Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  She stroked his hair.

  “I can’t pretend that I’m not scared,” she said. “But it’s some kind of a sign that maybe I’m not approaching this the right way. Maybe if I lose my lease and more patients, and the medical board decides to review me, then I should rethink how I do this. I’ve been thinking of closing the practice.”

  “No.”

  “I’m starting to get that because I made one bad business decision doesn’t mean I’m not the best businessperson. And that, in turn, doesn’t mean I’m a bad doctor. I have to stop beating myself up for every mistake I make. I intend to have a long career and I’ll make mistakes the whole way. Besides, now that I can take a step back from the whole situation, I’m sure the board won’t rule that I did something wrong. I’d hate for there to even be questions, but if there are questions, I won’t crumple.”

  “I still don’t see how you did anything wrong.”

  “I did screw up a few things and I have to take a good hard look at my boundaries and learn from all that’s happened, especially with Kevin. And that makes me sad but I have to move forward.”

  She was speaking briskly now and Ian found himself getting turned on—more turned on—by her determination. “In the meantime,” she continued, “you’ve put at least a degree of separation between us by going to Jatinder Singh for shots. I wrote that awful dismissal letter. It’s got to be worth something, right?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’ve had time to think about why I’ve reacted the way I have, and all I can say is that I was scared. But I don’t want to be that way anymore. And I won’t have to, because of you. You’ve shown me that it’s okay to trust myself enough to let go and put myself in someone else’s hands every now and then.”

  He traced a fingernail along her scalp.

  “You’ve been here for me in so many ways this week, even when I was so angry at you,” she whispered. “You found someone to help me with a new practice location. You talked to Kevin. You helped my mom and showed up for this stupid wedding. You fed everyone. You even let a cat kick you out of your apartment. And you did this all for me.”

  “It’s the new chivalry,” he said, a little sadly. “Ultimately, I didn’t solve anything.”

  “Ian, you’re not supposed to shoulder everything, not by yourself. And I’m not supposed to solve everything by myself, either. So let’s move on from here. We can both get the immunotherapy shots. Maybe we can eventually become cat parents together. Or maybe we won’t.”

  He took her chin. “I don’t know how I’m going to top a romantic speech like that.”

  Petra shook her head. “Let’s see where this takes us. I don’t want Danielle to report me, but I’m choosing not to be paralyzed by fear and self-recrimination anymore.”

  “I would feel terrible and responsible if anything happened to you because of her.”

  “Now who’s the worrier?” Petra said, caressing his cheek. “We don’t have perfect solutions, but at least we have some practical answers. My mother can help by offsetting the maintenance you’re paying on your apartment and taking good care of Snuffy. Who knows, maybe he will end up being the love of her life.”

  Ian laughed. He fell back on the bed. “Who are you?” he asked, a little bewildered.

  “I’m a woman who’s working on letting go of things,” Petra said.

  She took another deep breath.

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean that it’ll happen overnight. Sometimes I am going to castigate myself and I’ll have doubts, but I will get over it. Remind me about this, to help me get over it.”

  “And sometimes I will shut down and try to do everything alone,” Ian said. “I’ll need you to pester me into talking.”

  Petra sat up and stretched her arms slowly up. Ian’s eyes zoomed toward her, and she inched her T-shirt up her torso. “I’ll help you get over it,” she said.

  She tossed the shirt aside.

  “Yes, I’d say you were doing pretty well,” he whispered, licking her ear, her jawbone, her neck.

  “I’m a quick study,” she agreed, as his hand closed around her breast. She hummed happily.

  He peeled off her underwear and laughed at the little air kick she gave to help him. He grasped her ankle and kissed her instep. She laughed again and threw her arms up.

  He hadn’t seen her this free since, well, perhaps ever. He slid up along her, closing his eyes at the almost vicious way his body remembered hers, and smoothed her hair. “Are you sure this is all right?” he asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “This is what I want,” she said, rolling him on his back.

  She pinned his arms up, weakly, but he let her, and she bit his neck and dragged her breasts along his chest. She was already wet. It had been too long.

  He bucked. His erection rubbed at her entrance and they both exhaled sharply.

  He freed his hands and rolled over to grapple for a condom while she rubbed herself against his back. Finally, he turned again, lying on his side, facing her. He pulled one leg over his hip and she guided him, and he pushed inside.

  She whimpered.

  They bumped gently against each other for a few minutes, in almost careless delight in the slip and slide of their bodies, whispering about how much they’d missed this, kissing, panting. He felt her tighten around him and she opened her mouth, asking for more. He held on to her hips and Petra put her arms around the back of his neck. She rolled herself on top and rode him, slowly at first. He began to take over, pumping harder into her and she drew her head up and moaned. He paused and drew both her legs wider and he seated himself deep inside her. She gasped. “Too much?” he whispered tightly, his teeth gritted.

  “A little,” she whispered, and he let one of her legs go. “Perfect,” she breathed. Her body settled.

  He pulled his hips back and began to thrust steadily now, and she curled down to meet him, their breaths rasping with every movement, every meeting. He could see the tension in her neck, in her shoulders, the look in her eyes almost unbearable as she moved towards breaking.

  Her back arched suddenly and she cried out and her eyes opened wide in wonder and he felt her haunches move furiously above him, her muscles clenching and loosening, her hands scrabbling for purchase. But he couldn’t look away from those eyes, the deep, glittering gray. He felt himself rush deliriously upwards as if the roof had opened up and he had been thrown straight into a big night sky where there was no air and no sound and nothing but starlight.

  He was breathing again and Petra’s hands in his anchored him to the earth.

  His throat felt hoarse, his ears tinny. His glasses were very smudged. Or maybe his vision was permanently affected.

  Petra’s eyes were glazed and she was still breathing hard, too.

  He pulled her to him fiercely. He swallowed a deep lungful of joy and let the smile that had been threatening to erupt spread across his face.

  She smacked him softly on the chest. “Stop that,” she murmured, bending to cover his body with hers.

  He pulled her into his arms. “What?”

  He felt her grin against his chest.

  “Stop smiling like you just got laid,” she said.

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

  EPILOGUE

  Lucky for them, moving day proved warm and sunny. Petra, clad in red shorts and a worn T-shirt, looked around her at the chaos of friends, drop cloths, bags, and crates, and twitched her mouth into a grin.

  Moving wasn’t so bad, now that she had gotten used to the idea. It was a good thing, too, because her practice would probably be next. Her patient base had grown as the spring months came, and now that Petra had won a part-time position at a hospital across town (made easier by the fact that she had use of Ian’s car), she wasn’t as afraid of losing people or of being crushed by debt. Her mother had settled surprisingly well into city life. Jim Morrison occasionally drove in to take Lisa to dinner or to squabble with her. The relationship remained tempestuous. Apparently, Jim
Morrison had hidden depths. Now, Lisa had decided to move back to Astoria.

  Field thrived, and Stream had grown so much that Gerry and Ian considered expanding into the space next door. They also toyed with opening another restaurant. Petra’s suggestions for names included Scientific American and The Atlantic Monthly.

  In the meantime, she and Ian found a narrow old Victorian house just ten minutes from the restaurants and Petra’s office. It needed a little work, like everything in their lives, but Ian was already relishing the idea of using his power tools.

  Everyone was at their new place. Helen retied the bandanna around her head, while Gerry watched admiringly. Lisa lounged on the couch. Even Jenna and Ellie had driven down to help. Although the only person currently doing any work was Sarah. Good old Sarah, peering at boxes, moving them around the new house, following the directions on the stickers she’d placed on them. “Blue for the bathroom, green for the kitchen, red for the bedroom, and yellow for delicates,” she repeated.

  “About that,” Petra said, “we may have crammed additional items into boxes which didn’t quite follow sticker protocol.”

  Sarah muttered something under her breath and continued to work.

  Petra looked around for Ian.

  He had just come back from his office. He looked tousled and dusty, and a streak of dirt ran down his calf. He looked better than anyone had any right to look.

  He smiled as he caught sight of Petra. A small box sat on his shoulders. In the other hand, he balanced some pizza boxes.

  “I like a man who can carry a big load,” she said.

  He grinned and put the food down on the dining table, which was conveniently jammed in the middle of the hallway, waiting to be moved. “I think you’re just sweet-talking me for the carb injection,” he said.

  The troops crowded in, ready to eat.

  “Sarah,” he said, “I managed to find a kale, tomato, and garlic pizza—no cheese—for you.”

  I love him, Petra thought, as Sarah blew him a kiss.

  “Are you going to miss Petra’s old place?” Ellie asked, munching on a slice of pepperoni.

  “No,” Ian and Petra replied, together.

  It had been tough at first. The apartment was small for two people, and Petra found herself strangely reluctant to part with her clutter. Suddenly, her World Book encyclopedia set seemed useful, even though she just Googled everything nowadays. The ratty duvet cover that she’d thought to make into curtains still sat in the linen closet. The tennis racket seemed too new to give away, the baseball bat too old.

  And Ian kept bringing home rocks.

  When Petra asked—nicely—why he was doing this, he said it was because he needed to add to his collection.

  When Lisa noised about moving back to Astoria, Ian made a decision to sell. He and Petra were doing well with immunotherapy. They offered to take Snuffy back, but Lisa seemed reluctant to part with him. They considered a cat custody arrangement.

  Petra wandered into the kitchen, trailing her fingers on the appliances holding a slice of pizza. Sarah was washing her hands in the scratched farmhouse sink.

  “Things seem better between you and Helen,” Petra said, settling herself onto the counter.

  “Yeah. We aren’t avoiding each other anymore. It’s easier now.”

  Sarah dried her hands on her jeans.

  “So, why are you in here?” Petra asked.

  Sarah laughed. “Because I need to declutter, my friend. Don’t get between me and my label gun.”

  “You know, if this physician thing doesn’t work out, you could organize moves for a living. In fact, I’m going to have to ask you to do this again, since I’ll probably have to pack up the practice in a few months.”

  “Does the landlord have a new tenant already?”

  “Nope. But I’ve decided that I’m not going to worry about it. Ian’s broker is culling places for me. She thinks she can find something in the area. If not…well, I had an informational interview with a practice across town.”

  Sarah toyed with her box-cutter. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “My contract with Pronto!Docs is up next month and I don’t want to stay. I have money saved up. I wondered how you’d feel if I became a partner in your practice?”

  “An allergist and an OB?”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m a veterinarian. We still work on the same species. We’d just be a multispecialty place, share the same receptionist, offices, some of our equipment. Plus, I’d be giving you a fresh infusion of capital and sharing the rent. My presence would provide some foot traffic to yours, and vice versa. Although, uh, maybe with just two docs, calling it ‘multispecialty’ would be pushing it. Plus, with the money that I put in, maybe we’d be able to keep the office in its location. And I’d be a lot happier than I am now.”

  “It sounds like you’ve thought this through,” Petra said. “I would love to have you. But I speak from experience. It’s a big outlay. You’d have to buy your own ultrasound equipment. And having your own practice won’t always make you happy, especially because you feel such ownership. Although if you bought in, we could invest in hiring a nurse, which would be so great.

  “Listen to me,” Petra added, gleefully. “I sound so seasoned. It’s like I know what I’m doing now. At some point, I might actually become a decent physician.”

  “You’re getting there,” Helen said, sticking her head in the door.

  “Sarah was talking about purchasing a share of the practice,” Petra said.

  “Cool. Hey, maybe I should go in, too.”

  Sarah snorted. “I’ve been running numbers, picking up used equipment on the sly, and secretly sounding out my patients for months, and you just march in and are, like, Hey, cool, I should buy in, too. God, sometimes I can’t stand it.”

  “Sarah, you mean, Sometimes, I can’t stand you, Helen. Sometimes, I can’t stand you,” Helen said placidly.

  Petra sat on the counter, her slice still uneaten. She stared at her friends.

  “Well, say something,” Sarah said, turning around.

  “This may be awesome, or my very worst nightmare,” Petra said.

  “Probably a little of both,” Helen said, still cheerful. “Send me some numbers. We can talk about it next week.”

  Sarah muttered again.

  Helen said, “I heard that,” and Petra slid down and left.

  She was glad that there were many rooms in this house.

  Ian was sitting at the table in the hallway, alone. Petra pulled up a box beside him.

  “Where is everyone?” Petra asked.

  “Gerry decided they should get dessert. He’s got his heart set on some sort of Italian ice. Jenna offered to drive and your sister is giving Gerry a much-needed lecture about intersectional feminism. They could be a while.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s in the box I brought from the office?” He pushed it over to Petra.

  She peered inside. A photo album of his parents’ wedding. Some loose pictures. “This is you when you were a little kid,” she said, delighted. “I thought you said you couldn’t find these.”

  “I started looking through everything, finally, and I discovered them.”

  He pulled out a black and white photograph of a smiling young couple. “They seemed happy there, didn’t they? I figured we could put some up, of your family and mine. I also found this.”

  He took out a beautiful filigreed silver ring. “It was my mother’s engagement ring. It wasn’t the happiest marriage, but I look at it and I feel like it deserves a second chance. If you don’t want this engagement ring, it’s okay, I won’t be hurt.”

  She tried it on. It was a little big.

  “It would need to be cleaned, and resized, of course,” Ian said.

  “I love it,” Petra said serenely.

  They sat eating pizza. Ian eyed her with darkening intent. “Where are Helen and Sarah?” he asked, a little too casually.

  She tried to ignore the warmth that flooded her. “They
’re right in the next room,” she said.

  He nodded and leaned into her. “How about happy pants?” he asked.

  “That might be the least clever name, yet,” she breathed, darting another glance at the door. “The absolute worst.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, reaching for her, “but happy pants make for happy endings.”

  About the Author

  Ruby Lang is the pen name of non-fiction and short fiction writer Mindy Hung. She is small, prim, and bespectacled. She enjoys running (slowly), reading (quickly), and ice cream (at any speed). She lives in New York with a small child and a medium-sized husband.

  Find Ruby at www.rubylangwrites.com and on Twitter @RubeLang.

  Nothing’s Sweeter than Candy

  Lotchie Burton

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Lotchie Burton.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8908-9

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8908-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8909-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8909-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © iStockphoto.com/LuminaStock

  To Antwan Burton and Angela Burton. A mother couldn’t ask for a better or more supportive son, or a more perfect daughter-in-law. The two of you belong together, and I’m so very glad you both belong to me.