Signed, Sealed, Delivered ... I'm Yours

by Naleighna Kai

  “Remember the old pool house in the park?”

  Tenley nodded.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow evening,” he said. “Seven o’clock. I’ll have my partner, Nate, meet you at the house to escort you. If you meet me there … I’ll know.”

  Tenley glanced at Mrs. Stanton for her reaction. The woman looked at them, one then the other, with a deeper understanding on her face.

  “I feel like I’m chasing magic,” Kyle said to Tenley, and the words drifted around her, rising and falling. “I need you to find me. Will you come?”

  Without answering, Tenley left the room.

  Epilogue

  The pool house sat in the middle of the park—a hulking, abandoned shell. Kyle had been waiting two hours already, yet he couldn’t give up hope—not just yet. He’d give her twenty minutes more. He’d give his heart twenty minutes more.

  As time ticked away, he contemplated the enigma that was Tenley. He could have any woman he wanted, except this one—commitment-shy and burdened, yet strong and organic—who had hijacked his heart. That first day he sat beside her in her bedroom, watching her struggle between courage and despair, grasping for strength—she had him. Officer down.

  He recalled the way she made love to him. He recalled the way she fought for his life. He was certain she’d saved him. She loved him, and he knew it. Everything she didn’t say confirmed it. But if she did not show tonight, he would take his memories of her and spread them out over his ever-after if he had to, but he would move on. Certain members of his family would surely be happy …

  “You’re not serious about her,” Mrs. Stanton said, plumping the pillows of his hospital bed, her tone cold.

  “I am.”

  “She’s pretty, but she’ll never fly with your grandfather.” She sniffed. “Have your fun, but keep your nose clean. You just met her. You can’t possibly love her.”

  Kyle sat up and took his mother’s hands, looking into her eyes. “I love her down to her soul. It doesn’t go deeper than that.”

  Mrs. Stanton sighed and took her hands back. “You’re a grown man, but—”

  “I was wondering when that would occur to you,” Kyle muttered.

  “And I know you should be able to pick your own girlfriends…”

  Kyle felt the blood heating up in his face. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

  Mrs. Stanton dug in her bag as she spoke. “But that Barbara Roaman girl—you know, Stella Roaman’s daughter, the one we met when we were in Chelsea?” She pulled out a compact and began correcting her makeup.

  Kyle raised his voice to get her attention. “You will be nice to Tenley, and welcoming and accepting!”

  “I mean, Tenley looks like a nice girl, darling; she’s just not the girl for you.”

  Kyle glared at her. “You mistake me, Mother. I’m not asking.”

  She lowered her compact. “Do you threaten me, dear?”

  “I most certainly do.” He pulled a breath from deep within his lungs. “I won’t mince words with you, Mother. If anyone steps one toe out of line with Tenley, they’ll answer to me.”

  Mrs. Stanton’s mouth froze in the form of a little “o.” Then she dropped the compact into her purse and snapped it shut. “Your grandfather will hear about this!” she drawled.

  “Make sure he does,” Kyle said in a voice as smooth as chocolate. “And while you’re telling him that, tell him he doesn’t have too much time left. He doesn’t want to waste it pissing me off. I really love this one, so it could get nasty.” He laid back and closed his eyes, pulling the covers up. “For a cop, that could be so much paperwork.”

  He smiled in triumph when he heard the door bang shut.

  Now each moment he waited stretched across an eternity. Kyle walked over to a broken window in the pool house and peered out into the graying dusk. His cell phone vibrated, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. If it was Tenley, he couldn’t guess what her calling rather than coming might mean.

  Fortunately … or unfortunately, it was Nate.

  “Give it ten more minutes, man,” Kyle said and hung up.

  He stared out at the trees, dark sentinels looking back at his miserable condition. He quelled the sharp pain that sliced across his heart at the prospect of losing her. The wind picked up, and the trees swayed and shrugged. A storm was brewing. If she hadn’t come by now, she probably wouldn’t.

  “Why?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

  Turning aside from the answer to that question, he checked his pockets for his keys and walked toward the back exit, somehow unable to bear leaving out the front, the way he had come in.

  Kyle gripped the doorknob and froze, hearing the latch jostle and the front door creak open. He willed his pounding heart to relax so that he could hear over it. He dared not even turn around.

  “Tenley?”

  “Yes.”

  Chicago native, D.J. McLaurin, is the author of the provocative novel, What if it Feels Good. A graduate of DePaul University and a Certified Public Accountant, D.J. has worked in various fields including banking, auditing, a twenty-two year stint in radio, and, most recently, the Theatre Industry. Prior to venturing into the world of writing contemporary fiction, D.J. wrote plays for local venues which are still in circulation today. She resides in South Holland, Illinois, with her husband and her two daughters, where she is working on Age of Consent, Falling Up, Metamorphosis, and Pretty Boy, all riveting follow-ups to What If It Feels Good, as well as a new venture into the genre of the supernatural titled In The Company of Ghosts. Visit D.J. at www.djmclaurin.com.

  How Sweet it is

  by Valarie Prince

  Chapter 1

  Lena Striker was all too familiar with the stuff that was used to fertilize grass, and Dimitri Logos, the arrogant director of Winley Institute, was spreading it on thick. She slid a deceptive glance around the conference table, noticing that her co-workers were squirming in their seats. From the frustrated expressions pinging around the room, she surmised that they also wished they’d brought their hip boots and a shovel to work.

  Sitting in the emergency meeting, Lena fumed as she listened to Dimitri hint at future layoffs.

  “The stakeholders are panicking,” Dimitri warned. “The last two quarterly numbers were the worst this company has seen in its sixty-year history.”

  “And how is that our fault?” Lena asked.

  Seventeen pairs of eyes shot her way.

  “I receive the reports just like every other employee. I’ve offered numerous suggestions and strategies to turn this company around, and all of them fell on deaf ears.” She leveled an icy gaze on him. “One pair in particular.”

  The meeting attendees shifted their collective focus back to Dimitri, whose pale skin had flushed crimson. “That’s not a fair assessment, Lena,” he replied, his voice strained and annoyed. “We can’t just make abrupt changes. You know everything must go through compliance.”

  The tension in the boardroom amped up, as it always did when people locked horns.

  “So because everyone is scared to do the right thing,” she shot back, “the stakeholders want to cut back on production and lay people off?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m—”

  “But it’s being implied.” Lena crossed her arms over her chest, daring Dimitri to say otherwise.

  He tossed the reports to the side. “Let’s table this thread of discussion for now and move on to how the company plans to operate going forward.”

  Everyone moaned and turned to each other before pulling out their tablets to take notes.

  * * *

  Sandra Green, a co-worker, approached Lena’s desk shortly after the meeting. “I can’t believe you mouthed off at Dimitri this morning. Don’t you normally battle it out with him behind closed doors? What’s gotten into you?”

  “A reality check,” Lena tossed back, maneuvering around a leather office chair to grab a cardboard box. “I’m tired of the management spin masters using us as scapegoa
ts. We don’t set the sales numbers for this company—they do.” She slammed the box on the desk. “We don’t have a say in how new hires are trained, so they hit the floor greener than grass and burn out immediately, leaving more work for us. We don’t set policy on reasonable improvements in our departments. I’m just fed up with the hypocrisy.”

  Sandra frowned and pointed to the empty spots on Lena’s desk where personal items once called home. “What are you doing?”

  “Dimitri and I had a real heart-to-heart a few minutes ago,” she replied, giving her friend a speaking glance.

  “Noooooo,” Sandra gasped, placing a shaky hand over her slight bosom.

  Lena nodded. “I have until the end of the day to clear out my stuff and distribute my workload among the rest of the team.”

  “Why did you have to air your grievances in the meeting?” Sandra whimpered, crossing over to Lena’s side of the desk to take her hand. The woman’s gray eyes were glassy with tears. “All you had to do was hold your tongue.”

  Lena shook her head, grabbed a tissue and dabbed away her co-worker’s tears. “I can’t do it anymore, Sandy. I can’t sit here and drown in this acid another minute.” She hugged her good friend. “You have kids and no child support coming in from your ex.” She leveled a serious gaze at Sandra. “So you do what you have to do.”

  Lena collected the rest of her belongings. “I need a change. I want to be surrounded by positive energy, instead of wading through muddy waters every day.” She held out a tablet and her clients’ business cards. “These are for you.”

  “I thought these had to go to the team,” Sandra protested.

  “I’m not having a conversation with anyone else today,” Lena said, thrusting the items into Sandra’s reluctant hands. “This should give you a leg up over everyone else.”

  “I’m going to miss you so much,” Sandra whispered.

  Lena embraced her friend again, gathered the box, and threaded her way through the throng of co-workers who stared curiously in her direction. She resisted the urge to flip Dimitri the bird as she walked out of the office.

  Chapter 2

  Steven Banks pulled Engine No. 9 back into the fire station. As he left the driver’s seat, his chief, Roger Lofton, walked past the protective gear hanging neatly on the walls, the outstretched hoses lying on the ground, and the fire axes waiting to be sharpened until he made it to Steven’s side.

  “You handle this baby like you were born to it,” the chief said, maneuvering his compact frame toward the overhead garage door. “Sometimes I forget you’re still a ‘probie.’”

  Steven stripped off the outer layer of his protective gear. “I was a long-haul truck driver for eight years after six years in the military. Trust me, I may be new to firefighting, but I’m not new to handling big rigs.”

  Roger chuckled. “I know you just returned, but …”

  Steven paused at the ominous tone in the chief’s voice.

  “Your admirer is back.”

  “Aw, hell!” Steven shot to the back of the station with Roger on his heels. “Why didn’t you tell her I was dead or something?” They snuck upstairs through the kitchen to the sleeping quarters, avoiding the common area.

  “Because the minute your engine pulled in, she was at the door with a pot roast and all the fixings.”

  Steven’s mouth fell open.

  “You know there isn’t a guy in this fire house who can cook except you.” Roger gave him a crooked smile. “The second the guys saw that food, all thoughts of asking her to leave went up in smoke. No pun intended.”

  “Dang!” Steven took off the last of his gear and headed over to the showers. “I can’t believe you guys got pulled in by a good pot roast.” The hot water blasted the layers of filth from his wide shoulders.

  Several minutes later, Roger yelled, “You’re gonna hide out up here all day?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Steven grumbled. “It’s time I shut this little infatuation down.”

  “Be sure to get that pot roast recipe first,” Roger ordered, chuckling when Steven poked his head out of the shower and gave him the evil eye.

  Thirty minutes later, Steven walked into the newly remodeled receiving area of the fire station where Cynthia Armstrong, a twenty-year old girl with big brown eyes and legs that reminded him of an Olympic sprinter, waited patiently for him.

  As he crossed the threshold, his fellow firefighters, all of whom were standing around the station chomping down enthusiastically on plates full of Cynthia’s pot roast, eased closer to the room. They remained just on the outskirts to get their ear hustle on properly.

  “Cynthia,” Steven began. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  She stood and approached him with a heaping plate of food. “I wanted to surprise you.” Cynthia handed him the plate and boldly caressed his forearm. “I made your favorite, but I made enough for the others this time.”

  Steven took a deep breath and escorted Cynthia to an oversized black leather sofa. “I really appreciate the gesture, but as I said before, it’s not necessary to keep bringing food. It’s our job to help those in need. When your home caught fire, it was our job as firefighters—no, our duty—to save your life.”

  Cynthia eased uncomfortably close. “I know,” she said on a breathy sigh. “But I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be alive, if you hadn’t found me in the basement when the house caught fire. I was so scared, and you saved my life.” Her hand reached out to stroke his face. “When I looked into these eyes, I knew I’d be all right.”

  Steven cleared his throat and inched back. “I was doing my job, nothing more. Please don’t read more into it than there is.” He rose from the sofa and placed the plate on a nearby table. “You’re a lovely young woman, Cynthia, and I don’t want to mislead you in any way.”

  He turned back and nearly tripped on her because she was standing right behind him.

  “You can lead me anywhere you want,” she offered.

  A stifled laugh sounded from somewhere behind him.

  Her soft hands glided up his chest, and he flinched at the ticklish sensation. Steven grabbed her wrists before her hands made it to his shoulders. “I’m not interested in you in that way. I never will be,” he said in as stern a tone as he could manage. “I need you to know that—and accept that.”

  Cynthia’s luminous dark eyes dulled with pain. “You’re serious?”

  Steven nodded and put more space between them.

  “You don’t feel the same way about me?”

  “I’m sorry, but no.” He gestured for her to have a seat at the other end of the table, and she complied. He weighed his next words carefully. “These impromptu visits are causing a stir with the fellas. My boss is starting to notice, too. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?”

  She shook her head, the motion causing her long hair to fall in her face.

  “Then let this be the last time you come to the station.” When she flinched, he quickly added, “The right guy is waiting to find you. He can’t do that if you’re always here.”

  A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a shaky hand. “I understand. I’m sorry to have put you in an awkward position. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to you for saving my life.” Cynthia scrambled from the seat and silently departed the station.

  Steven sighed, annoyed to once again be confronted by this issue—women falling in love with the uniform more so than the flesh and blood man who wore it. He had thought the switch from long-haul truck driving to firefighting would be better suited to his protective nature. Another tour in the Army would not have fully satisfied him. He would have been serving people who didn’t appreciate the sacrifice he was making by putting himself in the line of fire. Saving lives on American soil was more important to him. But he was finding that gratitude on this side of the globe often translated into unwanted female attention. Frankly, he was getting weary of it, and it was turning him off from dating altogether. />
  He sauntered to the dinner table and slowly eased into a chair.

  “Dude, that was smooth as hell,” Tony, his lanky co-worker, said around a mouthful of steamed baby potatoes. “Isn’t that like our fifth stalker this year?”

  Steven looked down at the plate of food, but his appetite had taken a nosedive. “She’s a sweet kid. I can’t have her thinking she owes me for saving her life.”

  “Hmph.” Roger reached for Steven’s abandoned plate. “I told you to get the recipe before you gave her the boot.”

  Everyone laughed as Roger dug in to Steven’s dinner.

  Chapter 3

  Since utilities, a car note, and a mortgage were still showing up in her mailbox every month, Lena had to regroup. And fast. Her work life was on four flats, maybe she at least owed it to herself to jumpstart her love life. With this thought in mind, somehow common sense got stuck in quicksand, and she made a call she shouldn’t have made at all.

  “Felix,” Lena said, stretching on the sofa. “I’m returning your call.” What she did not add was finally, after you’ve left eighteen million messages.

  “Yeah, I’m on patrol right now,” he said. There was a smug tone to his voice that grated on her nerves. “I was wondering if you were free this evening.”

  Lena had to handle this carefully. Lately, she’d been speaking her mind and getting herself into a world of trouble. “Sure,” she smiled, overriding that smidgen of doubt that crept in every time she had encounters with him. Maybe Felix could work out after all. “There’s this wonderful new comedy club down the street that’s getting great reviews. The nine P.M. show still has tickets and it’s late enough in the evening that we can still make it once you get off duty.”

  A lengthy silence ensued, and for a moment Lena’s hackles rose.

  “Yeah,” Felix hedged after several moments. “That’s great, but I have early roll call in the morning. And I was thinking of something a little less planned and a lot more to the point.”