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“It wouldn’t be about us. We already have our story. But maybe I don’t mind helping you find inspiration to tell someone else’s story.” He smiles mischievously.
My jaw must have dropped, because he puts his fingers under my chin and gently closes it, kissing me softly.
“I love you, Lisa. You’re the right woman for me, and I want to be the right man for you. I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
I look at the book in my hand then back at the man standing before me. Once again, nothing I channeled for my characters could compare to the joy I feel right now. My fantasy is standing before me, and he’s better than any character I could dream up. Who knew real life could be better than a romance?
“What do you say?” Chris tips my chin up. “Should we write the epilogue?”
I toss the book on the couch and wrap my arms around Chris’s neck, “That comes at the end.” I smile. “This is the beginning.”
I hope you enjoyed Chris and Lisa's story. For Jen and Anthony's check out the next book in the Mile High Romance series, Totally Inevitable Intent. It's available on my website www.mlenardromance.com. Please also leave a review.
Books in this series
Not So Friendly Intent
Purely Novel Intent
Totally Inevitable Intent
Willfully Malicious Intent
Thoroughly Innocent Intent
Strictly Forbidden Intent
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Acknowledgments: Thanks to my editor, Jessica Meigs, and my critique partner William Cowie. Cover design by Sweet N Spicy Designs.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the FREE short story, The Long Route.
Chapter 29
The Long Route
The stunning brunette jogs by right on time, her long ponytail swishing with each step. As she passes me, I catch a whiff of something floral. Roses maybe? Lavender? Whatever it is it reminds me of summer, and the flowers that grew just outside my bedroom window.
Having it open was a compromise I made with my mother, who insisted I get fresh air if I wasn’t going to play outside with my brother. As a kid I didn’t really care what was growing out there, but I liked the smells that came in with the breeze, faint, just the way they are when my runner dashes by and the scent floats past.
Of course, it’s not only this girl’s scent that has me intrigued. It’s the lean legs poking out from her tiny running shorts. They’re the perfect mix of grace and power, and as a fellow runner I appreciate that combination.
Running was another compromise. Dad would have preferred I play a sport to stay active, football or soccer like my brother, but my hand-eye coordination is somewhat
lacking, and no one wants a guy who misses the ball on their team. It worked out in the end because I enjoy running, and still do it to this day, although I prefer early mornings instead of early evening. I suppose if I switched to an early evening schedule that would give me a reason to approach this woman, or at the very least signal to her that we have something in common, but I’m afraid that might change the interaction we have now, and I like what we have now.
Each day she passes by with barely more than a glance in my direction, although after that glance she bashfully averts her eyes. Sometimes she’ll glance over a second time, a little longer, and we’ll lock eyes. It’s brief, just long enough to acknowledge that we see each other, but it feels more significant than that. Like we’re the only two people in the park. But she keeps running, and I keep letting her go without trying to talk to her.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and jog toward the south quad, hoping I’m not too late. Class ran over because the professor was a little late, which normally wouldn’t bother me since I love class, but this time it interfered with my only window to see my runner. Since I don’t know anything else about her, like her name or where she lives, getting to the bench before she passes it is the only way I can be sure to see her.
She’s nowhere in sight by the time I get there, and I drop my bag on the bench in frustration. I don’t know how or why this whole ‘look but don’t touch’ thing we have going on gets me so excited, but I can’t get enough of it. Maybe the game speaks to my introverted personality, which she must have as well, because we both seem determined to be approached instead of doing the approaching. Ah well, maybe we’ll get another round tomorrow.
I reach for my bag and start to turn back towards my apartment, colliding with another body mid-spin. On instinct my arms shoot out to steady whoever I bumped into, and I find myself face to face with my runner.
“Whoa there. Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Didn’t you hear me coming?” She rests her hands on her hips, brow arched, though not in an irritated way. Inquisitive maybe. Or assessing. It makes me feel like I’m being scolded, and I’ve never been one to need scolding. It’s kind of exhilarating.
