The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  “…But I had a feeling that you might find something like this a little more acceptable,” Jon murmured shyly, reaching for her other hand as they sat in the grass together. He slipped a hammered platinum band onto her ring that had a deeply inset diamond held with six prongs. It was stunning in an ancient, tribal way.

  “Gifstu mér,” he entreated softly, kissing it into place. “We can figure out everything together. I promise you.”

  “How do I say ‘yes’ in Icelandic?”

  Jon leaned forward and kissed her.

  “Just like that, ástin mín.”

  Mama & my lovely readers—I think I owe you more than an article and a phone call. There is so much to share, so much to tell you, and not enough words to describe what falling in love feels like.

  I am in love.

  Ikea is amazing - and I have found my true home.

  I will stay here in Iceland, developing my blog into a printed travel guide of the area in an effort to help you find the magic of this land like I did. There is something in the air that makes you feel alive, and I cannot imagine leaving any of this world behind. Please stay tuned as I find out what it’s like to learn how to become a wife, friend, lover, and citizen.

  Life is about to get interesting!

  Yours truly,

  Penny Pincher (soon-to-be-Ikea)

  Chapter 8

  Ginny Sterling is a Texas transplant living in Kentucky. She spends her free time (Ha!) writing, quilting, and spending time with her husband and two children. Ginny can be reached on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or via email at GinnySterlingBooks@gmail.com

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  To All Characters I’ve Killed Before by Jessie Cal

  Blurb

  This was it. Victorine had finally gone from a thriller author to a complete mental case. Her characters always spoke to her, but not while literally standing in her apartment.

  She didn’t know how her heartthrob hero materialized in real life, but he needed to stop distracting her so she could focus on killing his girlfriend and finishing her novel.

  But maybe an impromptu road trip with her hunky neighbor Charles would sort her out. He was a therapist, after all. But what was more dangerous than a rogue fictional man?

  A real one.

  Chapter 1

  Most people wouldn’t choose the roof of their five-story building as a place of inspiration, but Victorine Leesky wasn’t like most people.

  As a New York Times best-selling author, she prided herself in being creative with all her thriller books. But this one, out of all the rest, needed to be her best one yet. She was being nominated for a Platinum Pen—the highest award for a thriller writer. All she needed to do was figure out how to kill Emily, her female character, and publish her book before the deadline.

  She jumped up on the ledge and closed her eyes, feeling the icy wind brush against her short brown hair and fair skin. The sound of cars and motorcycles rushing by on the street below helped her to visualize what it would be like if Emily got hit by a car.

  No.

  Too cliché.

  She needed more tension.

  She took a deep breath and focused on the different sounds from a construction site nearby. Could something fall on her?

  “Let me guess…” A young woman came from behind, chewing her gum so loudly, it threw Victorine off her train of thought. Not that it was going anywhere, anyway. “You’re still not done with the book?”

  Victorine opened her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. Jumping down from the ledge, she spotted Tessa pulling her long black hair in a high ponytail before caressing her pregnant belly.

  “Why do you bother having a phone if it’s never on you?” Tessa grumbled, out of breath. “How do you even manage to be away from it?” It was obviously a rhetorical question. Tessa worked in the marketing department at the publishing company with Anne-Marie, Victorine’s sister. And she couldn’t go one day without checking social media.

  “I don’t like being bothered when I’m meditating,” Victorine grumbled, only to get a moody glare from Tessa.

  “You know who else doesn’t like being bothered? This guy!” She pointed to her belly. “I don’t know why people say being pregnant is wonderful. Is that some sick prank from one mother to another? It’s gotta be. And feeling the baby kick is not amazing. It’s weird, and it freaks me out.”

  “You have such a glow when you talk about your pregnancy,” Victorine teased drily, leaning back against the ledge.

  “You want a suggestion on how to kill your character?” Tessa said, making a huge bubble out of her gum then popping it. “Get her to mess with a hormonal pregnant woman. Fatal result, guaranteed.”

  When Tessa popped her gum again, Victorine cringed, then turned toward the crowded street to avoid the sound.

  “So, what’s going on?” Tessa came to stand next to Victorine. “Cutting this close to the deadline isn’t like you.”

  Victorine stuck out her hand in front of Tessa’s face. “Spit it out.”

  “You’re kidding—”

  “Now.”

  Tessa spit the gum into Victorine’s hand, and she threw it over the edge. “I can’t seem to figure out how to kill Emily,” Victorine said as if she hadn’t just thrown a huge piece of gum on passersby. “This has never happened to me before.” Maybe the pressure of the writer’s award was looming over her head and creating a mental block? It had to be.

  “Why does she have to die at all?” Tessa asked.

  “Because it’s a thriller.”

  “Then why not kill someone else?”

  Victorine rolled her eyes. Clearly, she was talking to the wrong person about this. “She just has to die, okay.”

  “Fine. Either way, I just came to let you know that your sister will be out of the office for a week. She was assigned to a writing retreat.”

  “A writing retreat?” Victorine echoed. “When did she start writing?”

  “She hasn’t,” Tessa said. “She’s there to meet an author. Well, more like persuade him. Either way, it’s not as good as it sounds. She’ll fill you in later. Anyway, our boss lady says you may have to email the manuscript this time since Anne-Marie will be away and your manuscript is due in a week.”

  “I don’t send my manuscripts through email, you know that.” Victorine didn’t even own a computer. She wrote all of her books on the typewriter and handed the only copy of her manuscript to Anne-Marie, who worked for her publisher. “And no one gets my first draft before my sister.”

  “There’s gotta be a parking spot available!” a man’s voice rang with irritation from across the roof and Tessa turned around. “I’ll take two blocks away if that’s the best you can do.”

  “Who’s that?” Tessa asked.

  Victorine didn’t have to turn around to recognize her neighbor’s voice. Charles was the only other person who ever came up to the roof as often as she did. “My neighbor. He doesn’t get good reception in his apartment.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He only comes up here to talk on the phone.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want his wife to hear?”

  “He lives by himself.”

  “Then maybe he’s looking for an opportunity to talk to you.” Tessa bumped her hip on Victorine’s side, and she snorted.

  “Nonsense.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Victorine looked at Tessa. “Because he’s a therapist, which means he can sense troubled minds from a mile away. So, no. I don’t think he would hang around, hoping to st
rike a conversation with a woman who stands on a ledge as part of her research.”

  “Have you ever talked?”

  “One time.” Victorine glanced at him. His dirty blond hair was buzzed down again, and his light sweater hugged his frame just right.

  “And what happened?” Tessa pressed.

  “Nothing.” Victorine looked away from Charles and back to Tessa. “He asked if I needed any help, and I just told him it was for a book I was writing. He never bothered me again.”

  “Bothered?” Tessa’s mouth dropped. “A hunky guy like that strikes up a conversation and it’s a bother to you?”

  “Oh, please.” Victorine rolled her eyes. “He probably thought I was going to jump off and wanted to be a good Samaritan.”

  “Well, you seem to know a lot about this good Samaritan,” Tessa teased. “Just saying.”

  “I observe people so I can write about them,” Victorine explained. “But that doesn’t mean I know everything. He could still be a serial killer, keeping his victims in a storage unit...” Victorine’s eyes widened with sudden clarity, then her mouth dropped open. “Oh my goodness, that’s it!”

  “What?”

  “Of course…”

  “What?” Tessa asked again. “Earth to Victorine!”

  Victorine looked at Tessa with an excited grin. “I know why I haven’t been able to kill Emily!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not about Emily at all.” She chuckled as if it should’ve been obvious. “It’s about the killer! I gotta go.”

  “Where?”

  Victorine was already headed toward the staircase. “Tell Anne-Marie the book will be ready this week!”

  Chapter 2

  At the children’s care facility, Victorine spotted eight-year-old Ari jumping on her bed by the window, watching the latest football highlights on TV. Ari was Michelle’s sister. As for Michelle, she was Victorine’s foster sister along with Faye, Anne-Marie, and Judy. The five of them had lived in the same foster home for years, and had been part of each other’s lives ever since.

  “Aunt Vicky!” Ari cheered as Victorine finally walked in, holding a teddy bear hugging a stuffed football. “Is that for me?”

  “That depends. Have you been behaving?” Victorine asked, and Ari’s face twisted in disgust. “That’s my girl.” She handed Ari the stuffed animal and watched as her face lit up.

  “Thank you, Aunt Vicky.” Ari gave Victorine a tight hug.

  “You’re welcome, gremlin.” Victorine kissed the top of her head then sat next to her on the bed. “So, what should we name him?”

  “It’s not a he…” Ari corrected, opening the bear’s legs. “See, there’s nothing there.”

  Victorine’s eyes widened in surprise. “Does Michelle know about your newfound knowledge?”

  Ari giggled, and Victorine’s eyes darted toward the nurse who had walked in a minute ago.

  “She found a male baby doll in the donated pile of toys,” the nurse explained. “It peed, so your sister had to explain what it was.”

  Ari giggled again, and Victorine chuckled. She would’ve paid to have seen Michelle get through that conversation. Michelle was the most conservative out of all of the girls. Even though Victorine hadn’t been on a date in months, her books had more than their share of spice.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Victorine asked the nurse as she flushed Ari’s IV. “Hypothetically speaking… as a nurse, have you ever thought about killing someone?”

  The nurse’s eyes widened in horror.

  “It’s for a book,” Ari explained with another giggle. “My auntie is an author. Isn’t that right, Aunt Vicky?”

  “This is not the place to be talking about death,” the nurse grumbled as she finished with the IV and headed toward the door.

  “Maybe I can help?” Ari looked up at Victorine with an eager spark in her brown eyes. “Are you still writing about Daniel?”

  It warmed her heart how Ari remembered her character’s names without even a second thought. “No, Daniel is fine. Emily is the one in a little bit of trouble right now. I just need to figure out where to go from there.”

  “He saves her and she marries him,” Ari says like it should’ve been obvious, and Victorine chuckled.

  “All right, Miss Happy-Ending… What book am I reading to you today?” Victorine leaned back on the bed as Ari reached for a book on the nightstand. The Prince and His Bride, again. Victorine lost count of how many times she read that one, but she couldn’t bear to disappoint those big brown eyes.

  “You know these cheesy love stories make me gag, right?”

  Ari giggled. “That’s what makes it funny.”

  “Ah, I’m glad that amuses you.” Next time, instead of a teddy bear, maybe Victorine should bring her a new book. As she opened the cover, Ari snuggled into her arms.

  “Do any of your characters have a rare blood disease like me?” Ari asked, her tone already tired from the meds the nurse had dosed her with.

  “No, they don’t.”

  She looked up and met Victorine’s eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t write about superheroes. And you, little missy...” She poked Ari’s nose. “Are a superhero. You got that?”

  Ari nodded then shifted her gaze back to the book. “Can you make the Prince have that funny accent, again?”

  “Sure.” When Ari snuggled further into her arms, Victorine knew she would read that book for the rest of her life if Ari wanted her to. “Anything you want.”

  After spending hours staring at her typewriter, unable to think of a good enough sentence to start the new chapter, Victorine decided she needed some inspiration.

  Grabbing a notebook and pen, she sat on the sofa and pressed play to continue watching where she left off of her favorite criminal show.

  Fifteen minutes into the episode, she had already handwritten two pages of ideas in her notebook. Her mental juices were finally flowing, the only problem was... Emily kept trying to survive. She was quite the fighter. People never gave blondes much credit, but Emily was as strong as she was smart. She would not go down without a fight, and the more Victorine wrote, the more Emily resisted.

  Victorine paused her notes and stared at the scribbled paper as if staring at a picture of Emily. She smiled, feeling a sense of pride toward Emily with her strong nature. Though Emily was certain to die, Victorine couldn’t write her off like she had done previous characters. Emily deserved better.

  Victorine shifted her attention back to the show for the reveal of the killer. Her pen hovering eagerly over the page, feeling the buildup of inspiration slowly bubbling up inside. But then the lights went out and the TV turned off, leaving Victorine sitting in the dark with the same mental block as before.

  Oh. No, no, no.

  She jumped to her feet and went to the pantry in search of a flashlight. She hadn’t been able to write a decent sentence for days, and now that she finally got going, she would not allow anything to suck her back into the mental rut she’d been struggling with.

  No way. Not again.

  Grabbing the flashlight, she clicked it on and went to check on her fuse box. She flipped a few of the switches but it made no difference. Only the light from the busy street reflected on her ceiling.

  She let out a long sigh, hating how often the power was cut off in her building. Normally she didn’t mind because she would have a candle burning and her typewriter ferociously working. But it wasn’t one of those nights, and her only source of inspiration was the TV, which meant she needed it back on sooner rather than later.

  She slipped into her coat and headed up to the roof. As soon as she stepped outside, the icy cold wind hit her in the face and she wrapped her coat tighter around her thin body. She looked around, pointing the flashlight as she searched for the metal box. She’d seen the electrician here last time messing with it.

  There it is!

  She rushed to the box and wasn’t surprised to find the lock missing. There
were so many problems in that old building, certainly a missing lock hadn’t become a priority.

  She held the flashlight between her teeth and opened the door to have a better look.

  “What are you doing?” a deep voice called out from behind her, and she turned around, flashing the blinding light in Charles’ eyes.

  “Oh, sorry.” She grabbed the flashlight and pointed back into the metal box. “I’m just trying to get the power working.”

  “The power is out again?” he asked, shoving his cell into his back pocket. “Wait, I thought you were a writer, not an electrician.”

  “How do you know what I do for a living?” she asked without bothering to look back. The sooner she got the power going, the sooner she could go back to finishing her book.

  “My secretary is obsessed with your books,” he said, coming to look over her shoulder. “Now, please tell me you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ll have you know…” She scanned through the labels until she found a red switch. “My last character was an electrician, so... I’ve done a lot of research.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She hooked her finger on the switch then looked at him. “I never kid about research.” She flipped it on and a bright spark shot off like a firework, sending a current of electricity up her arm. Her back hit the concrete floor, as did her head. She grimaced as the throbbing pain spread around her skull. She closed her eyes as the tingly sensation traveled up her arms and down her spine.

  Ouch.

  By the time she opened her eyes, Charles’ deep blues were hovering over her. “Are you okay?” he asked, holding her head. “Victorine?”

  “I’m good.” She winced as she tried to sit up.

  “Easy now.” He pulled her up gently then held her steady as her head began to spin. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”