Love Everlasting

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “Yeah, well, I slipped the guy a five and he sent me right through.”

  “Some security.”

  Liam grabbed me around the waist as he tossed the flowers onto my dressing table. I stared up at him dreamily, still mesmerized by his dashing good looks. It had been two years since Annie Get Your Gun, and we were still madly in love. And as icing on the cake, I had landed a Broadway show. I was only in the chorus, but still, it was a start.

  He kissed me, and I melted into his arms before chastising him for smearing my lipstick.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, not looking sorry in the least. “Do you mind if I take you out afterwards?”

  The cast was having a party, but I didn’t care. I preferred to celebrate my Broadway debut with Liam. “Not at all. I’ll see you at the stage door.”

  The opening was a huge success, and afterwards I let Liam lead me to our celebratory dinner. He took me to that same Italian restaurant in the West Village. It was quiet and romantic, and the wine was delicious. But the best part was the dessert.

  When they brought my tiramisu, I picked up my fork, ready to dig in. But I was forced to stop short by the blinding diamond that garnished the confection. I raised my hand to my mouth as I stared unbelievingly at the stone. When I looked up again, Liam was on his knee beside me.

  “Melissa, I love you so much,” he said as my tears began to flow. “And I would be honored if you would be my wife.”

  All words escaped me, save one. “Yes,” I said, and then pulled him back up to sit beside me and let him kiss me senseless. Just as he’d done at that first rehearsal two years ago, when I’d started to fall hopelessly in love with him.

  THE END

  ***

  The CPA’s Secret

  Jane Charles

  “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

  I looked up and concentrated on not letting my jaw drop. Of all people to be standing at my table, the last person I expected to see was Colin Parker, a CPA who worked one floor below me. Never had he spoken to me. Only a nod when we crossed paths in the elevator or the parking deck. And he was the one person who caused my heart to palpitate, though I knew absolutely nothing about him. But apparently a glance from those deep green eyes, or one-dimpled smile, was all the encouragement my pulse needed to increase to a cardiovascular workout level.

  I tried to scrape the peanut butter off the roof of my mouth before I spoke. As the task was near impossible, all I could manage to do was smile and gesture to the empty chair. Here was my one chance to make an impression and he probably thought I was a complete dolt.

  Colin settled into the seat and opened his own paper bag. I wondered if he was economizing or simply didn’t like the cafeteria food. I suspected it was to save money, though I could be completely wrong. I knew the CPA’s were paid well and could afford to eat lunch where they chose. Perhaps he was frugal, or had school loans to pay off, like I did.

  I glanced around the cafeteria because it was rude to stare at him and even ruder to read my book. In the three years I had been with the company, I’d never seen the cafeteria so full. Nobody had tried to sit with me in years. It wasn’t that I was anti-social or unliked—my coworkers understood that I preferred my lunch time quiet, with a book. Besides, I was the only one who ever wanted to sit in the sun. Each day my regular table awaited me. Small, round and just to the left of the window. I preferred the sunlight as I had none in my glass-enclosed office upstairs. If it were warmer, I would be outside on the terrace enjoying my one hour of freedom, my peanut butter sandwich, and my delicious romance novel. As it was, I wasn’t sure I would be able to concentrate on my book over the din of noise resonating in the cafeteria, or with the raven-haired accountant sitting across from me.

  Why were there so many people here? Is that why Colin Parker was at my table, lack of available seats? No, there were at least ten others in various parts of the room. Still, that didn’t explain the unusual crowd today.

  He took his time popping the top on his can of soda, placing the napkin on his lap and taking the chips and sandwich from their plastic bags. He might be hungry, but my appetite vanished the second he sat down, so I put what was left of my sandwich into the paper bag. The romance novel lay face down in front of me and I toyed with the idea of picking it back up.

  “I’m Colin Parker.”

  I smiled. “I know.”

  His eyebrow rose and my face heated. I cleared my throat then held out my hand. “Erica Roberts, acquisitions.”

  A small grin pulled at the side of his mouth, revealing a dimple on the left side. “I know,” he answered.

  I hated how my cheeks warmed at his confession.

  He must have decided it was the end of our conversation because he turned and opened a tax magazine. I didn’t know there were such things, but apparently it was quite interesting. Not once did Colin look back up at me while he ate his lunch. How disconcerting. My one chance to make an impression and all I could do was sip from my soda and watch him. Even my book was forgotten—the one I’d been desperate to get back to since I forced myself to close it at one in the morning. The hero and heroine had finally overcome all obstacles and were about to do the deed. I certainly couldn’t read those particular paragraphs sitting across from Colin Parker, of all people.

  Oh, God. There went my flaming cheeks again. I needed something else to think about other than my book and the gorgeous man across from me. I looked down at his magazine. Certainly something as boring as math would do the trick, if not put me to sleep.

  His long fingers read along the fine print. I couldn’t take my focus from the strong hands and neatly trimmed nails. And those long fingers. I pulled at the neck of my prim and proper cream-colored blouse to cool down. The hero in the novel had long fingers and I was reminded of how he used those fingers on the heroine. I needed to stop thinking about the novel and Colin’s hands. Heaven knew I would never experience what they may or may not be able to achieve.

  I turned my focus back to my book. Big mistake. The hero, with those darn fingers, was divesting the heroine of her corset. I couldn’t read more, not while I was sitting across the table from him. I shut the book, perhaps with a bit too much force, and picked up my drink. I sucked the last of the soda out through a straw.

  Colin looked at my book and back to me. His left eyebrow rose. Was that accusation or judgment I read in those deep green depths? “There’s nothing wrong with reading a romance novel,” I said.

  He raised both hands in defense. “I never said there was.”

  For some reason I felt judged. Or, perhaps it was because here was the man of my dreams—or at least he looked like what the man of my dreams would look like—sitting across from me at lunch and completely ignoring me. It was extremely frustrating.

  “Some of us like to let go, escape reality and enjoy a good story.”

  “I said I understand.” This time he chuckled and used those long fingers to brush a black curl off of his forehead. His hair had the natural body some women paid fortunes for, and he had eyelashes that I could only achieve with the help of Maybelline.

  “Good.” I folded my paper bag to save it for reuse tomorrow and placed it in my purse, along with my book. Picking up the now empty soda cup, I stood. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.” I walked away and tossed my garbage on the way to the door.

  Alone in the elevator, I slumped back against the wall with a sigh. No wonder I was still single.

  *

  My reflection stared back at me from the long mirror tucked in the back corner of my bedroom the next day. When had I become so dowdy? Was it the suits? No, the blouses. Just because a woman wore a tasteful, attractive suit, it didn’t mean she needed a puritanical blouse underneath. I was surprised Colin even noticed me at all yesterday.

  I shook my head. He hadn’t noticed me—he’d noticed the vacant seat next to me in the crowded cafeteria.

  Well, just in case I was given another opportunity today, I would be prepared. I threw
off the dark blue jacket and marched to my closet. I loved color—I bought color—but rarely had the nerve to wear it to the office. I didn’t like to be noticed.

  Today was different.

  I grabbed the dark lavender jacket to wear with my black, cut-just-above-the-knee, a-line skirt. As for the blouse, the white, chin-high one I was wearing came off and I grabbed the silky shell I purchased weeks ago. It was purple, lavender, yellow, green—almost every color under the rainbow—splashed onto the material as if a child had taken their paints and flung handfuls at a canvas. And it matched the jacket to perfection, with a scooped neckline that stopped just short of exposing anything beyond modest.

  With a deep breath, I slipped on my black pumps and wandered into the bathroom to decide what to do with my hair and makeup. Today, I heated the curling iron. I couldn’t remember the last time I attempted to curl my hair. It was so much easier to brush it and pull it away from my face. The sun streamed in through the window above the shower and I caught hints of red. Why couldn’t my hair be an interesting color like strawberry blonde or auburn? Instead, I was stuck with plain old brown, with just a hint of Boudreaux.

  An explicative flew out of my mouth when the curling iron singed my neck. Now I remembered why this evil device collected dust in my linen closet. Great, just what I needed. Here I was trying to make myself a bit more attractive and I ended up scaring myself. Well, I couldn’t leave my hair halfway done, so I did my best to finish the left side of my head before I tackled the makeup.

  I scrounged through my box of colors. Eyeshadow, eyeliner—those shouldn’t be too dangerous, unless I poked an eye out. If anything I was a wiz with mascara and I hadn’t come close to blinding myself since I was fourteen.

  When I was done, I studied myself in the mirror. I felt good. I wasn’t sure if I looked any better, but I felt better. Once again I wondered when I had slipped into the dull. It was something that must have happened over time, and certainly before my breakup with Neil. He didn’t like color, or a lot of makeup, or tall heels. A woman needed to be understated in the office and not bring attention to herself. Why had I ever listened to him?

  I shook the thoughts of my ex away, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door, determined not to give him another thought. Ever.

  *

  Disappointment washed over me as I stood just inside the cafeteria doors. The room wasn’t even half full. So much for Mr. CPA being forced to sit at my table again.

  A creature of habit, I made my way to my usual seat, placed my bag and my book down on the table and went for a soda. I would not let the situation get me down. I had my next romance novel after all and couldn’t wait to start it. It was the third in a series of six and I had finished the second one last night.

  To add to my daring of living life on the dangerous side, today I had added grape jelly to my peanut butter. A blob dropped onto the table when I bit into my sandwich. This was why I never ate jelly. At least it missed my blouse. Not that it would have been a noticeable stain on my multi-colored shell.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  I was so busy wiping up the jelly that I didn’t even hear him approach. What was he doing here today? He could sit almost anywhere.

  “No, no, not at all,” I stammered and felt ten times a fool.

  A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he sat in the chair across from me. Colin placed his tax magazine on the table and brought out a ham and cheese sandwich, baby carrots and a bag of chips. He said nothing further as he opened his magazine to a dog-eared page.

  Why did he choose to sit with me if he didn’t want to talk? There were plenty of tables where he might be alone. Then again, this was one of the few that received sunlight. Maybe all our coworkers were vampires, since this table was always empty.

  I bit back a chuckle and opened my book.

  “Is something funny?”

  I glanced up at Colin. “I was just wondering if I worked with a bunch of vampires. You’re the only other person who has ever ventured toward the sunny window.”

  He turned and looked around the room, his face serious and eyes worried. Colin’s brows scrunched and he leaned forward. “I’ve considered the same thing, which is why I’m over here with you. At least I know you’re not of their species.

  I leaned forward to match his whisper. “How do you know?”

  “You aren’t sparkling.” He followed his statement with a wink.

  “Excuse me?”

  He straightened and leaned back. “Come on, you must know Twilight. A vampire sparkles in the sun, everyone knows this.”

  My hand came up to cover my mouth before I laughed out loud. His statement was outrageous and so unexpected. Who would have ever thought Colin Parker, hottie of accounting, knew about Twilight.

  “I’m not in direct sunlight, so can you really be sure?”

  He looked at the top of my head and then studied the rest of my body in a downward fashion until the table blocked any further view. I heated under his gaze.

  “The sun provides a lovely halo against your auburn hair and warms your face. If you were a vampire, you would be sparkling.”

  I hastily took a drink of my soda. He noticed that my hair was auburn. Nobody had called it that in years so I assumed it had dulled with age. Not that twenty-six was exactly old, but it wasn’t sixteen either.

  “Though, I do believe one tried to get you.”

  He pointed to the mark on my neck. My hand went up to cover it in defense.

  “Elevator? I hear they are the most dangerous places to be caught.”

  A smile pulled at my lips and I dropped my hand. “Curling iron.”

  He tilted his head and studied the burn on my neck a bit closer. “I’m not so sure. That’s the same excuse my sister used on my mother. I’m not sure she believed it either.”

  My cheeks flamed. Was he suggesting it was a—oh my—it never occurred to me that it might look like I’d been… “No, really, it was a curling iron. This morning… “

  He laughed. “I know. I can tell the difference.”

  “How?” I eyed him with suspicion.

  “In my wayward high school youth there were times when the evidence of my affection was also blamed on the curling iron.” His fingers performed air quotes.

  The thought of Colin Parker’s lips on my neck brought another rush of heat to my cheeks. Goodness, I barely knew this man, but I wouldn’t mind his long fingers on me or his lips on my neck. What had gotten into me? I had never been this way before. I welcomed a quick kiss on the first date, but wouldn’t consider much beyond that until date five or six. This was only my second conversation with him and I was already considering the liberties I wanted him to take.

  Colin reached over and picked up my book.

  “Did you finish the other?”

  I was astounded. It wasn’t as if they looked very different.

  “How did you know?”

  “The cover—it’s different.” He held up the book to show me that the girl on this cover was facing forward with her hair blowing in the wind. “The last one was facing away from us.”

  Astounding. He was more observant than I realized.

  “Leigh Carlton,” he uttered the author’s name aloud.

  “This is her third book, which puts me in a bind.”

  He lay the book back down and took a bite of his sandwich, waiting for me to continue.

  “I discovered the author last week when I picked up a book that turned out to be the sixth in a series.”

  Colin nodded and chewed, his eyes not leaving me for a moment, as if I were imparting a deep secret. “Well, when I realized there were five books before that one I stopped reading and went to the store in the mall on the way home from work so I could read the others first.”

  A smile pulled at his lips. “You wanted to read them in order.”

  “I hate spoilers,” I said with a shrug. “The problem is, while I could find books one, two and three,” I held up the third novel for
emphasis. “I can’t find four or five.”

  “The bookstore didn’t carry them?” Worry marred his brow, which I found a bit odd. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I was sure I could order them online, I just hated to wait when I knew I would be ready for them before they arrived in the mail. An e-book would have been simple enough, but that would be a last resort. I liked having my books in book form.

  “There is a smaller shop close to my house that I visit on the weekends. I’m going there tomorrow. I would have stopped earlier in the week, but they close before I get home from work, except on Friday nights.”

  He relaxed against his chair back and toyed with his carrots. “I know someone who reads this particular author. I can see if they have the books so you can borrow them.”

  I couldn’t believe he would make such an offer, or that he would go to the effort for me. I almost jumped at the chance, mainly because it was another guaranteed conversation. But something held me back—I didn’t feel right making him go to all that trouble for me. “Thank you, but I think this is a series I want to own myself.”

  His smile grew wide, which surprised me. We were talking about a historical romance series, not War and Peace. This was one mysterious CPA.

  *

  Without an alarm to wake me, I slept until almost ten on Saturday morning. I would normally be up much earlier, but I couldn’t put my book down the night before. I should have paced myself better—now I was half way through the third book with no idea when or where I was going to get the next two. Hopefully the Tea Room would have them today.

  My stomach growled loudly, forcing me into action. I dressed for the day in a pair of faded blue jeans and a large, lemon yellow hoodie. I threw my hair up in a ponytail, washed my face, and ran out the door. With my latest reading material tucked in my messenger bag, I walked to the Tea Room. It was a quaint bookstore that catered to tea drinkers and avid readers. They sold wine in the evening, and carried both new and used books, often highlighting local authors, not that there were many. The Tea Room was my last chance at locating the books I needed before scouring the Internet for used copies.