TUESDAY TALES - "TWO OF HEARTS" CONTINUES...

Welcome! The word prompt is "thank". Here's another snippet from "Two of Hearts" my NaNo writing project for the month of November. It's not a traditional romance, but rather women's fiction. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and the amazing authors there. 

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Two years ago.

Terry grumbled as he slipped on a wind breaker and harnessed the pug. A year ago, his wife, Clare had begged for a dog. Terry had a child in mind, but he gave in to her, as he always did. He’d wanted a lab, a big dog, a man’s dog. She’d had a friend volunteering in pug rescue. Clare had talked him into becoming a foster and little Queenie had done the rest.

Terry chuckled as he led the proud little dog down the hallway. No matter his mood, her pug strut made him smile. He locked the door to their elegant two-bedroom apartment and headed for the elevator. It was eight o’clock. Clare always did the early morning walk. But he’d put her on a plane to Los Angeles the day before.

He frowned as he thought about what she’d be doing there. An acquaintance of hers from the magazine she had freelanced for had hooked her up with some producer. There was going to be a six-month script-writing internship program and she could get in. Their conversation last month returned to him as he rode to the lobby.

“Aren’t you a little old for an internship?” He’d asked, refilling their wine glasses at dinner.

“It’s not for neophytes. Only for experienced writers.”

“Oh,” he had said, nodding.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to break into the movies.”

“Isn’t that a bit cliched?”

“Very funny.”

“Sorry.”

They’d finished the bottle. She’s cooked, so Terry had washed the dishes. Afterward, they’d made love. After great sex with Clare, Terry couldn’t deny her anything. He knew she knew that, but he didn’t care. He loved her with all his heart.

“How long is this program?” He’d asked, lying next to her, stroking her bare breast.

“Six months. That’s all. It’ll pass quickly.”

“And your freelancing?”

“Sarah said I could take a leave of absence of sorts.”

“And your job will be there when you get back?”

“Uh huh. That’s what she said. We already live on what you make. My dippy shit little salary won’t be missed.”

“It’s not about money. I’ll miss you.”

“You can come for weekends. Please, Terry? I may never get another chance.”

The soft feel of her skin and the pleasure from release still floating through his veins warned him he’d miss the sex and the cuddling. Clare had an amazing body. He claimed he’d never tire of looking at it.

“You’ll have Queenie,” Clare had said.

At the mention of her name, the pug had jumped up on the bed. Panting in his face, she circled and pushed her way between them, resting her chin on Clare’s leg. He admitted that Queenie had wrapped her little self around his heart, no matter how often he laughed at her antics.

“Okay. Six months. Only six months. Then you come home, right?”

“Right. Thank you. I love you madly, truly, dearly,” she’d said and then seduced him. 

He’d spent the next month looking for ways to back out of the deal. He’d never seen Clare happier. She sang in the morning, initiated lovemaking every night, and cooked dinner for him. How could he destroy her hopes? Did he believe she’d have a dazzling career as a scriptwriter? Terry had no doubt about her writing ability. But she seemed firmly locked into nonfiction. Smart enough to keep his misgivings to himself, Terry had swallowed his doubts and let her go. 

Thank you for stopping by. 

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