The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  Her reflection in the full-length mirror was a shock. Reality forced its way back inside her distracted thoughts like a sledgehammer.

  What am I doing?

  She smoothed her hands along her sides, feeling the dress against her fingertips as her thoughts twisted to make sense of the woman in the mirror. Glowing in a wedding gown—again. Only this time it was a lie, and all at once, it felt sickeningly wrong. The idea that she could fight her past by ridiculing Denver's wedding ceremony had filled her with a buzz of energy. Only now it fizzled away, leaving her with the truth of what she was about to do. Panic expanded from deep inside, pressing against her ribs until she feared she'd scream. She took a deep breath and let it out, a steady stream of air through her puckered, shining lips. It worked to calm her hands, but her eyes were still terrified, shrieking their protest.

  I can't do this—I have to find Denver.

  Music started up from outside, a live band with a beautiful melody. She could pick out a guitar, violin, and gentle drumbeat among guests’ voices rising in the jovial atmosphere.

  She resisted chewing on her perfectly painted lip and opened the door a crack, peering out at what she could see of the party. The room she was in had been positioned to be outside the guests' range of vision, allowing her a grand entrance. Only now, there was no way for her to see what was going on.

  She took a cautious step into the hall, peering around the corner to glimpse what she could of the party, hoping somehow to catch Denver's eye. But there was no sight of him.

  A man appeared, striding down the hall with his gaze downturned. Realizing it was her brother, Kevin, she took a quick step back, sinking into the open doorway, but it was too late. His eyes lifted and widened, his feet jerking to a stop under him. She didn't explain and closed the door quickly, staring back at it and feeling suddenly mortified. Kevin was never in view at his parties, what was he doing traipsing around?

  The handle turned slowly, and it inched open again, her little brother looking back at her with a thousand expressions battling for dominion on his face. "Talia?" he asked, staring so fixated at her that she couldn't speak.

  He closed the door behind him. "What's going on here?" His head shook with the question, as if he'd believed she were in fact getting married, and then had dismissed the thought straightway.

  Talia suddenly felt ill, the strength in her legs turning to a shivering weakness. "I—" She could see it in his eyes, the accusation that she was utterly mixed up. First, being left at the altar, then jumping into a marriage in a matter of weeks. How could she ever explain it in a way that didn't sound completely vile?

  "I'd only meant to help Denver out of a…predicament he found himself in." She twisted her hands together.

  Kevin's eyes grew larger. "So, you're actually getting married? Like, married. Today."

  Talia nodded back, not completely sure if she was, but not ready to share that turmoil with anyone either. If only she'd seen Denver.

  "Does it perhaps bother you that your family has no idea about any of this, and they've decided to join the wedding guests today? Mom, Dad, and Nana? Did you think about maybe warning them? Or me? C'mon, Talia, what's going on with you?"

  Talia's face was locked in an expression of horror, imagining her family sitting in the uncomfortable white chairs, gazing out at the water and the sunset as the band played.

  She wanted to disappear.

  "Why are they here?" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.

  Kevin tossed his hands in the air. "Because they're thinking of renewing their vows and this is a beautiful ceremony, a chance for them to see what I do. And Nana came along because she—I don't know—thought it sounded fun, maybe?" His voice came to a thundering halt, echoing in the high ceilings.

  Talia's hands came to her face, cooling palms on hot skin. Voices caught their attention, and they turned together, listening to a woman who was very nearly shouting, but Talia couldn't make out what she was saying. She passed Kevin and opened the door a crack.

  "But I didn't mean to push you away completely, Den. Promise. It's just that things went so fast, and I just wasn't sure."

  "Liz, it's my wedding day—"

  "Our wedding day."

  Talia inched the door open until she could see them. Denver and Liz. They stood facing each one another, holding hands. Liz moved in closer, clutching his hands to her chest and speaking so quietly that Talia couldn't make out what she was saying.

  Her stomach twisted in a painful lurch, and she wrapped her arm around her middle. The sight of them together was more devastating than she'd been prepared for. Without another thought, she dashed from the room, hoping to disappear before she was spotted.

  The attention of the guests was turned to the band, and she found her way to the back, escaping across a side plank used by the catering company and setup crew. A few heads turned, but she didn't look back, determined to leave the whole confusing, drama-drenched wedding behind her.

  What was even going on? Why did she think it would be a good idea to fake a wedding? Sure, maybe joking about it brought some relief to her tainted past, but actually doing it? She couldn't believe she let herself get so caught up in the idea, fully expecting to get away with it and be none the worse. Well, that definitely wasn't the case. Never had she expected the former fiancée to barge in and take the groom back. As for Denver, maybe he was fine with getting married to whoever ended up standing beside him.

  Talia had left her keys and purse on the yacht, so she continued past her car without stopping. There were only a few people in sight, but those that noticed her turned and stared. She didn't blame them; it did look like a textbook case of cold feet, even in her tennis shoes.

  Once she'd crossed the longest parking lot of her life, she felt slightly concealed behind an enormous hydrangea plant. It's white clusters of flowers provided a tiny bit of cover for her flowing gown. She scanned the area, noticing a man from across the parking lot casting her a glance as he walked away. Other than that, there was no one. The yacht was in full view, pressed against the dock, and beginning to glow in the low lights of evening.

  Her heart felt cracked, sore, and exposed. She'd have to go back eventually, but she wanted to wait until the guests were long gone. She wondered if the music would strike up the wedding march, leaving Denver and Liz to their wedding after all.

  She glanced around, glad that at least the small shopping strip she huddled near was deserted. It must not be a popular part of town, perhaps only during the coming and going of tourist vessels.

  A café sign flickered at the corner building, and she resigned herself to a long wait. She walked as unnoticeably as she could in a dress designed to stand out. The cafe doors were stiff, but she managed to pull one open wide enough to fit all her frills and tufts.

  "Well, well, now," a woman said. She appeared to abandon her original comment the moment their eyes met. Talia assumed her expression wasn't the radiating, new bride kind. "Over here, sweetheart." The woman ushered her to a private corner of the café just off the kitchen.

  "Thank you," Talia said. "I don't have any money on me, but I can get some in a few hours. Do you keep tabs?"

  "Nonsense." She waved an aging hand in front of them. "Just order what you like."

  Talia smiled, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. "I'll take a water, is all."

  "Late night breakfast? Got it." The woman scribbled on her notepad. "Bacon, eggs, hash browns, coffee, and water. Coming right up." She winked and returned to the kitchen.

  Talia grinned briefly before crossing her arms atop the table and resting her head on them. At the sound of sizzling, her stomach woke. She felt immensely grateful for the kindness of the waitress. Plus, she was an angel for not asking a single question. Talia planned on giving her the biggest tip she could manage, whatever cash she'd earned from her last event.

  With the sound of someone walking up to her bench, she was surprised at how quickly her food was ready. She sat up and couldn
't stifle a gasp.

  Denver stood next to her table in his tux, a twisted expression of embarrassment on his face. He settled in across from her in the booth, adjusting in the thick foam seat. "It smells good in here," he commented, gazing into her eyes as if this were code for something exponentially more meaningful.

  Talia tried to think of a response.

  "I—"

  "Here you are, miss." The waitress placed an enormous platter in front of them. It sizzled and steamed, with the savory aroma of an old-fashioned breakfast.

  "Oh, wow," Denver remarked, smiling back at her.

  The woman looked unsure of what her response should be. She glanced back at Talia before answering, "Anything for you, sir?"

  "The same, please." Denver's smile was for nothing as the woman stared him down critically.

  "Mm-hm," she muttered, leaving without touching her notepad.

  A quick smile lifted Talia's lips, but there were too many questions filling her head for it to stay long.

  "The guests should be cleared out in an hour," Denver said quietly. "I, uh…met your parents. And your grandmother. She was thrilled with the evening."

  His shoulders lifted in a quick laugh, and Talia surprised herself by laughing with him, admiring her Nana's love of life. But the feeling flitted away quickly, and she couldn't wait any longer for him to explain.

  "Are you and Liz setting another date for the wedding, then?" She tried to keep a bit of cheer in her voice, but her tone sounded dull.

  Denver pulled on the collar of his tux, straightening the already perfect lines. "Well, no, actually. There's no wedding." His gaze fell to the tabletop. "I'm not in love with Liz."

  The waitress reappeared with another plate of food, just as glorious as the first, and set it on the table without comment.

  "Thank you," Denver said, directing it at her retreating back. By the time he'd turned back to Talia, she began to process what he was saying. The idea that he wasn't going to marry Liz trickled through her thoughts like a cool breeze, calming her unease.

  He shook some salt over the hot meal. "You see, there's this girl I'd really love to know better. She's incredible at sumo wrestling and stringing lights. And she's the only person I've ever met who likes those gross olives." His gaze flickered up to meet hers, and a gentle smile pulled at his mouth. "She has a few fears, but they only manage to transform her into something so adorable I can't help but love every one of them. But I've never even asked her out, and it just seems a little weird to get married before going on a date. What do you think?"

  He props his hands under his chin, waiting for her response with a half-teasing smile on his face.

  Talia admired him openly with her heart throbbing. Her lips lifted in a gentle smile. "I'd have to agree that a date is the minimum requirement for getting to know someone." She grinned and stabbed an egg with a strip of bacon, shoving it in her mouth.

  Denver took a few bites of his food, fitting huge portions in at a time. Apparently, Talia wasn't the only one who'd forgotten about eating that day. In a few minutes, he'd cleaned his plate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and pulled out his phone. "That's great to hear because I've got these plane tickets for this, uh, vacation that I'm suddenly not taking with someone."

  He winked at her, holding his phone up so she could see. "Maybe you'd be interested in making it into a date?"

  Talia squinted, leaning forward and recognizing the flight information, with the word Ireland standing out in bold. Her gaze lifted back to his, and the room around them seemed to hush.

  "Ireland?" she whispered, touched at the thought, regardless of whether it was a fake wedding or not. He planned to take her to Ireland on their honeymoon.

  "Well, yeah." A tinge of red rushed into his cheeks. "I mean, you'd get the honeymoon suite all to yourself, of course. But if you don't' mind me bummin' around at the same hotel?"

  He stretched his hand halfway across the table and left it there, looking into her eyes. "We could get something to eat or catch a movie, maybe visit some local ruins." He shrugged. "Take a horseback ride through the farmland of Galway or hike through the Bluestack Mountains?"

  Talia blinked back tears and reached for his hand, holding it for a moment before answering. Not sure if she could trust her voice, she let her eyes become distracted by the way he held her hand, caressing the edges of her skin in a delicate trace.

  "I'd love to go out with you, Denver," she finally answered, a grin splitting across her face. "And not just because you're taking me to Ireland…although that doesn't hurt."

  He laughed, squeezing her hand. "I thought it wouldn't."

  Denver tossed a few bills on the table, and Talia smiled when she saw Benjamin Franklin on each one.

  "Our wedding should be about over by now," Denver winked. "Should we head back and get changed?" He stood and held a hand out for her.

  The gesture was charming, and surprisingly needed, as Talia tried to wriggle the huge skirt from her seat. "Thank you," she said, getting to her feet, ready to pull her hand away. But Denver held it tightly, tugging her closer and smiling down at her face adoringly.

  It was a look that needed no translation, and her knees began to tremble again, although this time she didn’t mind. She stood on the toes of her tennis shoes and brought her hands to his neck, reveling in the feeling of his arms as they slid around her waist. His kiss settled on her lips, and her eyes closed as she felt more comfortable in his arms than she could have imagined. She was lost in the way he moved, tracing her jawline tenderly, touching her hair. His every caress, a compliment.

  Gently, the moment ended and she stepped back, although the feeling still existed in his tranquil gaze. They left the restaurant and his hand caught hers, wrapping it in warmth. A rush of excitement filled her chest as she imagined the adventure they'll soon be on. She’ll look forward to every second they'll be together, nearly giddy to learn everything there is to know about Denver Caldon. About his talents and childhood, his favorites and quirks. She's giddy again just thinking about it.

  And Ireland… there's that too.

  The End.

  The Chef by Britney Evans

  Chapter 1

  Mary

  “Don’t forget your homework assignments.” I had a better chance of the students hearing me if I spoke into a black hole.

  The bell rang, and the room erupted into a tornado. Papers were stuffed into backpacks, whispers exchanged between friends, and tennis shoes squeaked across the tiled floor. Everyone was rushing to get out as fast as possible.

  I didn’t blame them. Home Economics wasn’t liked when I went to high school. In fact, I wasn’t a fan either. The teacher was mostly to blame. She was older than my grandmother and stuck doing things that seemed prehistoric.

  I tried to be modern, but even I knew some techniques in the kitchen were older than the hills. The kids weren’t interested. They wanted to be on their cell phones and using whatever the latest app was in order to figure out a quicker, easier way to do the same thing.

  When the school year started, I promised each class that we’d do something fun at the end of the year. All they had to do was stick with me throughout the year and muddle through the boring subjects.

  Nobody enjoyed talking about budgets or knowing which chemicals work best with which stains. I was determined to teach my students the life skills they would use throughout their lives. The problem was, many of them didn’t think they needed to know these things. Between their parents doing everything for them and the internet videos showing them how to do something, they had all the education they needed.

  I sighed to myself as I collected the papers off of my desk. It wasn’t the most disastrous of Mondays, but it hadn’t gone as well as I had hoped. With the end of the school year only four months away, the fun project needed to start soon if we had any chance of finishing it before the last day.

  The bell rang again, and I took a seat at my desk. Normally, I looked forward to my planning period.
It gave me a chance to catch up on grading or figure out what to do with the rest of the day or even the week.

  Today, I dreaded opening up my grade book. Several students were behind, and a few were in danger of failing. Ever since the school board voted to require students to take my class, there had been plenty of demands that I allow the most skilled football players, or those students who’d already landed full ride scholarships for science or technology, to pass with ease .

  None of that worked in my class. Each student would receive the grade they earned. If they didn’t do the work, their grade would reflect that.

  Thankfully, I had a few key members on the school board behind me. No matter how many angry letters I got from parents or coaches, none of them would be pushed into changing their mind. It felt good to have them behind me.

  My hope was everyone, parents included, would thank me later. While the quarterback might not need to know how to boil water right now, I’d bet money he might want to boil top ramen at some point in his life or have a hard-boiled egg.

  I was always amazed by how little my students knew, but I reminded myself they were young. Most had parents at home that would make them three meals a day. My childhood was a little different—and at no fault of my mother’s.

  When my father died, I was only six years old. I barely remember him now, but from what I recall, he was a wonderful man. His death sent my mother in a tailspin. She was lost without the love of her life. The bills fell solely on her shoulders and she was responsible for keeping a roof over two little heads. Their bellies didn’t always get stuffed with sweet treats, but my sister and I never went hungry.

  This career path was more than wanting to teach the youth of this country how to take care of themselves. It came from a place deep down where I wished I had done more as a kid. When I was older, I was able to pitch in and help around the house or get a job. The skills my mother taught me as a kid stayed with me.