by Lisa Shea
The Proposal
10 Romantic Short Stories
Volumes 1-10
Lisa Shea
Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lisa Shea. / Book design by Lisa Shea
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
- v2 –
ASIN: B01JPA6APE
Believe
Book 1 – NYC
Ruth fidgeted nervously with the small fabric pouch in her jeans pocket, the heavy crowds on 42nd street flowing around her beneath the mid-September sunset. It was silly for her great-grandmother to have given her the Mohican love charm. Love charm, indeed! She’d known Hank since high school and had started dating him right out of SUNY. They’d been together three years now and they fit together like the eight-ball neatly nestling in a corner pocket. But for whatever reason her beloved Aponi had carefully sewn two tiny dolls, one male, the other female, and bundled them closely together. The token was supposed to ensure a long, happy marriage.
Ruth blushed at the thought, pushing her thick, dark hair back from her face. Hank was busy enough settling in at the fire station as it was, and she was run ragged with the daycare’s room of joyfully hyperactive toddlers. To even think about planning a wedding ...
That familiar smell of leather musk, and Hank’s arms came up around her in a warm embrace. “Sorry I’m late, hun,” he murmured in her ear. “Garage over on 8th had a smoking oil barrel. Had to play it safe.”
“Of course,” she smiled up at him. “Come on, let’s go in. I’ve been smelling that pizza for a half hour and I’m starving.”
Heads turned as the Italian waiter guided them through to the back table, and she blushed. There was just something about Hank. Sure, he was six-foot-two and built like a tank - but it was more than that. It was those blue eyes of his, as bright as sapphires - and that smile. When he was happy he glowed as if a magical power had set him alight. And tonight he was glowing with a passion.
She chuckled as they took their seats. “You have a good day at work? Did that boss of yours finally say you could go up on the ladder truck?”
His eyes twinkled. “Maybe. But I’ll tell you about that later. First, how did your day go?”
They talked, they ordered, and the food was delicious, as always. Ruth’s cares eased away when she was around Hank. He had that way about him. She would be perfectly content if they simply went on together just the way they were, in their cozy third-floor apartment with the massive jade plant sprawling in its sunny front window.
The dark-haired waiter came by to remove their plates. “Healthy appetites – that’s good. Always appreciated. Did you leave room for dessert?”
Hank glanced at Ruth with a smile. “Two tiramisu as usual?”
She nodded with a grin. “Excuse me, just need to run to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
The mouth-watering desserts were just arriving when she returned and their napkins had been replaced by fresh ones, arranged into elegant doves. That’s why she loved this place so much. It was the little touches which brought it to life.
Hank’s gaze held her as she sat. “You really are beautiful, you know.”
She blushed. “All I did was touch up my lipstick. And you’ll smear that all off again when we get home.”
His eyes shone. “That’s because you are so wonderfully kissable.”
She laughed and leaned forward -
His phone rang. He frowned and for a moment she thought he might not answer it. But he let out a breath and drew it from his pocket. “Hi, it’s Hank, and I’m afraid -”
A flurry of urgent conversation tumbled from the phone, and he launched to his feet. “Yes. Got it. Be right there.”
Ruth’s blood ran cold. “Hank, what is it?”
His gaze was a turmoil of emotion. “I’m sorry, I wish –” He glanced down at the desserts, then at the door, clearly distracted. “I have to go. Wait for me.” He spun and half-ran from the restaurant.
All eyes turned to watch him go, then swiveled back to stare at her in curiosity. She blushed and shrugged, saying to the room at large, “He’s a firefighter.”
A murmur of gentle laughter along with nods of appreciation swept the room. The restaurant burbled back up into its normal life.
She stared down at the tiramisu, then took a half-hearted forkful of it. It just wasn’t the same eating it alone. Not when Hank was out on what might be a dangerous job. She knew it was silly to worry, but she did anyway. Her dad had died of a heart attack two years ago, and her mom was off in California with her new boyfriend. So it was just her and Hank here in the City. He was her rock. Her foundation.
The waiter came by with an understanding nod. “You want me to pack those up?”
She nodded. “If you would. I’ll probably just sit at the bar until he gets back. It could be a while.”
He returned with a single elegant box and neatly nestled the two pieces side by side. Just like her love charm dolls. Two separate items merging into one, joining together -
Her phone chirped, and she drew it up in relief. That would be Hank. He’d be telling her that it was all a mistake and that he’d be back any second.
It was from her co-worker, Diane. The caption read OMG. And the image showed -
The blood drained from her face.
She knew that building. It was an apartment complex just down the block from Hank’s fire station. Tangerine flames licked out of every open window and smoke black as pitch boiled high into the evening sky. Several trucks were pressed up hard against it, their ladders piercing into the inferno.
The waiter’s voice was low. “Miss, are you all right?”
She fumbled with her purse, digging for her wallet. “I have to - I need to -”
“Go,” he said. “Come back later for the bill. I’ll put the cakes in the fridge.”
Stored away. Like the love charm, put on ice, put into cold storage -
She pushed up to her feet, and her hand knocked over the napkin dove which sat at Hank’s side of the table.
Beneath it was an elegant diamond ring.
She couldn’t breathe. She stared at the ring as if it were an indecipherable message from a distant civilization.
Then she swept it up in her hand, turned, and ran out the front door.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she flew down 42nd Street. She felt the impact of arms as she occasionally dodged left rather than right, but the affronted outcries barely reached her ears. All she could hear was the hammering of her sneakers on the pavement and her blood in her ears. A distant part of her wondered if she should have hailed a taxi but that would have been too slow, too slow, she had to run ... run ... run ...
She could smell the smoke before she rounded the corner, but even so the sight before her shook her to her core. There was no way for the tiny smartphone screen to do the powerful scene any justice. Flames towered to the very vault of the sky. She could feel the heat crackling against her skin. There were hordes of gawkers and excitement junkies, most holding cell-phones high to celebrate this bonfire. She drove through them like a salmon pushing with every inch of her life to get upstream. Nothing else mattered to her but to get t
o that line - and through it -
She slammed into a big blue wall.
The policeman looked down in weary exasperation. “No one goes past this line, miss. It’s for your own safety, as well as the safety of the firefighters.”
She could barely breathe. “He’s in there.”
His brow creased. “Who is in there?”
“My Hank. He’s - he’s in there. I know he is.”
He glanced back at the raging fire in concern. “Do you know what floor he was on?”
She was having trouble stringing two logical thoughts together. “He wanted to be on ladder duty tonight.”
A note of respect lit his gaze. “He’s a firefighter.”
She could only nod.
“He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “These are New York’s finest. The world’s finest. Your husband will make it out to you safe and sound.”
Husband. Her throat closed up at the word, and her hand tightened around the diamond ring still clutched tightly there. Tears welled in her eyes and she followed the ladder up, up, to where it vanished in the roiling clouds of ink.
The world groaned.
The front facade of the building curled, bowed, sagged -
Her voice ripped out of her in a scream. “Hank!”
The policeman looked around in concern. “Everyone, step back!”
A firefighter shouted from the right, “Move that ladder truck!”
She drove at the policeman. “No! Hank’s in there!”
“He’ll get out,” assured the policeman, his eyes creased with worry. “But if they don’t move the truck, and they lose that ladder -”
The truck began to roll forward, away from the rippling wall. Three feet ... four feet ...
Ruth craned around the policeman. “Hank! Get to the ladder!”
The policeman had her by the arm now. “Miss, it’s too dangerous. You have to -”
“Hank!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Yes! Yes!” She waved her hand with the diamond ring as high as she could. “Yes!”
The building gave a deep, soul-shattering groan.
The policeman had his arms fully around Ruth, using all his weight to hold her back, and she could feel his feet sliding -
The wall rippled -
The gap was six feet -
A shadow of soot vaulted out of the yawning abyss, flame streaming from his back, one arm wrapped tightly around a small form. The other reached - reached - and just barely latched on to the top rung of the ladder. He swung down hard into its length, and for an eternity of a moment she thought the impact would shake him loose. That he and his precious bundle would plummet the sixty feet to the unforgiving concrete below.
Hank’s grip held.
A vast cheer went up from the surrounding crowd - echoed by the thunderous rumble of the building caving in behind him. He twined his feet into the ladder’s rungs, the truck swung around to safety, and the long unit retracted and lowered.
Ruth’s captor released his bonds and she was in flight.
Two EMTs carefully extracted a soot-encrusted blanket-bundled child from Hank’s arms while the other three sat him gently down on the ground. His gear was half burned off and his breath was coming in long, hard draws. Ruth dropped to her knees before him as they drew off his helmet and face mask.
He blinked hard, trying to focus. “Ruth - is that you?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
She held up the ring.
His breath left him, he groaned, and then she pushed past the EMTs and tumbled into his arms. He gave a coughing shudder and she started to pull back, but he drew her in harder, holding her as if he’d never let her go.
He drew his gloved hand down her hair. “I told you to wait.”
She nodded against him. “I’ll be there for you every moment of every day. And I’ll wait for each fire to be put out. But I’ll do it by your side. Where my voice can guide you home again.”
His groan was deeper this time. He gently drew back from her and, with effort, pulled off one glove, then the second. His hands were raw and swollen, but he held one out to her.
She put the diamond into it and put out her hand.
He looked up into her eyes. “Ruth, you are my heart and soul. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She nodded, lost in the depths of that gaze. “Yes, with all my heart.”
He took her soot-blackened hand and carefully slid the ring along its finger.
The world around them exploded into cheers, applause, and the snapping of a thousand cameras.
It was four hours later before the scene was settled enough for them to head home. It seemed everyone along the street had seen them somehow - they were stopped every five steps for photos and congratulations. At last they stepped into the quiet restaurant. Only the waiters and staff remained, going to and fro sweeping off tables or folding stacks of napkin-animals for the following day.
The dark-haired waiter waved as they came in. He stepped into the back, then brought out the box with the tiramisu. “Your meal is on the house.”
Hank shook his head. “You can’t do that. I’d like to pay; the veal was delicious.”
The waiter smiled. “My uncle owns this restaurant; it’s already been arranged. You saved a life tonight. The least we can do is feed you.”
Hank dipped his head. “It was my job, and an honor for me to do it.”
The waiter handed him the box. “And this is our honor. I wish you both a long and happy life.”
Something in his tone was intensely wistful, and Ruth glanced at his left hand. There was no ring there. She asked, “Are you seeing someone?”
He gave a wry smile. “Yes, but - it’s complicated.”
She reached into her pocket and drew out the small bundle. “Here. It is a traditional love charm, from my great-grandmother. She - I mean we - are descended from the New York Mohicans. She learned this skill from her own grandmother.”
Was that a faint gleam of hope she saw shine in his gaze?
He almost seemed to reach for it, then drew back. “I can’t take that from you. It must be precious.”
She gave a small smile. “Believe me, she’ll make me another one. But this one has proven its worth. Take it, and find joy.”
Again he hesitated. “It is far too dear a gift.”
She chuckled. “All right, then. Take it on loan. And when you are content, pass it along to another in need. That will be how you can repay me for its use.”
An ease came to him, and he nodded. “A loan, then,” he agreed. “And then we help someone else.”
His hands moved to the small cloth pouch. His fingers folded around its shape almost in relief, as if the form of the two dolls within brought him comfort.
Hank wrapped his arms around Ruth, and she knew.
Everything would be all right.
Book 2 – Providence
Rachel carefully laid her aunt’s finest china onto the rose linen placemats. She smiled fondly. Her Aunt-Momma always went all out for Rosh Hashanah, and this year was no exception. The expansive apartment shone with polish and shine - everything from the blue-and-white Portuguese plates on the wall to the heavy carved-wood mirror hanging over the fireplace. The windows were open in the mid-September evening and fresh ocean breezes blew in from the Providence Harbor. With Sarah down from Boston it was almost like they’d stepped back in time, to the way it had been before Sarah ran off with Tony and the Great Cataclysm had begun.
Sarah laid down the basket holding the fragrant, round loaf of challah bread. Her shadowed eyes glanced over at Rachel. “You’re sure this is a good idea? Bringing him here?”
Rachel took up the silverware from the center of the embroidered tablecloth and began carefully setting the four places. “Leonardo and I have been dating for five years - since we were freshmen at the Rhode Island School of Design. We’re serious, sis. It’s about time AuntMomma accepts that.”
Sarah’s shoulders
hunched. “She never accepted Tony, did she. Maybe that’s why he was on edge all the time. Maybe that’s why he -”
Rachel took her older sister’s hand, looking up into those dark pools. “He cheated on you because he was a jerk,” she insisted. “He left you because he’s an immature, spoiled brat. Not because of anything you did - and certainly not ‘cause of AuntMomma.”
The object of their conversation moved into the room carrying a large, silver tray of fried porgies. Rachel knew AuntMomma had bought them fresh from the docks that very morning from a group of Portuguese fishermen, the same ones she always worked with. Her mouth watered from the lush aroma. She looked up from the crisp, flaky skin to the woman before her.
AuntMomma was almost sixty-five now, and her once lustrous dark hair had eased to grey. She’d always been curvaceous and her body had become softer with time, as if the rocks and boulders of life had tenderized her. Rachel could still remember that dark day, fifteen years ago, when her aunt had been waiting at the door as she and her sister stepped off the schoolbus. There’d been a car accident. It’d been bad. Now she and her sister would move in with her aunt. There’d never been a question of other options. They packed their bags, climbed into the car, and their new life had begun.
AuntMomma looked askance at the fourth chair. “You sure he knows how to eat with a fork and knife? This gentile of yours?”
Rachel held the smile on her face. “Of course he does. And he’ll love your cooking. His uncle fishes, you know.”
She gave a cynical sniff. “Probably drowns everything in tomato sauce. Heathens.”
Rachel sighed. She put her hand in her pocket, to the love charm nestled there. Leonardo had given it to her last week, when he came home from his summer in New York City. It was a Native American token of some sort - a small male and female figurine nestled together. He had been given it by that couple who was all over the news.
She could only hope it would work its magic on her AuntMomma.
