Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection

by Ellie Hall

  “Nope. Are you?”

  “Nope.” I ran my hand over my hair. It was in a ponytail, but it was loose and windblown from working outside. “Wonder who that might be.”

  “I’ll bet you twenty bucks it’s that hunky friend of yours. The one with the sky blue eyes and jeans that fit—”

  I held up my hand and grimaced. “Please, stop. I don’t need to hear your description of how anyone fits into their jeans. Besides, you know as well as I do that it’s just as likely it’s a package delivery as it would be Nick, so let’s not get too excited. Why don’t you go get the door and I’ll finish up dinner?”

  “Why don’t you answer the door and I’ll finish up dinner?”

  I was locked in a staredown—one which I knew I’d never win—when the doorbell rang a second time. Granny didn’t twitch. I sighed. “Fine. Don’t burn the almonds.”

  Granny tossed back her head and laughed like a hyena. “Unlikely. I've been cooking since the dawn of civilization.”

  “There you go calling yourself elderly again.”

  I escaped the kitchen as she flicked the towel at me, brushing my hair away from my face and trying to tame the maniac butterflies that made another appearance in my gut. Down the hall to the entryway, I could see a silhouette through the glass that made my heart rocket into my throat.

  Nick was at my door.

  So much for taming the butterflies.

  And it had to be on all the days I hadn’t showered. I tamped down the panic that threatened hyperventilation, pretending I didn’t have mud stains on the knees of my jeans and sweat marks under my arms. Taking a moment to compose myself, I ignored the wishful thinking that I could freeze time and sneak upstairs to at least change my shirt. Settling for flipping my apron to the clean side and hurriedly refixing my ponytail, I covered my insecurity over my appearance with a smile and opened the door. Oh, golly. Granny was right. He was turned around, staring out at the road, giving me a full view of his backside. He did make jeans look fantastic.

  “Nick. What a nice surprise.”

  “Hey, Maren.” He turned around, cradling a basket full of eggs between his arms. He had filled in nicely since I’d last seen him as a gangly teenage boy. For a brief moment, I could imagine myself in place of the eggs, my own arms wrapped around him in return.

  Nick’s striking eyes shifted back and forth and he chuckled, shaking me out of my daydream. My smile wavered as it dawned on me that I’d been staring for a touch too long to be normal. I tried to swallow, but there wasn't anything to go down my parched throat. It’d been a while since a guy had been able to shake me the way Nick did.

  And I liked it. Very much.

  Trying to hide my gawking, I joked, “You know, I appreciate the thought, but I have plenty of eggs from my hens, remember?”

  He glanced down at his basket of eggs with a weary look, but managed to produce a smile when his gaze lifted again. “Oh, you must be mistaken.” He held them possessively and his smile morphed into a teasing smirk. “These aren’t for you. These are my personal eggs. I’m thinking of taking them to the local farmer’s market so you have some competition.”

  “Har har har. Laugh it up. You should know though that I would have given you eggs if you weren't already well-supplied.”

  “Uh huh. You would have probably charged me farmer’s market prices plus a delivery fee.”

  I giggled like a ditz. While I loved the way my tittering made Nick smile, I didn’t need Granny procuring any more incriminating evidence against me. Yes, I was falling like a schoolgirl over the high school quarterback, but no one else needed to know that yet, especially Nick and definitely not my grandma. There was no point in getting anyone's hopes up.

  I stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door firmly behind me. “Did you come here to tease me about the fact that I make a killing at the farmer’s markets, or is something else on your mind?”

  “I think I have a slight problem.”

  “Another one, huh?” I should have bit my tongue. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. I know I’m a pretty pathetic farmhand.”

  “You’ll learn and even then, farm life still gets the best of even the most seasoned farmers. So? What are you wondering?”

  Nick moved the eggs to one arm and ran a hand through his hair, which he managed to keep swooped out of his eyes. Tucking my hands as deep as they’d go in my pockets was the only way I'd be able to keep my fingers to myself instead of tangled up in his thick hair.

  Nick rubbed the back of his neck, and I definitely didn’t have another quick daydream about hanging my arms around his shoulders while he rested his hands on my hips. “About a hen. I think she hates me.”

  “Hates you? What makes you say that?”

  “Every time I go to clear out the nesting box, she’s sitting on the biggest mound of eggs, squawks like she’s cussing at me, then bites my hand when I try to move her.”

  I rubbed my nose, pretending it itched so I could hide my ill-controlled snort of laughter. “You’re afraid of a chicken pecking you?”

  “It hurts! Especially when she gets my knuckles. I think she’s got a taste for blood. If you find me dead in the Grange’s house, it was totally that black hen with the one crooked toe.”

  “Licorice?”

  “They have names? I’ve been calling her the Devil’s Mistress.”

  His ridiculousness was too much and my snort turned to laughter. “Maybe that's why Licorice doesn't like you. I’m surprised, though. She’s really a sweet hen.”

  “You haven’t seen the way her beady eyes gleam right as she’s about to peel back another layer of my flesh. Seriously. Look at my hand. I’m risking gangrene and severed digits if she keeps at it.”

  I reached for his hand and studied it before it dawned on me that I was holding his hand in mine, running my fingertips over his rough skin. Suddenly, my palms were so sweaty, I was surprised I was able to keep his hand from slipping out of mine without needing superglue to keep us together. I dropped his hand to wipe my palms against my jeans. “I think you’ll live. It sounds like she’s going broody.”

  “Broody? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “She’s trying to hatch a clutch of eggs.”

  “Ah.” Nick nodded. “That makes her vicious attacks a tiny bit more forgivable if she thinks I’m trying to kidnap her babies.”

  “In her itty-bitty mind, yeah, but don’t feel bad. There’s no rooster over there, so she’s sitting on a bunch of blanks that would never hatch.”

  Nick stared at his expensive-looking tennis shoes which were crusted in mud from running the Grange’s cattle back into their paddock, before heaving out a sigh. When he looked back up at me, I tried not to let him see how such a simple act strangled the breath right out of me. Usually, I was so level headed. I didn’t go falling for guys left and right, but Nick was a perfect storm of a former best friend, first crush, and now hunky grown man, that I couldn’t help but swoon. If a single glance from Nick was going to turn the butterflies in my gut into energy drink-chugging maniacs, it was impossible not to wonder what one innocent kiss might do.

  Not that I was going to right then. Standing outside and acting like a complete dork had made a sweat mustache pop out above my upper lip. Gross.

  A slow smile spread on Nick’s face and for a second, I wondered if my fantasy had been written all over mine. “Well, thanks for answering my question. Again.”

  He turned to leave as I scrambled to think of what to say that would keep him there. His company was addictive. It had been far too long since I’d had a decent man in my life. I greedily wanted more, even if it was just a few seconds to soak him up.

  “Nick?”

  He stopped, one foot on the top step, and pivoted toward me. “Yeah?”

  “Your shoe’s untied.”

  “Oh. Right. Thanks.”

  He stooped down to tie it as I wrung my hands and tried in vain
to summon enough courage to invite him in. I was no French chef, but I was decent enough to know he probably wouldn’t choke on my cooking. Still, my tongue was paralyzed.

  As he stood to leave, waving coolly before melting my heart with a crooked smile, the smoke detector wailed from inside and Granny burst out of the front door, coughing and waving her hand in front of her face as the bitter odor of burned almonds followed her.

  “Sorry.” Granny patted her chest and coughed loudly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, but I got a little busy in the kitchen and didn’t realize I burned the almonds black.”

  “Are you alright?” I grabbed the front door and got to work pumping the door open and shut to fan out the smoke.

  “Nothing that a nice picnic dinner and open windows won’t clear up.” Granny stood from where she’d been leaned over, her hands bracing her arms against her knees. “You must be the new temporary neighbor, Mick.”

  I leaned over to whisper behind the back of her hand. “Nick, Granny.”

  “Potato, potahto.” Granny’s eyes moved back to Nick. “Did Maren ask if you’re staying for dinner?”

  Nick’s eyes slid over to mine and I felt a buzz of connection between us. “No, she didn’t.”

  Granny harrumphed. “Then consider this your invite. Come in and make yourself at home.”

  3

  The whole way to the kitchen, my heart did a happy dance and my smile threatened to split my face. Granny was anything but subtle, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Sometimes, we all needed a little old-fashioned bluntness.

  “You’re sure I’m not imposing?”

  “Nope.” Granny herded Nick down the hallway. “Maren always cooks like she’s going to feed an entire lineup of sumo wrestlers and between you and me, I’m sick of leftovers.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Since when? You told me you liked leftovers, ‘cause then you didn’t have to cook every meal.”

  “Since now.” Granny batted her hand at being called out. “Besides, our guest here looks like he’s going to fall asleep on his feet. He might as well have a meal before he goes home and zonks out.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Nick rubbed a hand down his face.

  “Yeah. Those bags under your eyes are the size of Santa’s sack at Christmas,” Granny said. “When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”

  “Does peanut butter and jelly count?” Nick was following close enough I caught a whiff of his musky cologne.

  Come to Maren.

  Granny wrinkled her nose. “If you’re in kindergarten.”

  “In that case, it’s been awhile,” Nick admitted.

  “That’s what I thought.” Granny pointed in the direction of the guest bath and shooed Nick out of the kitchen. “You go wash up while Maren and I finish.”

  Nick agreed and as he left, I hurried to put the last of dinner together. I could hear the faucet singing and Nick’s low humming through the walls as he washed his hands. His voice alone gave a dimension to our home that we hadn’t had for quite awhile. Gramps had passed away right before I moved in with my parents to help Granny keep up with the place, but eventually, my own parents had retired from country living when I was old enough to run the farm with Granny, who swore up and down we’d have to kill her to get her to leave. Though the work was relentless and backbreaking, I’d mostly enjoyed the life I’d chosen, aside from the fact that it was somewhat isolating. Having Nick close by was a reminder that I had dreams of a family of my own. Someday.

  I opened the oven to investigate Granny’s error and nearly gagged on the acrid smell of smoldering almonds. Picking up the tray with a hot pad, I took them out back and tossed them on the compost pile.

  Granny smirked as I walked back inside, entirely too pleased with herself. “Good thing I came out when I did. You would have watched him walk away if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Yes. Thank the heavens that my nosey grandmother knows how to be pushy.” I glanced uneasily over my shoulder, making sure Nick wasn’t walking in on our conversation. I lowered my tone to be safe. “It’s not like I need your help, anyway. I’m a big girl and can let a guy know I’m interested if I want.”

  “Ha! Sure you can. I heard you out there on the porch and it was painful.”

  I stopped in the middle of dousing the pan with soapy water. “Tell me you weren’t eavesdropping.”

  Granny shrugged, looking innocent as she counted out napkins. “I’m not sure what you mean..”

  “The almonds. That’s why they’re charred black. You were probably pressing your ear to the door instead of watching the oven. Or maybe, you ruined them on purpose so you’d have a reason to come out. You did, didn’t you?”

  Granny defiantly tilted up her chin. “It was for a worthy cause.”

  “You know what they say about worthy causes.”

  Granny and I both spun around to find Nick coming toward us with his hands on his hips. He stopped in the doorway, giving me another opportunity to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders. I wasn’t sure how much he’d heard, but he looked innocent enough.

  “No,” I said. “What do they say?”

  “That it leaves you better than you were before,” he answered.

  “Oh, in this case, this worthy cause would definitely leave Maren better off,” Granny mumbled.

  I pulled out another baking sheet to redo the almonds and shot Granny a look that made it clear she wasn't to utter another syllable. If she was going to embarrass me, I wouldn't be above threatening a nursing home. She got the message.

  “We’re almost ready. I hope you like pork chops, mashed potatoes, and salad.”

  “Does the sun rise in the east?” Nick moved to the lemonade pitcher that was on the counter near where I was working. Even standing close messed with my already jumbled brainwaves.

  Heaven help me.

  I stole a glance up at him. “Last time I checked.”

  “Then yes.” He raised the lemonade and glasses. “Where do you want me to put these?”

  “Out back in the gazebo. But don’t feel like you need to help,” I said. “You’re our guest.”

  “Please.” Nick feigned sass with a roll of his gorgeous eyes. “I might be totally clueless when it comes to deciphering why a hen attacks or the art of bribing cows back into their paddock, but my mom made sure I knew how to help at dinner.”

  “And we appreciate it.” Granny stacked the plates, silverware, and napkins and grabbed Nick by the arm, escorting him to the back door. Nick went without argument and Granny followed, but ducked back into the kitchen. “You run upstairs and change out of those sloppy clothes. And good grief, haven’t you heard of deodorant?”

  Dying of embarrassment would have been a luxury. Instead, I thanked her for buying me a precious few minutes and sprinted to my room, skipping the stairs two at a time. Ripping my shirt off, I grabbed a flowy cotton blouse that went well with anything, including the last pair of semi-clean ripped work jeans I was wearing. I liberally applied deodorant under each arm—twice for good measure—and spritzed myself with an ancient bottle of perfume I only ever used for church before ripping a brush through my hair. I winced as it snagged on a tangle, but I didn’t care. Looking decent was worth the bald spot. Checking my appearance in the mirror, I frowned. It wasn’t that I was ugly, but there was definitely a plainness to me. A coat of mascara would have gone a long way, but Nick had already seen me without makeup and it hadn’t fazed him, so I was going to keep my head high and be a strong, modern woman who didn’t need to hide behind makeup to feel confident.

  Except maybe for some lip gloss.

  I found an ancient tube of gloss hidden between my socks and smeared it on, trying not to gag. Watermelon flavored? More like rotten watermelon peels. But, it made my lips look a little more kissable, so I didn’t wipe it off with the back of my hand. Satisfied my efforts were an improvement, I dashed to the stairs, stumbling and sliding down the last four on my back. I might have broken my tailbone as I t
hudded down the steps, but I managed to keep the almonds from burning.

  Nick peeked in from the back door. “Did you hear something?”

  “Me? No. It’s an old house. It groans and creaks because it’s settling.”

  That was an unbelievable lie if I ever told one.

  I focused on the salad but could feel his eyes roving over me. “You look nice.”

  With one appreciative look, he made me feel good enough to walk the Paris runway. I picked up the pork chops and salad and schooled my smile. “Thanks. I figured it would be rude for me to eat in my grubby work clothes.”

  “Maren, you’d look good if you were wearing a burlap sack.”

  As I steadied myself against the counter, Nick took the salad from my hands. His fingertips brushed against my skin and while a rash of goosebumps covered every square inch of my body, my knees turned helplessly noodly. I was in big trouble.

  If Nick noticed my reaction to his touch, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he peered out the window to where Granny was dragging another chair over to the table under the gazebo. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. I’m an open book.”

  “It’s more about your grandma, I guess.”

  I kept my smile locked in place, even while my heart took an express trip down to my toes. What had Granny done now? “Oh, no. I’m going to apologize right now for her behavior. I think she’s reached the age where any filter she used to have has disintegrated and stuff literally falls out of her mouth.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t think it was inappropriate.”

  “You don’t have to shield me. I’ve heard many horrifying things from her.”

  Nick’s eyes dropped to the floor. “That’s just it. It was about you, but I don’t know if it’s something you want her saying.”

  “Oh.” A nervous, giggling sound fluttered out. “Let me guess. She brought up my dating life.”

  “She said you’re single and ready to mingle.”

  I groaned. Granny…that woman. “I suppose the cat’s out of the bag. If you didn’t already know my deep, dark secret, I’m single. Like, painfully, utterly, and absolutely unattached.”