by Lynne King
On the fifth day, Liz could stand it no longer and grabbed up her sketch pad and pencils and headed for Central Park, to the boating lake. It was a weekday, the children at school and too early for the lunchtime crowd. Tourists and the elderly were out and about but Liz found a nice quiet secluded patch of grass with a view straight across the lake. There wasn’t much activity on the lake, but Liz was quite happy sketching an elderly couple seated on a park bench under the shade of a tree and who were both dozing.
A shadow loomed over her sketch pad and she peered up, her hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. Whoever it was seemed very close and it wasn’t until the figure lowered and went to sit down beside her that the corners of her mouth gently lifted.
“Jack.”
He peered over at her sketch. “I’m glad to see those two are fully clothed.”
“You got my message then.”
“Yep and most of the precinct, several who wish to hire you for their own self-portraits with the help of a little airbrushing.” He smiled.
Liz knew that smile and the twinkling of those blue eyes so well, especially when he was kidding her. “I only draw nudes I know intimately.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Her gaze fell upon the sling supporting his left arm and what he had placed by his side. It was the guitar, the one she had seen up against the wall in his apartment. “Jack, why the guitar?”
His right hand went to his jacket pocket, the fingers withdrawing her passport from inside. He held it up in front of her. “I was asked to return this to you, but do you know what, I can’t do it.”
“Jack, I’ve got to go back to the UK. I have no job and no sponsor. I’m selling my house, which thankfully has been returned to me and then I’m thinking of going back to college, get a teacher’s degree maybe.”
“You can do all that here with me. We have some great colleges and they’re crying out for teachers.”
She shook her head, a sad smile appearing. “I think your country will want to kick me out, not provide me with extra qualifications.”
“They can’t deport you, not when you’re married to an American citizen, one of New York’s finest, a cop.”
He had spoken those words so casually, his eyes not even on her. It was as if he had simply made a comment about the weather or something, certainly not a roundabout proposal of marriage.
Her voice carried the disbelief. “You can’t be serious?”
“It is real for me. Were they simply poetic words you wrote, your way of saying thank you, but good-bye?” He placed a finger on her lips silencing her answer. “Hear me out first. You asked me once to play for you and I told you I don’t play to an audience. The reason being, it is an intimate part of me that I could never share. When I play it was to lose myself and shut out the world.”
His hand reached out, the fingers taking hold of a loose tendril of russet hair and twirling it around his fingers while his blue eyes were captivating her with their intensity. “Then you entered my life and you’re the one person I can never shut out and don’t want to.”
“I run to you in my thoughts and in my dreams. I can never be free of you, Jack.”
“Then don’t. Look, I can be moody, I work long hours, and I can’t stand trinkets, girlie things scattered around the place, and I’m pretty selfish. I’ll try and change, but it won’t be easy.”
“Jack, isn’t there something else you’re meant to say when proposing marriage? I mean, that is what you’re asking or do you Americans do it differently?”
“Hell, I love you, Elizabeth Saunders and I want to marry you.”
“Prove it then.” Her eyes directed him to the guitar.”
Taking his arm out of the sling, he placed the guitar across his lap, his head cocked to one side allowing his gaze to rest upon her while his finger tips worked the chords.
Moisture filled her eyes as she listened to the beautiful melody.
The guitar slipped from his fingers, his hand going behind her neck and bringing her face toward his. “We’ve got quite an audience, so put a guy out of his misery before they start throwing coins in my guitar case.”
Liz glanced up to see the elderly couple and a dozen others watching with smiling faces.
“Yes, Jack Willis, I will marry you.”
Jack’s lips ensnared hers to the delight of the crowd, their cheers and clapping fading into the distance. The show was over.
About the Author:
Lynne King lives in Southeast England with her husband of too many years to own up to without revealing her age and several cats. A lover or rural living, wildlife, watching great movies and reading anything that moves or thrills her, Lynne also loves writing and has done from an early age. Her short stories have been published in several UK magazines and on-line and cover many genres. As for her novels, she tends to write romantic suspense allowing her to fall in love with her characters and escape into their world.
Visit her online at:
www.myspace.com/lynnekingauthor
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