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Love-Lines

Page 32

by Sheri Langer


  “I am.” She gave Whitty a hug and then gave one to Lily too. “Aaron and I broke up.”

  Whitty shouted something that sounded like “Hallelujah,” and she and Lily went to the front lawn to have a snowball fight.

  “Why did you have to break up with him?” David asked.

  “Because it wouldn’t be fair to marry someone I’m not in love with.”

  “You seemed very sure that was what you wanted when we spoke at the school.” He kicked the building snow with his foot.

  “I thought you were engaged to Pam,” she blurted.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one,” he said, crossing his arms in what appeared to be utter amusement.

  “I came by to talk to you over the weekend, and when I was about to knock on your door, I saw what I assumed was you proposing to her, so I left.”

  David looked perplexed but then his eyes widened. “The ring! Her grandmother’s ring. I had it fixed for her as a going-away gift. She lived here over the summer, helping me out with Lily and the house. It was the least I could do.”

  Some snow from a branch above them landed on top of David’s head, and he brushed it off. “I guess in the back of my mind, I knew she had a little crush on me,” he continued, “but she was so good with Lily that I didn’t want to rock the boat. She seemed happy to run errands for me, so I let her. I didn’t think much of it because I didn’t want to. Now I see that was a mistake, but while it was happening, I just went with it.”

  “Well, now it makes sense, but—whatever.” She licked her lips. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

  They both glanced over at the girls, who were building a snowman.

  “I already know you’re a chocoholic,” he said.

  She went to the car and got the submission but kept the text facing her. “Remember when I said I was in publishing?”

  He nodded. “But we never talked much about it.”

  She handed him the submission. “No, we didn’t.”

  He read it then looked at her quizzically. “How’d you get this?”

  “You answered my post.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “And in a way, my prayers.”

  “You’re the Flowers from the Heart editor?”

  “In the flesh.” She studied his face as he let the idea sink in. “My sources told me this story was from the Pacific-Northwest region, and I had no clue it was yours until recently. The thing is, David, it was your submission that got me through putting the book together. Your words inspired me and gave me hope about what love should be like. You touched me in a way that no one has in... actually, that no one ever has.”

  He read the submission again with tears in his eyes. “I was at a conference, feeling lonely and depressed. It was late. I had a couple of drinks and accidentally came across your ad as I was searching for a snowblower to pick up when I got home. I guess you could say I wrote it when I was sleepless in Seattle.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist as they trudged through the mounting snow to his car. He got a carton of chicken nuggets from the back seat and told the girls to go in the house for lunch.

  “One other thing,” Fordham said. “When I was at your house, I had a dream that you kissed me. Did you?”

  “Oh, honey, if I had kissed you, you would have remembered it.”

  With that, David took her in his arms in a way that assured her she would never be outside of them for very long and kissed her in a way she was certain she would never forget.

  Flowers from the Heart:

  Love Online after Forty

  I Got You, Abe

  It’s funny. When you get older, you think the world can’t surprise you anymore. You think you’ve pretty much cornered the market on what there is to experience. And then, one day, you happily discover you’re wrong. Life is an ever-evolving, beautiful mystery.

  After I lost my husband, I never expected to find love again. I was resigned to occupying my time running errands, volunteering, helping my daughter, and playing Scrabble online. I was pretty good and could beat any opponent except one man. He had more words at his fingertips than I had excuses for not dieting. It was unnerving, but it was fun.

  Then one evening, my daughter, the editor of this book, threw a casual dinner party and invited her boss, a widower my age. As we spoke, I realized that he was, in fact, my unbeatable Scrabble opponent. The coincidence was unfathomable, and we realized very quickly that a power greater than ours had drawn us together. We began dating, and soon after, while we were online playing, he laid out a perplexing seven-letter word: m-a-r-e-e-m-i.

  I challenged him and said, “What’s mareemi? The hair of a sterile goat?” When he didn’t answer I stared at the letters m-a-r-e-e-m-i until I figured out he had just proposed. Being a bride at my age has made me realize that the most important thing in life is to keep on playing because sooner or later, all the letters will fall into place.

  Love-Lines

  by Fordham Prince

  When I first started this book, I felt unqualified. What did I know about love? I had a failed marriage and more dates than I cared to count. Love was the last thing I expected to find in cyberspace or anywhere. But as I read your stories, I began to feel more optimistic. I learned that love is the one thing we all have in common. We all want it. We all fumble to find it, and we’re all grateful when it finally finds us.

  I received one story in particular that I read time and again. It was from a man who had lost his wife but not his heart. I dreamed of how it would feel to be in love like that, and in time, the warm, gentle words of this man made me realize it was possible. Life is mystical because sometimes we find the very thing we’re looking for without really looking at all.

  In my case, it was a chance friendship with the principal of my daughter’s school. He and I had a lot in common and became close friends. But sometimes, we miss the obvious until it shows up right under our noses. One day, in my daughter’s art project about what a real family looked like, the obvious appeared. There, drawn in colorful markers, were the principal and his daughter, completing the family I had always wanted. It turns out he was my special friend and the contributor of the story titled “Prince Charming” in this book. His inspiring tale led me to my very own happily ever after.

  Not long after my mom got married, my Prince Charming proposed over a game of rock-paper-scissors. It may sound silly, but it’s meaningful to us. Our wedding was soon after because our girls couldn’t wait to be sisters. We’re excited to see how they’re going to react to the arrival of their new baby brother or sister...

  Yes, I, too, found true love online moments before I closed my book, believing there were no love-lines left to be read.

  About the Author

  Sheri Langer is a chocoholic writer and editor who routinely feasts on romantic comedies. She’s been known to spontaneously reenact scenes from classic favorites like When Harry Met Sally.

  A self-proclaimed, moderately talented home-cook, Sheri spends a fair amount of time concocting dishes that can never be repeated. A creative rebel at heart, she has always colored outside the lines and has an instinctive aversion to recipes. To keep the calories from getting too out of hand, Sheri does step and aerobic workouts in the privacy of her bedroom, where no one has to be subjected to her lack of rhythm.

  An avid word fan, Sheri frequently plays Just Words, Boggle, and Scrabble, mostly against the computer so she has excellent odds of winning. With her four kids all grown up, three of whom live in various locations across the map, Sheri and her guy, Brad, spend much of their down time watching General Hospital and football, shopping, and pursuing the best ice cream on the planet. Much to the chagrin of their waistbands, they can often be spotted sitting on a bench outside their favorite creamery, eating obscenely overstuffed giant waffle cones.

  Please feel free to connect with Sheri on social media. You can help her procrastinate by engaging in spirited exchanges or viewing pics of her great-looking family and ridic
ulously adorable cat, Zoe.

  Read more at Sheri Langer’s site.

  About the Publisher

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