The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters

by C. A. Newsome

  *

  Mandy emerged from her dressing room to find Matt going over the playlist with Yankee Bob. They were chatting together like old friends.

  The door opened and Simon strode into the room, his face flushed. He looked disappointed to see everyone calmly going about their pre-show routine.

  “Who the hell is that?” He launched himself across the room and prodded Matt in the chest. “You. Out.”

  Matt gave him a withering look. “I don’t think so.”

  Simon looked from the playlist to Yankee Bob. “What gives?”

  Matt stuck out his hand. “Matt Williamson. Mandy asked me to take Clete’s place tonight.”

  “She had no right to do that.” Simon ignored Matt’s outstretched hand, and searched for Mandy. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. “Saving the show, Simon.” She gestured toward Matt. “Matt is a professional guitar player. He also happens to be my songwriter.”

  The expression on Simon’s face was priceless.

  “Oh, and Simon?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re fired.”

  Cheering erupted from the band and the backup singers. Mandy hadn’t realized the depth of their dislike for the manager. A stagehand knocked on the door, announcing that it was time for the band to take their places.

  “Let’s do this,” said the drummer, and they filed out. Matt gave her a long, heated look, then followed.

  *

  Mandy shouldn’t have been surprised by Matt’s proficiency on the guitar, but she was. By the end of the first song, the band members were following his astonishing riffs with an amazing performance of their own. They played as if they’d been together all their lives.

  After ninety minutes, she stepped to the edge of the stage and spoke to the crowd. “And now,” she said, eyes shining with pride in her crew. “We’d like to debut our new single, just for you.” She stepped back and took a breath while Matt played the intro. “It’s called Always,” she said, and started to sing.

  The huge crowd was silent as the last notes floated out over the bowl. Then the entire audience was on their feet. These were her fans; she loved every one of them. She lowered her head and waited for the applause to die down.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, then turned toward the band, and the back-up singers. “But I’m only one part of what you heard tonight.” She applauded each person individually. “I’m nothing without my back-up singers, and my band.” Her eyes sparkled as she walked toward Matt, microphone in hand. “I know some of you are wondering where Clete is. He had an accident, but I can assure you he’ll recover soon.” She took Matt’s hand. “In the meantime I’d like to introduce you to the man who made my career what it is today. This is Matt Williamson. He not only wrote the songs you’ve all come to love, he’s an old school friend of mine.” Her eyes sparkled. “And he reminded me today that I owe him something from back then.” She turned to the audience. “A kiss.”

  Matt’s lips twitched. “What are you doing?” he murmured, as she led him across the stage.

  “I’m making sure you don’t back out.” She raised her lips.

  He brushed his lips against hers, slow and tantalizing, with the promise of more to come. “That’s not happening,” he said as he picked her up and twirled her around. The audience roared their approval.

  Safe in his arms, she looked into his eyes and saw her future.

  * * *

  Mona Ingram is the author of 20 romance novels, including two novellas. Many of her stories take place in British Columbia, where she has lived since the age of twelve. In recent years she has lived in the Okanagan Valley and on Vancouver Island. In addition to reading and writing, traveling and bird watching are among Mona's favourite pastimes.

  Check out Mona’s blog:

  http://www.monaingram.blogspot.com

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  *

  That First Kiss

  S. Patrick O’Connell

  The air in the tavern was a little too still in the warm autumn afternoon. An aroma of baking bread and roasting meat mingled with the sweet smell of fermented beverages and strong tobaccos. Merrick sat in the semi-darkness nursing a mug of thick foamy ale and pondering his ill fortune.

  It had been thirteen months since he had landed in this nasty little backwater city-state and in that time he had found little employment for his skills. His purse was nearly empty and he wasn’t looking forward to another winter in this place―especially a winter with no means to pay for his warmth. His tunic was faded and torn in places; his leggings were grimy and stained; there was a hole in the bottom of his right slipper that simply would not stay mended, no matter what, and he had lost his hat somewhere along the line. A change of luck was more than overdue.

  The curtain that covered the doorway in fairer weather pushed aside and a woman strode in and stopped to gain her bearings. She was tall and fair, with brown hair pulled back in the spacer style and a posture that showed confidence and authority. Her tight flight suit followed the curves of her muscular body, hugging her like an exoskeleton. A pair of gold ellipses on her shoulder announced her rank as captain.

  After a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, the young woman approached the bar, leaning across to speak to the innkeeper. He gestured toward Merrick.

  Could this be the appointment Merrick was waiting for? Most of his assignments on this world, so far, had involved lost goats and family feuds. Whatever the job, it would likely pay more than he had made in a year.

  The woman looked Merrick over and then approached with what appeared to be an air of resignation.

  “Are you the thief?” she asked.

  “Please,” Merrick said, “I prefer ‘paladin’ or ‘advocate’ or ‘man-at-arms.’”

  “I would prefer those things, too, but on short notice, you’re what I’m stuck with.”

  Merrick signaled for the woman to have a seat.

  “I am Merrick of Owsley,” he said. “And you would be?”

  “I am Captain Severide,” the woman said. “Just call me ‘Captain.’ It’s what I answer to.”

  Merrick was nearly overcome by the woman’s intense green eyes. He drew a deep breath to compose himself. Negotiating with authority figures required a special cleverness. Negotiating with a beautiful authority figure was going to require all the slickness Merrick could muster.

  “So, I understand you need my help,” he said.

  “Against my better judgment and all that I hold holy, it appears that I do. If I had time to spare, I believe I would hold out for someone a bit more . . .” she looked him up and down, “professional,” she finished, after a pause.

  “Please, don’t let my appearance fool you,” Merrick said. “I am a traveler and not of this place. I do my best to fit in, but I assure you I am no simple bumpkin.”

  “I certainly didn’t mean to imply that Olafston was to blame for you, simply that you couldn’t possibly be the best refuse the trash heap has to offer.”

  Merrick’s cheeks grew hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’ll have you know, I have been educated at the best universities in the Seven Systems. I carry two degrees of mastery and have been dangerously close to completing a doctorate!”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” the captain said. “Art history and ancient literature.”

  “Well, yes, actually,” Merrick said, ducking his head, “but I wore the Sash of Honors.”

  “I just bet you did. So how does any of that help me?”

  “What exactly is this, um, task you require accomplished?” Merrick paid careful attention to his grammar.

  “My first officer got into a bit of a scrape in Olafston and landed in their brig on a month’s sentence. I need him broken out.”

  “A month’s sentence is hardly anything. He would probably be released after twenty days just from bad accounting.”


  “I don’t have twenty days,” the captain said, impatiently. “If we don’t sail at noon tomorrow, we’ll lose our window and we could be stuck here for months. A screw-up like that could cost me my ship and my career.”

  “So sail without your man. It seems it would serve him right.”

  “Oh, would that I could,” the captain said, frowning. “Regulations. A ship may not sail without a captain and a first mate. No one else aboard holds the necessary rating. I wouldn’t even be allowed to break moorings.”

  “I see,” Merrick said, rubbing his chin, feigning thought, while secretly reveling in the sense that he had the captain over a barrel. “So, what is it you want from me?” he asked, knowing full well.

  “I need to break my crewman out of the brig. I loathe to say it, but I’m afraid I need your help to accomplish that task.”

  Merrick fought back a smile as his mind went into overdrive. It was exactly the opportunity he needed. He appraised the woman carefully. She had revealed far too much. It was unlikely she would be that tough to bargain with.

  “I will have to go it alone,” he said. “A spacer would draw too much attention and there would be three of us in the brig. I will have to creep into the castle in the night, overpower any number of guards, free your man and smuggle him from the city undetected.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” the captain said.

  “Don’t worry. I can do this.”

  “And what will it cost me?”

  “Fifty goldies and passage on your ship to any one of your next ten ports of call.”

  “Fifty silvers and passage to our next port of call,” the captain said.

  Merrick opened his mouth to counter offer, but the flash of the woman’s green eyes told him he had heard her final offer. “Done.”

  “If you fail,” she said, firmly, “I will hunt you down and gut you. Remember, I’ll have plenty of free time on my hands.”

  “We’ll meet you on the departure deck at first light,” Merrick said. He watched as she rose and strode from the tavern. The last he saw of her was her lingering scowl.

  *

  Merrick had a nap in one of the sleeping lofts so he would be rested for his night’s work. When he awoke and climbed down, the innkeeper served him a mug of ale, a bowl of thick stew and a half loaf of dark, musty bread.

  “So, you’ve found work,” the innkeeper said, stroking his long red beard.

  “A small job. I’ve been hired to break some spacer out of jail.”

  “Decent pay?”

  “Enough,” Merrick said, lying.

  The innkeeper threw back his head and laughed a deep, barking laugh. “You were taken by the lass’ beauty, weren’t you? You’re taking a whit of your asking price.”

  Merrick felt his face warm. “She was a shrewd negotiator,” he said. “She made sure she got value for her money.”

  “She’s a shrew, I’d wager,” the man said. “A woman wearing captain’s gold could never stoop to rut with the likes of you.” He laughed again.

  “It’s not about rutting,” Merrick said, indignantly.

  “No, I’m sure it’s not,” the innkeeper said. “Believe you me, I was taken by those sharp green eyes myself. If she asked me to come mop her galley, I’d be off this world in a minute.”

  “She does have nice eyes, doesn’t she,” Merrick said, cradling his mug between his hands.

  The barman laughed his hearty laugh again and went off to serve other guests.

  Merrick sat drinking ale and daydreaming about the captain until it was time to go.

  *

  With the waxing moon high overhead, Merrick donned his pack and followed the cobblestone road to the city gates. Olafston sprawled in lazy circles around a central butte atop which stood the castle. The lower levels contained the many city offices and the wealthier businesses. King Olaf XXXVIII lived in the highest levels and his board of directors lived just below. Carved down into the butte were the jail and the quarters of the king’s guard. The system of rule in Olafston was a bit chaotic, but it had worked for thirty-eight Olafs, so there was little likelihood it would change anytime soon.

  Merrick greeted the guards at the gates and, after shaking hands and patting backs, he passed through into the outer circle of the city.

  The harvest festival was in full swing and the streets were full of revelers, performers and vendors―all in high spirits. Merrick picked his way through the crowd, getting caught in a circle of dancers a few times, accepting a flagon of wine here and there and generally enjoying the spirit of the celebration.

  At festival time, the population of the town more than doubled, with farmers coming from surrounding farms and outlying villages. It was the biggest party of the year and few chose to miss it.

  As Merrick wound his way through the straw-strewn streets, he thought about the captain and those incredible green eyes. There was something about her he had never experienced before. Certainly, in the Seven Systems there were as many bold women in authority as men. As far as physical strength, all spacers applied themselves to regular exercise―it was part of the job. Green eyes were hardly rare, that wasn’t it. No, it was a package deal. There was something about the combination of boldness, authority, strength and green eyes―as well as gender, of course―that he found intoxicating. This was the woman for him. The one he had waited for all these years.

  Merrick chided himself for developing a schoolboy crush, but he couldn’t help it. The captain had certainly caught his attention, if not his heart.

  There were few direct paths to the castle, but Merrick managed to keep the route as short as possible. A time or two he got lost in a fantasy about sailing the universe at the captain’s side and ended up having to backtrack, but for the most part he made good time.

  At the base of the butte, the road began to spiral and quickly led to enclosed stairs, winding their way to the great concourse in the lower level of the castle. Guards at the stairways to the upper levels slept quietly, having not had a siege, revolt or assassination to deal with in hundreds of years.

  Merrick found the stairs down into the butte and began the long hike to the jail.

  He passed a few guardsmen coming and going, mostly staggering and got confirmation from one that he was indeed on the correct path to the cells.

  The castle had been built over many, many generations. Plans had been drawn; plans had been lost; plans had been ignored. In the end, the entire structure was a patchwork of starts and stops, additions and subtractions, brilliance and idiocy. If the plan had been to confuse and confound an invading army, then the goal was achieved. If the plan had been to confuse and confound the residents of the castle, that goal had also been achieved.

  Fortunately, some helpful soul had marked the walls in charcoal, at intervals, so the path to the jail wasn’t a complete mystery.

  At last, the corridor opened onto a well-lighted office with a desk. The jailor sat behind the desk eating a sandwich and chatting with a guardsman who leaned against the wall.

  “Greetings,” Merrick said.

  “And a hearty good evening to you,” the jailer said.

  The guardsman nodded and grunted a greeting.

  “How may I help you?” the jailer asked, smiling pleasantly with his mouthful of snaggled brown teeth.

  “I need to break the spacer out,” Merrick said.

  “I’m listening,” the jailer said.

  Merrick pulled a wine-filled skin from his pack and dangled it in front of the man.

  The jailer accepted the wine skin with a bow of the head. “Help your self,” he said, holding out a big ring with a key.

  “Um, it’s just that . . .”

  “Say no more,” the man said. “I completely understand. You need a scuffle, some yelling and you want us unconscious on the floor.”

  “Exactly,” Merrick said. “I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “In order to make it look good, we’d need five coppers apiece,” the gu
ardsman said.

  “Three,” Merrick said.

  “Done.”

  The jailer and guardsman began to simulate the sounds of a fight. A few curious passersby looked in, but said nothing and went on their way. Once the two men had settled into uncomfortable positions on the floor, Merrick went through an archway and back to the row of cells.

  There were few prisoners and he easily figured out that the man in the flight suit, stretched out on a straw mattress on the floor, was the one for whom he had come.

  He unlocked the cell door and went inside. Before Merrick could explain him self, the man sprang to his feet and punched him in the face.

  “Stop!” Merrick said, grabbing his nose with both hands as the man hit him again. “Hitting! Me!” Merrick scrambled to put the cell door between him and the crazed spaceman. “Your captain sent me. I’m here to break you out.”

  “I don’t think so,” the first officer said. “The captain would never do business with a filthy peasant like you.”

  “She hired me because she needed someone who would fit in. I’m a professional, um, problem solver.”

  “Fine. Prove it. Tell me something about the captain to prove you two met.”

  “Green eyes,” Merrick said.

  “Okay,” the mate said, relaxing at last. “Get me out of here.”

  “Follow me and try to be very quiet.”

  They slipped down the hallway and through the office where the two citizens pretended to be unconscious. Merrick and his escapee cautiously moved out the door, checking both ways before proceeding.

  Merrick could barely contain his smile at the thought of the rewards awaiting him. Once he had proven himself with the rescue of the crewman, the captain would undoubtedly lower her guard a bit, allowing their relationship to blossom.

  Someone was coming. Merrick signaled the spacer to press back into the shadows of a recess.

  He felt some sense of relief when he saw it was a giant. They were well-known for having poor eyesight and little sense of smell. As long as Merrick and the spacer stood still and didn’t breathe, the creature would pass by without noticing them.