Happily Ever After: Fractured Fairy Tale Anthology

by Dana Piazzi

  “Oh, Blue, I would be lost without you.”

  Snow stuck her finger under the bird, who used it like a perch. She brought the blue bird in front of her and scratched his chest. Snow saw his grey eyes watching her and felt something lift inside her.

  Chapter Thirteen – True Love

  “Lucas?” Snow whispered. The blue bird dipped his small head, making her gasp. Snow glanced at the crumpled note lying at her feet then gazed into the handsome grey eyes of her beloved. “True love’s kiss...”

  Snow leaned forward, closing her eyes, and tenderly kissed the blue bird. When a warm hand cupped her cheek, Snow gasped, pulling back. Her eyelids snapped open and she was looking into the handsome face of the man who had stolen her heart.

  “My one true love, Snow,” Lucas whispered, kissing her again.

  The End

  About the Author: Kim Stevens

  Kim Stevens lives in Australia with her pet, a baby gecko named George. She loves to read different genres and spends her free time writing mostly supernatural stories. She started writing in 2012, and would love to publish a novel. She aims to do that this year.

  Follow Kim Stevens on the following venues:

  Facebook

  Khloe and the Seven Dorks, By: Elaine White

  Chapter 1: Roped Into It

  So you guys all know me by now. I’m Khloe. I’m the weird girl who sits at her computer most of the day writing soppy romance stories and blogging about the epic weirdness that is my life. It probably won’t come as a surprise to any of you that my own love life doesn’t run even half as smoothly as the romances in my books.

  Nope. I’m that complicated girl who is ‘one of the guys’ and ‘the life of the party’, but who never actually has a life to speak of.

  But there is one part of my personal life that is interesting enough to share with you. I know it’s always been writing excerpts, random blog posts, and author stuff so far, but this one, I was told, is a story worth telling. It is, actually, a real life story of how my love life went from non-existent to magical in the space of one week.

  Yup, you read that right. One week.

  So here’s how it starts…

  I was roped into it. Totally and completely badgered and hassled until I gave in. I have seven of the nosiest friends you can imagine, and all of them were getting on my nerves, exactly one year and one week ago. We were sitting in a café, just around the corner from my apartment, when it all began.

  “You really need a life, Khlo. You don’t do anything but write and go on book tours. You don’t have any fun anymore.” My girlfriend, Ellie, complained, yet again.

  I’d heard the argument before, so I didn’t bother replying to her. Besides, I had a steamy mocha latte in my hands and some generous eye candy across the street where a group of gorgeous builders were renovating the old boutique shop. I was happy enough not to care about the conversation, until, once again, my name popped up.

  “…Khloe will never leave the apartment otherwise. Count me in.” Karen giggled to herself. “Speed dating is the perfect answer. We can finally get her into the land of the living,” she claimed. And immediately, I could feel my hands getting all sweaty and gross and my pulse speeding up.

  Speed dating? Seriously? There wasn’t anything I dreaded more. Except, maybe, actually having to go speed dating. Which was never going to happen.

  “Okay, hold your horses, girls. I’m not going speed dating,” I objected, like the sane person I am.

  “Well, it’s that or a blind date. Either way, you have to get laid sometime this year,” Libby insisted, as annoyingly single-minded as ever. But I loved her, really. Sometimes her single-mindedness paid off. Just not that day.

  “Lib, it’s June. I have a whole half year to get laid, and I’m really not that interested in it right now. I have a ton of work to do that is way more important than shaving my legs and primping my hair for a date that’s only going to go sour before we’ve even got to the main meal.” I tried to argue my way out of it, really I did. But if I’m honest, I had to admit that I hadn’t been to bed with a guy, even for some non-physical reason, in well over a year. Not that I cared. I was too busy getting all my characters in and out of trouble and then dunking them into more trouble later.

  I’d been on three book tours that year alone, and done four non-major public appearances. That was on top of releasing three new books, one a novella to fit between the other two, and celebrating my first book of the year getting on the New York Times Bestsellers list. I’d been a little busy to say the least. Not that my girlfriends cared, of course.

  “And who is it that turns the conversation sour before the main meal?” Ardelle asked, raising that wicked painted eyebrow of hers at me. “You, honey. Because all you do is talk about work.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Um, yeah, you do.” Divina laughed at me, holding her right hand out and counting on her fingers. “Since we got here, you’ve mentioned your new book, your book tour, why your dates never last, how desperately you need to get back home to finish writing, that you have your edits coming back as soon as your editor gets back into town next week...oh, and the new cover layout that you love, love, love.” She added a glare for effect when she was finished, as if I didn’t already know how crazy my own work schedule was. I decided to keep my mouth shut, just to save face.

  “Fine. I get the picture.”

  I put my lovely latte down and gazed over at the hunky men across the street. There was no escaping it. These girls were not going to get off my back until I gave in. And, between you and me, I was kind of lonely. It was all fine and well having a lot to do with my career, but I never had anyone to talk to who really got me, or what I did for a living.

  I had no one but my girls and an adorable, distracting Chinese Crested dog to bounce ideas off, to cry with when I wrote a sad scene, to notice me blushing and biting my lip when I wrote a steamy sex scene. There was no one really in my life that I could turn to when I most needed them. My girls all had lives of their own, some of them having kids and husbands to go home to. Me? I had a dog that couldn’t answer back and usually ran to the other side of the room whenever I shed a tear. A dog that, I kept reminding myself, I had to chase and capture if I wanted a real hug.

  “Okay, I give in,” I said, finally. I held my hands up and I did what I never, not in a million years, thought I would be doing that Sunday morning. “I will agree to date, on one condition.” I made my offer and waited to see how it would be taken.

  “Anything,” Joy beamed at me, as if this was the most exciting thing that had happened since Brangelina got together.

  “There are seven of you, and seven days until my editor gets back from her vacation. You get one guy, one night, one date, to convince me that I should be getting back out there.” I decided to go for it. They all looked at me as if I were crazy. Why would they do anything else? I was the hermit novelist who, when not writing, forgot to eat, sleep, pee, and drink because I was too engrossed with a book I was reading. Not really a social person. Are you getting that yet?

  Oh, and did I mention that I’m not exactly attractive? It took me a whole month posing for photos and rifling through them before I could pick one worthy enough to be on my book jacket. And I’m still not happy with it. But it’s a head shot, so it hides my ‘ample’ bust, which is the polite way of putting it, and my child-bearing hips, my stocky legs. And the love handles and bat wings that will not disappear no matter how much cardio or strength training I do in the gym. Which is not a lot.

  “Wait…back up the truck.” Ellie laughed and held both hands out to shut up everyone else. “Explain this to me. In detail,” she asked, looking like she was ready to jump up and go find a guy to set me up with in a millisecond if I repeated myself. I couldn’t help but laugh; she was adorable.

  “Each of you gets to set me up with one guy. He will get one night, and one date, to make an impression. So someone has to find a guy for me to go on a blind da
te with tomorrow night. He will have only tomorrow night to impress me. The next night, someone else’s choice gets a chance,” I explained my plan, thinking it the fairest thing to do. These girls were way too diverse and crazy to ever agree on one guy. “I’ll have my last date on Sunday. On Monday, if I’m not interested in any of the guys you’ve picked for me, I want your agreement to drop the dating topic for at least the rest of the year.”

  And there was my bargaining chip.

  I so desperately wanted some peace, without having to explain why I wasn’t dating and why it didn’t work with my schedule and the insane plot bunnies that kept badgering me at all hours of the night. I looked around at my girls; the friends I’d had since I showed up in my first year of high school. They all looked unsure, though I was pretty positive that Karen was already mentally rummaging through the guys she knew at the modelling agency, seeing who she could set me up with. It was hope, if nothing else.

  If they agreed, which I knew they would, I would get at least another six months of peace without having to answer questions about my non-existent love life. And I knew I would get them. I mean…I’d been single for over two years, since my career took off. There was no way that these girls were going to find Mr. Perfect in one week.

  No way.

  “We accept,” Libby answered for all the girls, who nodded their agreement. I let out a sigh of relief and managed to steer the topic to happier things, like the buff builder across the street about to remove his tight white vest.

  That sure got their attention.

  The Selection

  It turns out, picking the right guy for your bestie to go on a blind date with is a little trickier than the girls thought it would be. And no, how dare you suggest that I’m grinning as I write this. (No, I really am.) It was the best news, back then, when Joy told me that we needed to get together that Sunday night for drinks, to talk over what I was looking for in a guy.

  I agreed, only because they were actually daring to ask me. I’m picky; I’ll admit that. They knew it, too, so it was pretty brave of them to suggest even asking about it. I got dolled up in my best outfit, did my hair and nails, and left the apartment that night to meet them in the nearby club. We got a booth in the back corner where it was quiet and Ellie ordered the drinks.

  Big mistake. That girl can drink anyone under the table in less time than it takes her to apply her nail polish. The bartender flirted when I went with her to pick them up, giving me a wink that did absolutely nothing to the butterflies that Ellie continued to tell me were in my stomach, waiting to alert me to Mr. Perfect. I didn’t buy it, but I flashed a smile and grabbed the tray. My walk back to the table was a constant tightrope of wobbles as I tried to be graceful in my five inch heels.

  “So…height, weight, age, eye colour, career, hair, and living status,” Ellie said, as she took her seat. I had no clue what she was talking about until Joy explained.

  “What you’re looking for in those categories.” She winked, to let me know that Ellie had started the party without us. I had no doubt she would end it without us, too. She was always the first one in the club and the last one to leave. And not always alone, either.

  “Okay. My height or a little taller, not including in heels. Any weight; I don’t care particularly. Same goes for age,” I admitted, trying to think logically about it, to make sure I didn’t end up with someone who really wasn’t my type. But I didn’t think I had to worry about that. Karen was a model rep, Joy in the cosmetics business, and Ellie owned a nightclub of her own just on the outskirts of town. Arabella and Libby were both in the fashion business, and Ardelle owned her own home design magazine. Not generally careers where it was hard to find a hot man.

  “Obviously, he should be single with his own place or flat mates. No mummy’s boys who live at home with their parents; it makes things awkward. I don’t care about their job, as long as they have one. I’m not interested in subsidizing anyone, unless they are legitimately looking for work.” I had to think hard and fast and it was the best answer I could come up with. I knew that Karen liked to volunteer at the homeless shelters and youth centres, so I wanted to make sure she didn’t take this as a joke. Knowing her, she would try to set me up with some barely eighteen teenager still living with his mother who had no interest in working, just for giggles. I had a very hectic, serious life and my face was out there in the public eye. I didn’t want anyone trying to get a quick buck by dating me and selling my story because they had no other source of income. It had happened before. Thankfully, not to me, but to a good author friend of mine. It was not going to be this time around.

  “Anything else is up for grabs. I don’t care about hair, eyes, whatever,” I admitted. I was pretty open to whatever they could throw at me.

  “What about someone like him?” Ellie asked, pointing to the bartender. I presumed he was her target for the night from the way he winked at her and she smiled back.

  “Attractive, good job, and seems nice enough. But clearly a serial flirt likely to end up in your bed tonight.” I laughed, since I was happy to play this game for a while. Other than writing my new story, I had nothing all that important to do until my editor got back with my latest edits.

  “Him?” Libby joined in, waving to a gorgeous blond dancing with a girl in the middle of the dance floor. He winked back and turned his back on the girl he was with to grab his crotch, thrusting to the music in Libby’s direction. “Ew. Scratch that,” she said, giggling her way into her next sip of her cocktail.

  “Yeah. Definite no,” I agreed.

  The rest of the night pretty much went the same way. I approved or disapproved of the guys they pointed out and, in the end, they all claimed they knew the ‘perfect’ guy. But that was the problem. I thought about it all the way back to my apartment.

  I didn’t want a perfect guy.

  I wanted someone who I could come home to, complain to, bounce ideas off, snuggle up in front of the fire with. Someone who would appreciate Heathcliffe, my dog, and not moan whenever he jumped up on the bed at night. Someone who was more than just about the superficial that I seemed to be sounded with on a daily basis. Someone who wouldn’t care that I spent nearly forty to fifty hours a week online, promoting my stories and keeping my social media sites up to date. Because, as much as my friends loved me and my work, they had no idea the amount of effort and time that went into making a name for myself.

  I needed a guy who could get that. And I might have loved my friends to pieces, but I thought there was no chance in hell of any of them finding him for me.

  Chapter 2:

  Date #1 – Doc Murdoch Martinez

  I was a bag of nerves when Monday night came around and I sat on the bay window seat in my apartment, gazing down at the taxi below. According to Libby, the guy lived a block away and was a Paed’s doctor—you know, working with kids. That really appealed to me, so I was happy to spend an evening with him, especially when I knew there was zero chance of romance. I mean, logically, doctors don’t get much time for relationships. Even if I liked him enough to see him again, how much time would we get together each year? Put together, probably less time than the month it took me to write my last novel. Maybe not even that much.

  Libby told me that we were going to dinner at this little seaside restaurant, so I’d dressed the part. I wore my flats, tied my hair up, put on a nice tight dress that wouldn’t blow up in the seaside wind, but would be classy enough for the restaurant.

  It didn’t start well. He was already an hour late to pick me up, arriving in a taxi, and when he stepped out, I could see that he was still wearing his stethoscope around his neck. I just knew it was going to be an interesting night.

  I grabbed my coat and left the apartment, leaving Heath to his own devices, which really meant letting him sleep all night until I got back when he would badger me for food that he’d already eaten. But hey, what else did he do with his day?

  I ran down the stairs, three flights, and met him just as he snapp
ed his mobile phone shut. He hadn’t even buzzed my apartment yet.

  “Hi.” He smiled nervously, which was just the icing on the cake. “I’m really sorry. I just got a call about a patient. I’m going to have to hurry this along,” he said, waving his hand around in a circle as if I didn’t understand the meaning of ‘get your ass in gear and let’s get this show on the road’.

  “Okay. So how about we head to the hospital and you do your thing? When you’re done, we can meet in the cafeteria and have dinner there,” I suggested, since it seemed polite and reasonable at the same time. I wasn’t going to dare suggest that we call it off, or that I go back inside to wait, as the girls would surely see that as backing out of our deal. Besides, Mr. In A Hurry smiled and I knew I was on to a winner. No time for even a first date? He was perfect.

  “Great. I’ll just call us another cab.” He nodded, as if it suited him perfectly. But his cab wasn’t that far away and I knew from experience that women in fancy outfits got taxis a lot quicker than even a doctor who looked after sick kids. I stepped off the pavement, put my fingers to my lips and whistled to the cabbie that had just taken off down my street. Three minutes later, he was back in front of us.

  “Right, well…ladies first?” he said, like it was a question instead of a chivalrous statement. I nodded and slipped into the cab, mentally counting how much cash I had on me just in case he bailed at the last minute. I had enough to get me home and maybe splurge for some take out, if dinner proved a bust. “I’m Murdoch, by the way. Martinez,” he explained, with a nervous titter of laughter once we were securely in the cab.

  “Khloe MacArthur,” I introduced myself, holding out my hand. He laughed again and shook hands with me, but then turned to stare out the window the whole drive to the hospital.