan, he buried his head in his hands.

  "Is this a bad time?"

  Lance glanced up to see Paul Arken standing in his doorway. He sat up, trying to look composed and professional. "What a pleasant surprise. Come in, please."

  Paul sat down, concern etching the lines of his face. "Are you okay?"

  "No," Lance admitted. "Lainey and I broke up."

  Paul frowned. "I'm so sorry."

  Lance's shoulders sagged. "Actually, that's not true, Paul. Lainey and I didn’t break up. We were never really together in the first place."

  "I don’t follow," Paul said.

  Lance took a deep breath. "It was an act. I heard that you'd prefer an agent who was attached. So, Lainey and I pretended to be engaged. Only, we started to have real feelings for each other." Lance paused. "Well, I did. I'm not so sure about Lainey. And then Annie slashed our tires and things snowballed from there and now I'm hopelessly in love and absolutely miserable."

  Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, back up. Annie did what?"

  Lance told Paul the whole story, from Lainey spilling beer in his lap, to nearly getting arrested over a mistaken identity involving a bear, to kissing beside the campfire.

  He looked Paul in the eyes, speaking in earnest. "I am so sorry for lying to you. I understand if you want a different agent. There are several good people at Peabody and Schultz who I can recommend."

  Paul nodded. "And what about Lainey? Are you going to let her go too?"

  Lance rose from his chair. "No. I'm going to fight for her."

  Paul stood, shaking his hand. "Good luck."

  The buzzer to Lainey's apartment rang. She ignored it. She wasn't expecting anyone but it wasn't unusual for delivery people to ring each buzzer until they found someone to let them in the building. Lainey was feeling too inspired to stop working now.

  She was working on a dummy for The Chronicles of Chonk. One of the biggest agents in children's books had contacted Lainey about possible representation. She said she'd come across Lainey's website and would love to see whatever project she was currently working on.

  The agent hadn't said how she'd found Lainey's website, but Lainey suspected Lance had been involved.

  No thinking about Lance.

  The only way she'd gotten through the week was by pushing all thoughts of him aside and burying herself in work. She'd just keep doing that until he no longer crossed her mind. That had to happen someday. Right?

  Not likely.

  She'd finally received her payment for the freelance illustration job. Between that and the money Lance had transferred to her account, she'd be able to wait a few months before searching for a day job. She intended to take advantage of this time and produce as much work as possible.

  First, she'd work on finishing The Chronicles of Chonk for the agent. And then there was her project with Paul Arken. He had called a couple days ago, asking to collaborate on a children's book about freshwater mutant octopi.

  The buzzer rang a second time. "Persistent," she grumbled, debating whether to ignore it again. But this time it had woken Chonk and he was zooming around the apartment and barking. Lainey admitted defeat, putting down her pencil, and reluctantly rising from her desk to answer the bell.

  She pressed the button on her speaker. "Hello?"

  "Lainey? It's Lance. Can I come up?"

  Lainey froze. She looked to Chonk for help. He grinned up at her, his expression saying, "It's Lance! Let him in."

  She buzzed him up. She could only imagine how dreadful she looked. She hadn't left her apartment in days, except to walk Chonk. Spotting a hairband on an end table, she twisted her hair into a bun. It was the best she could do. Moments later, there was a knock at the door.

  Heart pounding, Lainey opened it. Lance looked as handsome as ever, standing in the doorway and holding an iced latte. Smiling, he extended his arm to hand her the drink.

  "I wasn't lying when I suggested we get together for coffee," he said.

  Lainey stepped forward, reaching for the latte. But Chonk had spotted Lance and barreled straight for him. Excited to see his friend, the corgi leaped into the air with the vitality of a much younger dog, knocking into Lance's arm. The iced latte hurtled backward, directly into Lance's face. He gasped as the ice slid down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. Dancing in place, he fanned out the hem of his shirt until all the ice had rained to the tile floor. Chonk sat down and munched on the ice.

  Lance stood frozen in place, arms hanging loosely at his sides, coffee dripping down his face. "That didn't go as I'd intended."

  Lainey felt the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. "Now, we're even."

  Lance tossed the empty cup to the floor, crossing the distance between them in two strides. "Not even close," he grumbled.

  Grasping her face in his hands, he kissed her. She tasted the coffee on his lips. Coffee…and Lance. Her two favorite things.

  Chonk barked as if
reading her thoughts. She pulled away from the kiss, bending to pet her dog. "I love you, Chonk." She turned back to Lance, gazing into his eyes. Using the sleeve of her shirt she dried his face. "And I love you."

  Lance cupped her face in his hands. "Marry me?"

  Epilogue

  6 Years Later

  Lola Blakeman was a coward. That's what they'd write on her tombstone.

  The snow was falling so hard that the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. Her gas light was on, but she hadn't seen anything besides pine trees and snow for over an hour. She knew she should conserve fuel, but with the blizzard raging outside, she couldn't afford to turn down the heat. She had no clue where she was. She wasn't even sure which state she was in.

  Why hadn't she just gone home?

  Lance and Lainey would have welcomed her with open arms. She could be buried beneath a quilt right now with her niece and nephew, telling them stories of Chonk—the real Chonk, who had been even more magnificent than the fictionalized version who was known and loved by children across the world.

  But Lola Blakeman was a coward.

  Going home hadn't been an option. After everything Lance had sacrificed for her over the years, she couldn't bear to face him. She wondered if he'd heard the news yet? It was quite the scandal. People would definitely be talking about how the brightest doctor in John Hopkins University's surgical residency program had walked out of rounds and hadn't returned.

  Because Lola Blakeman was a coward.

  Lola's car hit a patch of ice, sliding violently to the left. She remembered driving lessons Lance had given her as a teenager. Turn into the slide.

  But that seemed to make it worse. Her car spun out of control, bouncing off the median and crossing several lanes before crashing into the guardrail. Still, the car didn’t stop.

  As the car was tossed around like a pinball, it crumpled around Lola. Colliding with the guardrail once more, it tore through the metal barrier, tumbling down an embankment before finally jolting to a stop.

  Before losing consciousness, three things crossed Lola's mind:

  There was a tree in the passenger seat.

  The Madonna version of Santa Baby was playing on the radio. Fitting. She wasn't worthy of Eartha Kitt.

  Lola Blakeman was a coward…and a fool.

  Snow in Love: Sweet Romance Holiday Collection

  Lola's story is featured in Snow in Love, a multi-author collection of sweet holiday romances:

  My Book

  About the Author

  Ash Keller lives in the rolling hills of Kentucky with her handsome husband, three mischievous cats, and four backyard chickens who peck on the door to demand treats. In the winter, you’ll find her hibernating at home beneath a pile of blankets and cats. In the summer, she’s probably exploring Kentucky’s numerous rivers and lakes. Whether she’s in a kayak or jumping off the front of a pontoon, she’s happiest in the water. She and her husband also enjoy camping and have a tiny teardrop camper that they haul from state to state.

  Follow Ash at:

  https://www.ashkeller.com

  https://www.facebook.com/ashkellerbooks

  https://www.instagram.com/ashkellerbooks

  Just a Friend by Elle Rae Whyte

  Chapter One—ELLIE

  School had started entirely too early this year. It wasn’t even September yet and I was already counting the days until Christmas break.

  It was too hot. Outside the narrow rectangular windows of my classroom, the relentless August beat down. Blurry waves of heat rose from the asphalt parking lot that my room overlooked, and everything was still and drowsing.

  Flicking a glance over the bent heads of my students as they worked on their book project, I popped open a couple of buttons on my blouse and plucked at the collar to fan a breeze against my skin. The air conditioning wasn’t working properly and sweat was beading along my spine and in my cleavage. I thought longingly of the ocean next to my house, where I’d been taking daily dips just last week, and sighed.

  “Hot mamacita, hot, hot, hot.”

  The whisper was loud and salacious, and I groaned, casting a sharp look in the direction of Ryder Jennings and his group of friends. If I could make it through one class with this kid without him making a lewd comment or looking at me like I was a piece of meat…The mamacita song that had come out recently seemed to be giving him even more inspiration.

  “Did you have something to share with the class, Ryder?”

  “No, ma’am, Miz James.” The boy leaned back in his seat and tucked his hands behind his head, a twisty little smirk on his face.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I just said it was getting hot in here.”

  “I see. Would you like to move your desk into the hallway? It might be cooler out there.”

  “Nah, Miz James. I’m good.”

  “We’ll see.” Gradebook in hand, I started walking the rows to tabulate their progress.

  Thirty exhausting minutes later, I collapsed into my chair and rubbed my temples. These kids. These boys, really. I had to be on guard all the time, aware of their antics, above them, and yet equipped to shut them down without damaging their fragile male egos.

  As eighth graders, they were testing their limits and exploring their awakening attraction to the opposite sex, as our guidance counselor had put it. I was still relatively young—only just past thirty—and not a complete hag, so I was an easy, safe target for them to hone their flirting skills on.

  They were ridiculous, but I didn’t have the heart to be cruel to them. Instead, I tried to channel my inner mom and deal with them as a mother might.

  Firmly. With love and humor. Patience and compassion.

  After all, one of the main reasons I was teaching to begin with was my desire to shut down bullying and teach kindness. I had been bullied as a kid, mainly for an unfortunate stutter that still emerged in times of stress, and thick glasses I wore to correct my vision.

  And then, of course, there were the superstitions.

  I never stepped on cracks, or even lines drawn on the pavement, because you never knew—there could be a crack hiding under that line. I was always tossing salt over my shoulder, freaking out on Fridays that fell on the thirteenth, and holding up the line in the classroom door as I struggled to close my umbrella before walking in.

  I was an oddity. The skinny little girl who stuttered and was afraid of the weirdest things.

  But then came Madden. Two years older than me, he was the literal boy next door. After he caught Teddy Blankenship making fun of me on the bus one afternoon in the third grade, he became my knight in a soft cotton tee shirt. He was my buffer all through primary, middle, and high school after that day, respect for him the biggest reason people left me alone.

  A knock sounded on my classroom door, interrupting the strange trip down memory lane I’d fallen into. “Come in,” I called.

  A head with streaky golden-brown hair poked around the door. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Bee! No, not at all. What brings you here?”

  Bee and I had met when she volunteered to lead a workshop for our high school’s students on art in the twenty-first century several years past. A gifted artist, Bee was nearly as introverted as I was. We’d hit it off immediately, falling into an easy friendship. Along with our friend Vern, we formed a threesome that had been inseparable until Bee found Rafe, and Vern discovered Wyatt.

  Now they were busy doing the girlfriend and fiancé thing, and while they hadn’t abandoned me, I felt a little like a scratchy tag in an otherwise comfy set of pajamas when they were coupled up.

  Bee entered and closed the door behind her, walking over to join me at my desk. She had a takeout bag in her hand and two drinks in a handled carrier. “I was hoping I’d catch you at lunchtime. I brought chicken salad from Vern’s and a couple of sweet teas.”

  “You are my favorite best friend ever, Bee.” I took a long pull on my tea and started unwrapping the sandwich she set before me
. “What brought this on?”

  “We just hadn’t seen you a lot since school started. Thought I’d check in and see how things were going.”

  I nodded, mouth full of Vern’s delicious chicken salad. Our third musketeer was the owner of an island legend, Vern’s café. Her grandfather had named it after her when she was a child, and she had recently taken over its operations fully for him, as he was battling cancer. “I’m not going to lie; I wish I’d had another month or two of summer vacation.”

  “Aww, poor baby. I feel for you, but I’ve been so impatient for summer to come to an end.”

  “I know—the wedding is right around the corner. Are you ready?”

  Bee nodded. “I’ve been ready. It has been exhausting dealing with Rafe’s stepmother, even after he told her to back her social truck up. She is determined to control every aspect of ‘this affair,’ as she calls it.” Bee waved her hand airily and I rolled my eyes.

  “Nice. You aren’t letting her roll all over you, are you?” Years ago, Bee had run when faced with opposition from Rafe’s stepmother, instead of standing her ground and trusting in the relationship she and Rafe had. It had taken them years to forgive one another and get to where they currently were: engaged and crazy about one another.

  Bee leveled a look at me that said I might have lost my mind. “Not on your life. I have allowed her to plan the rehearsal, and even that has to be lower-key than what she’s accustomed to. Plus, it’s being held here in the Outer Banks, which you know is driving her crazy.”

  I snorted a laugh. “I can imagine. What am I supposed to wear to that shindig, by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  “Something dressy. She’s made it into a black-tie affair.”