Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Shame on you, Courtney.

  Yeah, shame on me. Courtney unpacked with a wicked smile. She laid out a pale pink cashmere sweater and her J. Crew lilac cords. Slipping off her traveling clothes, she shrugged into the soft sweater, belted her jeans with skinny leather, and bent over to fluff her hair. When she straightened and finger-crimped her hair, she spritzed it with her favorite crunchable spray, and then took ballet flats from a plastic bag. She liked the idea of being so much shorter than Eric. She could wrap her arms around his taut middle and tuck her head under his chin. She swept blush across her cheeks, dabbed on a thin layer of peppermint pink lip gloss and checked herself in the mirror. Yep, she looked ripe—and ready.

  She found Eric in the dining room, sipping a beer as he leaned against a massive sideboard that looked like it had been fashioned from an ancient oak, complete with all the gnarls and knots. It was a modern juxtaposition to the Duncan Phyfe dining room table that sat twelve, but everything blended beautifully. Courtney had the feeling that no decorator had put this eclectic mix together. No, the impeccable taste of the residents had been at work. And Eric inherited that taste.

  “Beer?” he asked. “I’m afraid the fall brews are all gone, and we won’t have any new locals until spring, but I’ve got a great raspberry ale.”

  “Love one,” Courtney said as she watched Eric pull open a drawer in the sideboard that turned out to be a mini cooler. “What’s for dinner?” I could go for flank of Eric.

  “Randolph’s wife, Katherine, left us something in the warming oven. Honestly, I haven’t looked.” He hooked his finger in a “come hither,” and turned to the doorway that led to the kitchen.

  The first impression of the kitchen was its lack of color. Gleaming white. From cabinets and appliances to the white tile backsplashes, it looked like a place where a wedding banquet for hundreds of guests could be whipped up in a matter of hours. All the counter tops were stainless steel, and the huge appliances screamed utilitarian. “Wow, I feel like I’m in the kitchen of the Waldorf Astoria. It’s so industrial.”

  “When this house was built, it was all about hygiene. My great-grandmother wanted a kitchen that could be hosed down. She was quite the innovator in germ warfare. She established her own dairy to protect her children from milk-borne illnesses, and she had specific instructions on how milkers’ hands and cows’ udders had to be washed with soap and water before milking.”

  “With the kind of money she had, I suppose she could do anything,” Courtney said.

  Eric dipped his head and looked at Courtney through his eyelashes. “It wasn’t about money. She was driven by social reform. My family has great respect for farmers. There’s nothing more vital than tilling the earth, and my great-grandmother wanted farmers to be successful. She tested new methods of crop rotation and soil analysis, all to support the individual farmer.”

  “Who was growing her tobacco, of course.”

  “Sure, there was tobacco, but that was just one of many crops. She wanted to make all the local farms self-sustaining. I wish you could have seen how hard these people worked, and my ancestors worked right alongside them. Clearing fields is back-breaking labor, and even the women dug out and moved rocks the size of buckets.”

  Courtney nodded. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

  “And I haven’t even gotten into animal husbandry.”

  “Please, no sex talk before dinner.” Did I really say that?

  Eric laughed. “Okay, but it’s fair game for dessert.” He winked and then looked away, just in time to miss the red blush that Courtney felt creeping up her neck. “Anyway, this kitchen has seen its share of big events.” He opened the warming oven and inhaled deeply. “Ah, I should have known Katherine would make one of my favorites. I hope you like meat loaf.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Katherine makes it with ground beef, pork, and turkey. Sometimes she adds venison, but Mom hates it when Dad culls the deer. It’s no wonder we get a bumper crop. She keeps two big barrels full of corn stocked for them.” Eric removed a gravy boat covered in tin foil from the warming oven. “I see she’s made her famous mushroom gravy to go with the meat loaf.” He closed the oven and opened the refrigerator. “And there’s a salad, so we’re set.”

  Courtney suspected he’d always been coddled with good food.

  As though he’d read her thoughts, Eric said, “Yep, I was a spoiled rich kid.”

  Randolph appeared in the doorway, his hat in hand. “Don’t you believe it,” he said to Courtney. “Eric slopped hogs with the rest of us.”

  • • •

  Courtney woke on the memory foam mattress (good to know there were some concessions to modern comfort in this stately home) and replayed the previous evening in her head. The part where Eric lifted her off her feet to kiss her was on a continuous loop. She’d thought he was going to swing her into his arms and carry her up the staircase, a la Rhett Butler, but no, he’d just set her down and tapped her nose. She half expected him to pat her butt when she ascended the stairs, but of course, he was too much of a gentleman for that. She could feel his eyes on her, though, and she made the most of her slow climb with a bit of hip action.

  Today, he would show her Old Salem and downtown Winston-Salem. She rolled out of bed, and after her morning toilette (in the modern bathroom, not with a bowl and pitcher), she dressed in a pair of gold cords, an argyle sweater in tones of brown and turquoise, and ankle boots with practical, two-inch heels. She piled her hair into a high ponytail and secured it with a leather barrette.

  She didn’t have to wander around too long downstairs to find Eric. She followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and found him in a sunny room behind the kitchen.

  “Ready for a cup?” He proffered a coffee pot.

  “Absolutely,” Courtney said, picking up a china cup and saucer from the sideboard and extending it to Eric. “This is a gorgeous room, kind of like a greenhouse.”

  Palms and ferns lined the periphery of the room, which was surrounded by windows and French doors leading to an outside porch.

  “As long as it’s sunny outside, this room stays pretty warm, even in the dead of winter,” Eric said. “Speaking of which, we’re supposed to get an icy mix today.”

  “Will that mess up our sightseeing?” Courtney hoped not.

  “The front isn’t moving in until this afternoon, so we’ll get an early start.” He squinted out the window to the bright sunshine. “I made some bacon. Let’s grab a couple of pieces, and I’ll take you for a tour of the house.” Eric motioned for Courtney to lead the way to the kitchen and then they traveled through the dining room to the reception hall.

  Courtney munched on a piece of bacon. “This has to be the best bacon I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Local and organic,” Eric said. “Our farm served as an early agricultural extension office in the last century, and my grandmother was influential in introducing humane slaughtering practices. We eat our pigs, but they have fine lives before they make it to the table. All our animals are free range, and most are grass fed.” Eric took a bite of bacon. “As I mentioned before, this room,” he swept his arms around the huge expanse, “was the site of many village parties in my great-grandmother’s day. And the organ over there,” he pointed to an enormous pipe organ, “was the entertainment. It has more than 2,500 pipes.”

  “Do you play?” Courtney licked her fingers. Noticing that Eric paid close attention, she made a bit of a show of it, sucking on her index finger.

  “Uh, no.” Eric cleared his throat. “Shall we go upstairs?” Eric led the way up the wrought iron balustrade to the second floor balcony. “This is basically one big circle, with two wings of bedrooms and baths. In an age when bedrooms didn’t have en suite bathrooms, my great grandmother insisted on them because of the spread of disease.”

  Every bedroom they walked through had an accompanying sleeping porch.

  “Looks like people were really fond of sleeping in the fresh air,” Courtney said.

>   “They thought it would ward off tuberculosis, which was the great scourge when the house was built.”

  Courtney plumped a pillow on a white wicker chair. “I’m amazed that your family was so concerned about health, and yet they ignored the hazards of tobacco smoking.” She bit her tongue, but she couldn’t help the comment. I mean, really, were these people delusional?

  Eric had been walking ahead of Courtney, through a sleeping porch to his parents’ bedroom. He stopped and turned. “It was a different time, Courtney, and they really didn’t know the damage tobacco could cause. Do you watch the series, Mad Men? They smoked like chimneys all day long. Even pregnant women smoked. The dangers weren’t known.”

  “And today they are.” Courtney felt a chill, and she set her coffee cup and saucer on the glass-topped nightstand next to Eric’s parents’ bed. She rubbed her arms. “There’s no getting around the proven dangers of tobacco.”

  “I won’t argue with you on that. The surgeon general’s warning on every pack of cigarettes makes the hazards clear, but we’re a nation of free will. What do you want, Courtney, for tobacco products to be illegal?” He set his cup next to hers and crossed his arms.

  “Well, ultimately, I wouldn’t oppose that. But for now, all I really want is to keep young people from starting the habit.”

  “Kids are going to test the boundaries. The appeal of smoking is that it makes them feel more grown up. Plus, for most of them, they know their parents wouldn’t approve. Seems to me that the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids is doing a good job of appealing to young people to think twice before they take up a nasty habit.”

  “Ah, so you’ll admit it’s nasty.” Courtney stood up a bit taller, straightening her back in victory.

  Eric threw up his hands. “Why do we always come back to this?”

  “Because we’re at an impasse?”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Because you’re a highly intelligent man, and I don’t understand why you can’t see the light?”

  “Your perspective, but still, more than that.”

  Courtney’s breathing hitched as Eric stepped closer to her. He took her hand. Did he feel her tremble? “Enlighten me,” she whispered.

  “Because it’s keeping us apart, and we want to put it behind us.”

  When his hands moved to her waist, she wrapped her arms around his neck. And when he bent to kiss her, she savored his soft lips and gently probing tongue. Her fingers tickled the prickly hairs on Eric’s neck. He shuddered and hugged her tighter. She nipped at his lower lip when they ended the kiss then stepped out of his embrace, keeping her hands on his chest.

  “Tobacco? What’s tobacco?” She smiled up at him.

  “Don’t even think the word.”

  “Okay, truce.” No tobacco talk. She could stick to that rule. Although, truth be told, tobacco wasn’t the only thing keeping them apart. His fantasies were also a dubious area. Would Eric bolt if he found out what she wanted from this man was a gentle touch and some old-fashioned romance?

  • • •

  As Eric considered what he’d show Courtney in his hometown; he didn’t want to overload her with the Roark/Morrison legacy—though it was tough to avoid. Even without pointing out the landmarks, the Roark and Morrison names adorned so many big edifices that short of blindfolding Courtney through town, there was no way to sidestep them. Heading into downtown in Eric’s Range Rover, Courtney remarked about the Roark Memorial Hospital and the Morrison Library, as well as the Adelaide Powell Roark Cancer Center, named after his great-grandmother.

  “Is there a nook or cranny around here that your family hasn’t touched?” She asked. While the statement itself reeked of sarcasm, her tone didn’t. She laughed. “Anything ordinary, like Morrison’s Dog Groomers or Roark Beauty Parlor?”

  “I think there’s an Eric’s Laundromat on the north side, but I can’t lay claim to it.”

  “Seriously, your family has had a huge impact on this area.”

  “We’ve been here since the Civil War, so our roots run deep.”

  “It’s not just that you’ve settled here, it’s the good you’ve done.”

  “We’re not unique, Courtney. We just give back.”

  “You’re being modest, Senator. There are many rich … and greedy … people in the world who wouldn’t dream of parting with any of their money.”

  One side of Eric’s mouth turned up in a small grin. He was accustomed to praise, but Courtney’s kind words really bolstered his spirit. He took a deep breath. As he blew it out, he pointed out the window. “Well, enough of my family. I thought we’d spend some time roaming around the historic area, Old Salem.”

  Eric pulled into the Frank L. Horton Museum Center. “See, there are a few buildings with other people’s names.” He chuckled. “We’ll stop here at the Center for our tickets, which will get us into the exhibit buildings.”

  They began their exploration of Old Salem at the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts. They joined a tour that had just begun, and while Eric wasn’t surprised at Courtney’s intense interest (it takes a lifelong learner to know one), he was impressed with her depth of knowledge about Southern furniture and crafts. She identified Charleston craftsmanship and a couple of the renowned portrait artists from the American Revolution.

  Not to disturb the tour, Eric whispered in Courtney’s ear as they moved through the exhibit to an eighteenth century dining room, “I didn’t realize a Florida girl would know so much about the Deep South.”

  “I love history,” Courtney said. “I once got lost in the Smithsonian, and they almost locked me in for the night.”

  “Wasn’t there a book about that?” Eric asked.

  Before Courtney could answer, the tour guide gave him a stern look and then went into her spiel about early tobacco plantations in the area. Not willing to re-visit a sore subject, Eric steered Courtney to a side exit.

  “What, we’re not going to finish the tour?” Courtney asked.

  “I doubt there’s anything she can tell you that you don’t already know.” Eric opened the exit door and peered into the overcast sky. “Besides, I don’t want you to miss the shops in the village, and it doesn’t look like the icy mix is going to hold off much longer.” He took her hand, which warmed immediately in his, and began walking north on Old Salem’s Main Street. Breathing deeply, he realized how good it felt to have Courtney here with him. As many times as he’d walked the village of Old Salem, he didn’t remember another time that he’d had such a spring in his step.

  “Hey, slow down,” Courtney said, tugging on his arm and pointing to Timothy Vogler’s Gunsmith Shop. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  And they didn’t. From the shoemaker shop to the apothecary, they immersed themselves in life as it had been in the early 1800s. When the Moravian Church bell clanged the noon hour, they stopped at the 1816 Tavern for lunch.

  The moment they walked through the heavy oak door, Courtney said, “Oh … my … God, it smells so good in here, like a chocolate chip cookie married beef stew, and they gave birth to bread pudding and chicken pot pie. I’m on olfactory overload.”

  “You have to try the sweet potato fries,” Eric said.

  “Gladly,” Courtney replied, and then she proceeded to order the pot roast soup with spoon bread as well as peach cobbler for dessert.

  A light drizzle began tapping on the mullioned windows of their upstairs dining room just as Eric took a bite of Courtney’s peach cobbler. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “If I made a habit of finishing your food, I’d be the size of a sumo wrestler.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d worry it off.”

  “You think I’m a worrier?”

  “I think you care deeply about your community and your constituents. You probably lie awake at night worrying about how you can do right by them.”

  “I do.” He reached across the table and took Courtney’s hand. “And I’m sure you’re just as much of a worry wart.”<
br />
  “Totally.” Courtney finished the last bite of cobbler.

  Eric looked out the window where the drizzle had turned into sleet. “I guess we’re holed up for a while. Want some coffee or tea?”

  “I’d love some herbal tea.”

  • • •

  They stayed in the tavern for another hour, waiting for the sleet to subside.

  Walking back to Eric’s car through the meadow behind the tavern, Eric wrapped his arm around Courtney’s shoulder as they crossed the cobblestone street to the parking lot.

  She looked up at him. “Thanks for bringing me here. I had a wonderful day.”

  “Me, too,” he said, opening the car door for her, “and it’s not over yet.”

  Eric drove just a few blocks north of Old Salem to the center of downtown Winston-Salem.

  “Where to?” Courtney asked.

  “I want to show you the Children’s Museum. It’s been my mother’s favorite project for the past five years.” Eric parked on Liberty Street, and they walked two short blocks through drizzle to the museum.

  The woman at the welcome desk immediately recognized Eric and sprang from behind it to shake his hand. “Senator Morrison, I am so pleased to see you here. Your mom was just in this past week.”

  “Yeah, I understand she practically lives here. She told me not to miss the new bird’s nest exhibit.”

  “Absolutely, it’s a must,” the gray-haired woman, whose name tag read “Clare Dunwoody,” pointed down the hall. “It’s in the garden, through those double doors. Since the weather’s not great today, it’s a bit wet out there for the kids. You’ll have the place to yourselves. Climb away!”

  “Now, I’m really curious,” Courtney said as they headed to the double doors.

  Once outside, an interactive, crocheted playscape greeted them. Suspended on cables, the structure loomed over a grassy plot.

  “Meet the bird’s nest,” said Eric. “It’s the world’s first crocheted jungle gym, kind of a Baltimore Oriole’s nest for humans.”

  “And it looks like we have it to ourselves,” Courtney said. She climbed into one of the entrance holes. “Come on in. It’s damp, but what the heck.”