Cupid’s Bow - The First Generation
Boxed Set
Melissa Storm
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Free Gift
Title Page
Author’s Foreword
When I Fall in Love, Part I
My Heart Belongs to Only You
Look Homeward, Angel
I’ll Never Stop Loving You
All I Have to Do is Dream
When I Fall in Love, Part II
You Make Me Feel So Young
Rockwell Family Tree
Morgan Family Tree
Suggested Reading Order
Also by Melissa Storm
About the Author
© 2015, Partridge & Pear Press
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.
Editor: Stevie Mikayne
Cover & Graphics Designer: Mallory Rock
Proofreader: Falcon Storm
Partridge & Pear Press
PO Box 721
Union Lake, MI 48387
* * *
To Falcon who taught me the meaning of love
Thank you for picking up your copy of The Cupid’s Bow First Generation Boxed Set. I so hope you love it! As a thank you, I'd like to offer you a free gift. That's right, I've written a short story that's available exclusively to my newsletter subscribers. You'll receive the free story by email as soon as you sign up at www.MelStorm.com/Newsletter. I hope you'll enjoy both stories. Happy reading!
Melissa
Author’s Foreword
Helen’s face may have launched a thousand ships, but my friend Mallory’s book cover launched a thousand stories. That’s right; the great spark of inspiration that led to my most ambitious book series ever was a single piece of art.
I first met Mallory in middle school, first got to know her in AP US History during twelfth grade. We both went to college, moved on with our lives and forgot about each other. That is, until we met again nearly ten years later and realized we’d done well following our dreams separately but could do even better together. I wrote books and owned a marketing business. She designed tech graphics, but had a special place in her heart for books and was looking to make a change. And so our partnership began.
For me, Mallory’s art has always held a special kind of magic. A book didn’t exist until it had a face, and that face—almost always—was a custom cover designed by the woman who, despite her sarcasm and brusqueness, had become one of my best friends. Strangely enough, her art also held healing powers for me. I swear when I was sad or anxious, a new book cover was just the thing to lift my spirits and help get me back to work. Still is.
One day she shared a sample cover she had created as part of a designer’s challenge—which she totally won by the way—and I found myself enamored of it. Who was the woman in the picture? Where was she going? I just knew I had to tell her story.
That’s when Deborah and James came to life for me: lovers separated by the war and meet again in the retirement village. I knew if I told their story of love both lost and found, I’d need to fill in the spaces between their great reunion and create a tapestry of love stories that spanned more than sixty years and three generations. Not a small order, but when inspiration strikes there’s little we authors can do to turn it away.
I had the who and when—that was the hard part. For my love stories, the how is always simple. Because every love story is the one I share with my husband, Falcon. Yup, every single one. It’s gotten to the point where every saccharine sitcom romance, every celebrity or reality TV pairing makes me squeal with delight. “They love each other! Just like us!”
Falcon rolls his eyes but cuddles me closer all the same. Having lost and found love myself, I know how much it means to finally get things right. Every love story is new yet familiar, exciting yet comfortable, and writing them puts a big, stupid grin on my lovesick face. Every. Single. Time.
Deborah, in particular, is so much like me it hurts. Bold and brazen one moment, yet worried about what other people will think the next. Writing erotic poetry? Yup, I’ve done that. Embarking on a crazy adventure with someone I’ve only just met? Yup, done that too.
And for those who think love stories often unfold way too quickly, some of the best, most enduring loves form in the blink of an eye. I met Falcon in August, married him in December, and three years later, can’t picture living my life any other way.
So to the artist who gave me a concept, and the husband who taught me what it is to love, thank you both for breathing life into this series and inspiring me with your awesomeness each and every day.
Love always,
Melissa S.
P.S. I also owe so much to my editor and readers, but you guys will get your own love letter—I mean, foreword—later. That’s a promise you can count on!
When I Fall in Love, Part I
James raked his toes through the cleanly cut grass. Was this the last time he’d ever enjoy this sensation? Even if he came out of it with his life, he’d be a changed man. Better to enjoy the simple pleasures while he still could.
A powder blue Cadillac pulled into the driveway next door.
Tommy Morrison climbed out of the driver’s seat and swooped around to open the passenger side door for his lady friend, Diana. His face lit up when he spied James watching.
“Why, hello, James. Sure is a pretty day, in’t it?”
James smiled and nodded, unable to tear his eyes away as Tommy and Diana kissed right in the driveway for all of the neighborhood to see. He watched as Tommy whispered into her ear, and Diana kicked back her heel in that classic gesture of a woman in love.
It was Tommy’s last day of freedom as well. He too would ship off in the morning to answer his country’s call. Seemed he’d chosen a very different way to spend the evening.
Love was not something he believed in. Freedom though, now that was the real deal. And malted milk shakes in cool metal glasses—oh, how he’d miss those. Luckily, the local soda fountain was only a short walk into town. He’d have his fill, then return for his last comfortable night at home in his own bed, that’s what he’d do.
So he sprang to his feet and headed into town, making sure to pay especially close attention to how the birds chirped from the trees and how the shiny copper of an abandoned penny glistened in the sun, how freedom hung in the air like a fine perfume. He’d miss his country, but he’d also do anything to protect it from the Communist threat.
James pushed open the door to the soda shop, and a tiny bell jingled to greet him. “The usual,” he called back into the kitchen. “Plus add an order of French fries, will ya?”
He sat down at the bar to await his meal, his feet jiggling beneath him as they tip-tapped on the checkered linoleum floor.
Then the doorbells jingled again, and the most beautiful woman James had ever seen walked into the shop. The setting sun cast a warm glow on her skin and her eyes glistened even brighter than the copper of that penny. They were a darker shade of the same color, too. Her skirt swished around her calv
es as she made her way over to the counter and sat down beside James.
Maybe love was every bit as powerful as freedom after all.
* * *
Deborah felt the young soldier’s eyes fix on her the moment she entered the soda shop. Normally, she’d blush and try to get away, but the sign of his crisply pressed uniform hinted at a boy about to deploy in the fight for her liberties, and she knew better than to deny him the simple pleasure of looking at her, if that’s what he wanted to do.
Besides, he wasn’t so bad on the eyes himself, with the high apples of his cheeks and strong, angular jawline. He looked strong all over, from his jaw to his biceps, right down to the stern but welcoming expression he wore on his young, handsome face.
“The name’s Morgan, Airman First Class.” He stuck his hand out toward her in greeting.
“I’m Deborah. Thank you for serving, Morgan.” She smiled sweetly then buried her face in the menu.
“Actually, you should call me James, seeing as it’s my first name and all. Care to let me treat you to a malted milk? It would be an honor and a pleasure.”
She took a moment to size him up. Deciding he was harmless, she answered with “Strawberry, thank you.”
“Hey, that’s what I like too. In fact, mine only just came out from back. Take it.” He slid the chilly confection her way, and she graciously accepted.
“When do you ship off?” she asked, sucking in a mouthful of the delicious treat as she waited for his answer.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“So this is your last night stateside?”
He glanced toward the counter for a moment, then fixed his gaze on her with burning intensity.
“Come out on the town with me, Deborah. Let’s make a night to remember.”
Deborah smiled and stammered to buy herself some time. She’d only just turned seventeen, and she’d never gone steady with a boy before. But James wasn’t asking to go steady. He was just inviting her out for a wholesome night of fun. Who was she to deny him this small pleasure when he was willing to give so much to keep his fellow Americans safe and free?
James tapped his foot on the floor. A nervous twitch? His lips set in a straight line, and she could tell he was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut and let her answer when she felt good and ready.
Well, heck, he seemed like a nice enough fellow. What could one night hurt?
“Okay,” she said at last. “Let’s hit the town.”
* * *
James couldn’t believe his luck. She’d agreed. This angel had actually agreed to spend the night with plain, old him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as they walked down the clean sidewalks of the tiny downtown area, licking at ice cream cones—strawberry, of course—and getting to know one another.
He banged his arm against a streetlight, but he hardly noticed the throbbing pain as they carried on down the street.
Deborah winced but continued with her story.
“So I graduate next year, and I have no idea what I’ll do then. You know, if I were a fella, I think I might like to serve like you’re doing. Of course, it’d be the Navy for me though. I do so love the water.”
James smiled. “I’m guessin’ that’s only because you haven’t yet seen the skies. Maybe one day I can show you.
“I’d like that.”
As they neared the edge of the park, Deborah rushed ahead and climbed onto the brick retaining wall, then placed one foot carefully in front of the other as she balanced on the ledge.
“I haven’t seen the skies, but now I’m a little bit closer.” She giggled and leaped into James’s arms when she reached the end of the wall.
He held her waist and stared into her eyes. His ice cream cone lay melting on the sidewalk beside him, but he didn’t mind one bit.
Deborah flushed and scrunched up her nose, then took a big lick of her still intact cone. “Mmm-mmm,” she teased before offering James to share.
And just as quickly as she had ended up in his arms, she was out again. She raced toward the tiny courtyard at the park’s center and stopped before the statue of old Huxtable.
“You kind of look like him, don’t you?” She moved her eyes from the statue to James then back again.
“Well, that’s a first.” He laughed. “Never been told I remind someone of an old, dirty statue before.”
“You can see it in the jaw.” She gently brushed her fingers along his.
He wanted to swoop in and kiss her so badly, but he knew better than to take such liberties with a girl he’d just met—no matter how much he felt for her already.
“Well then, I’m flattered. I hope I can be half the hero Huxtable was.”
She reached forward to hold both his hands, and an intoxicating, tingling feeling worked its way through his body.
“To me, you already are.”
* * *
She liked him. She really liked him. Too much for the welfare of either, she feared. What was it about this man that had her so taken? Was it because she feared for her own future as well as his?
A year until graduation. That’s all she had to figure out her place in the world, not that there were too many places where she’d belong.
She hated that the boys were the ones to have all the adventures while her parents expected her to brush up on her domestic skills and find a nice boy to marry. She didn’t want to be stuck in a kitchen for the rest of her life. No, she wanted to see the world, on the back of a motorcycle or aboard a sailboat perhaps.
Staying still had never suited her much.
Then there was James. He almost made her want to give up on her delusions of what her life could be and throw them toward the altar of marriage. They’d drink malted milks in bed and take the wildest vacations with their brood of sons.
She could picture their life together already, and it scared her.
What about her freedom? What about her sense of self?
She felt she still had them with James, but would it be the same with another boy? Her parents couldn’t afford college, and besides they didn’t think she’d need a degree to be a housewife—said her poetry was nothing more than a silly hobby.
But what would James think?
“I write, did you know that?”
He laughed for what was probably the hundredth time since they’d met earlier that evening. “Not until you just told me, but somehow I’m not surprised. Read me something?”
“I’ll tell you one of my favorites. I must confess it’s a little inappropriate for mixed company.”
James’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”
She stepped a few paces away, then recited her favorite thing she’d ever written.
“My love knows no man.
My love knows only me.
Touching, feeling, imagining what could one day be.
My love is hungry, devouring me from inside.
Yet still I have no partner in whom I can confide.
To touch, to feel, to live a love so real and full.
One day it may be, but until then myself I am whole.”
James’s face was a whole new shade of red as he glanced from her face to her hands, working out the meaning behind her poetry.
“I like that you can be so honest in your writing. You have a real gift, Deborah.”
Now she was the one flushing. Her name on his lips was enough to bring the heat to her cheeks as well as other parts of her body as of yet untouched by a man.
His eyes stayed on her as he rose from the bench and closed the distance between them. The stars above twinkled, as did his eyes as he drew nearer.
“May I kiss you?” he asked at last, and she could only nod, her words having been consumed by the poetry.
He inched forward to close the final bit of distance between them. The evening shadow on his chin tickled as they came together, and she liked it very much—the smoothness of his lips matched with the coarseness of his whiskers.
So this is what it feels like to be with a man?
Only she knew it wasn’t just about being with a man. It was about being with James. They’d only just begun, and already she was smitten.
* * *
And as soon as the night began, it was over.
Their kiss had been short and sweet and earth-shattering. Why couldn’t he have met this perfect woman earlier—or even later? Why did it have to be when so little time remained of his youth—and quite possibly of his life?
He couldn’t—nor would he want to—defect. His country needed him, and he was proud to serve. Yet…
Deborah’s thumb massaged his as they held hands and strolled through the neighborhood. He’d ask her to go steady, but knowing he’d be gone for so long… that just wouldn’t be fair.
It was like caging a wild bird, the beauty being erased by the captivity. He refused to put Deborah in a cage, no matter how much he’d like to keep her as his own.
If things between them were right—as he truly believed them to be—then it would all work out for them in the end, war or no war. They’d find a way back into each other’s arms somehow.
“This is me.” Deborah pointed toward a small ranch style home with green shutters and a row of rosebushes out front.
This was it, the end of their perfect evening together.
“I don’t have a way with words the way you do, but this has been real swell, Deborah. Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”
“Swell, indeed.”
She smiled, but he could sense the building sorrow behind her mask of happiness. While this could very well be the end for them, he refused to believe it. He hoped she felt the same too.
“May I kiss you goodnight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Our last kiss was perfect, and I refuse to kiss goodnight, because it’s really kissing goodbye.”
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