Issue 7, Febraury 2018: Featuring Jayne Ann Krentz: Heart's Kiss, #7 Read online

  “She cheated on you.” Julia touched his cheek.

  When had she moved so close? “That was the drugs, too.”

  She withdrew her hand. “I went to the Love Advice table because I wanted the love of a child. I’m willing to settle for less with a man in order to have that.”

  Hank wasn’t the right man to be having this conversation with her. He had all he could handle with the business and Kimmy. And yet, something in his chest kept spewing forth words, words that made it appear he was open to a relationship with Julia. “Have you ever thought instead of considering it settling for less, you should consider dreaming of more? Of love without children of your own blood?”

  “That’s enough about my dreams.” She swallowed and looked away. “What do you dream of, Hank?”

  “I have to put my daughter first. I no longer dream.”

  Julia soaked in her bathtub after a long day in the garden with Hank. She was on the verge of giving up. On daddies and sugar daddies and sperm daddies.

  Hank didn’t dream. He didn’t risk. He was living only to make his daughter’s life a good one.

  The same thing she’d do if she couldn’t find love and had a child on her own. She’d put her child and Consignment Couture above having a personal life. It was what she wanted, even if it wasn’t what her mother wished for her.

  Hank made it seem so grim. Didn’t his daughter fulfill him? Wasn’t she enough to fill his heart with love? Is that the way Julia would be if she had a child alone?

  The eggs were oddly silent.

  On the final morning of work at Consignment Couture, Hank drank coffee and stared at his tiny condominium patio. It was filled with pots growing tomatoes and flowers. Someday, he’d like to have his own nursery in addition to his gardening business. He hadn’t slept well last night. His heart had ached that Julia might never carry a child of her own. She might never even realize that adoption or fostering would bring her the same joy.

  He liked working with Julia. She had what his grandmother used to call gumption. But with money as tight as it was it was best not to dream big.

  His cell phone rang. It was Miss Clark.

  “There’s been an outbreak of chicken pox at the center.” Her carefully modulated tones would be good over a P.A. system in time of crisis, because she sounded as if she had no heart, no deep love for the lives in her care. Nothing to lose. No loves. No dreams. “Since it’s Friday, we thought it best to close for a long weekend. We’re sanitizing the school. I’m sorry it’s such late notice.”

  And Hank had no backup plan, except to bring Kimmy to work with him. A four-year-old in a garden. A four-year-old who was still so very full of dreams. How bad could it be?

  “No school. No school.” Kimmy clomped into Julia’s garden wearing her yellow rubber ducky boots, a pair of jean shorts, and a pink Minion T-shirt. She carried a pail with a toy shovel, rake, and trowel. “We’ll have ice cream for lunch and cupcakes for dinner.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” Julia said. She wore blue jeans, work boots, and a floppy sun hat. She’d come a long way from Monday. But she didn’t come to kiss Hank’s cheek.

  A pang of longing struck. He’d miss those kisses.

  “Come meet my immortal frog.” Sitting at the fountain, Julia held out one hand to Kimmy and the pointed at the frog statue behind her with the other. “His name is Kermit.”

  Kimmy’s boots planted roots in the new curving sidewalk. She spoke not a word.

  Julia glanced up at the fountain frog catching a dragonfly. “Don’t be put off by his tongue sticking out. I’ve come to like Kermit.” She looked back over her shoulder, smiling weakly at Hank. “Even if he isn’t green.”

  Kimmy glanced up at Hank and whispered, “She looks like Mommy.”

  Julia heard. She’d been reaching up to pat the stone Kermit when she froze.

  “Just her hair,” Hank said. Nothing about Julia was the same as Nicole. Nothing. Julia was honest and kind and sober. “It’s not her.” He gave Julia an apologetic glance. “Kimmy was only two when Nicole went away.”

  “She’s coming back.” Kimmy regained some of her chutzpah. “And when she does we’re going to go to Disneyland and the circus and the moon.” She crossed her little arms over her chest, daring anyone to contradict her.

  “That sounds fabulous,” Julia said with an undisguised note of sadness.

  “Do you have a little girl?” Kimmy came closer, still deciding if Julia was to be taken in her chatty inner circle, one not open to Miss Clark.

  “No.” The light faded from Julia’s eyes. “I don’t. I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Do you have a dog?” Kimmy sidled closer.

  “No.” A defeated word. Spoken by a woman who’d given up on dreams.

  Hank’s chest felt tight.

  Kimmy stopped. “No pets?”

  “I had a frog.” Julia glanced up at the frog on the fountain. “But he found a better home.”

  Was Hank the reason she’d given up on having a child? Had she decided a woman who gave up her birthing equipment was any less a woman? What could he do? What could he say?

  Nothing.

  The farmer’s market would be opening in a few minutes. Maybe the Love Advice lady would have an answer.

  “Can I leave you two ladies alone? I need to get something...somewhere....” At Julia’s nod, Hank hurried toward The Local Grinder and the Love Advice table.

  The old lady saw him coming. She was wearing a red gauzy blouse and matching scarf. There was a small terrarium sitting on her table. It had plants and rocks tucked around a low bowl filled with water. And of course, Kermit. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Sit, sit.”

  He sat carefully in her folding chair. “I don’t have much time. I need to know why Julia came to see you.”

  “Why she came is no concern of yours.” Her voice was as high-pitched as the small bell charms on her bracelet. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here...um....I’m here to...”

  Bob Millar, one of Hank’s corporate clients, walked by, staring at Hank with open curiosity.

  “I don’t have time to date. I’m here for Julia’s frog.” So she wouldn’t be alone.

  Her brows rose. “Kermit is mine. I’ve given him a good home.”

  “You should have seen her this morning. She’s given up.” When the old lady didn’t respond, he leaned forward and said urgently, “She needs someone.”

  “A frog isn’t someone.” Her voice gentled. “Do you have someone?”

  He sat back in the chair. “I have my daughter.”

  “Now there’s a girl who could use another someone in her life.”

  She was wrong. So very, very wrong. Love was risky. For both his heart and Kimmy’s. “I’m not here for me. I’m here for Julia. She needs her frog.”

  “She has a frog in the fountain.” The old woman’s plump finger tapped the leaping frog on his shirt. “You understand about frogs. They’re happy creatures. And happy creatures bring—”

  “Prosperity.” Yes, he knew.

  “No.” Her smile was patient. “They bring more happiness. With their song. With their loyalty. With their tremendous ability to support one’s difficult decisions.” Her gaze pierced, delving deep down where he hid things like hurt and loneliness. “You haven’t made any hard choices for a long time. You’ve been in limbo.”

  “Yes.” Because providing a stable environment for Kimmy was the most important thing in his life.

  “Sometimes, frogs find the perfect place. And they stay for years. Like Julia’s fountain.”

  Hank’s glance strayed to the terrarium.

  “Kermit has found a forever home with me.” She tapped the frog on his shirt again. The one over his heart. “Your frog needs to find a forever home.”

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

  “With Julia.” She touched the top of his forehead, and then slid her fingers down to close his eyes. “A wise frog can close his eyes and see the life
he wants. A wise frog is brave enough to sing long and loud about what he wants.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you see?”

  With his eyes closed? Was she crazy?

  Except.... In his mind’s eye he saw Julia. Holding Kimmy’s hand. Smiling.

  He saw Julia’s face as he leaned in to kiss her.

  He felt Julia’s hand in his as they drank coffee in the morning and looked out on the terrace behind her shop at stone Kermit on top of her fountain.

  He opened his eyes, mind filled with questions he couldn’t voice. The most important being: Could he risk Kimmy bonding with another woman when he didn’t know for sure if Julia would stay?

  “You know the answer,” the old woman said. “That will be forty dollars.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Do you have a sister?” Kimmy sat on the edge of the fountain, kicking her rubber ducky booted feet out.

  “Yes.” Julia’s chest felt hollow and at the same time full. Kimmy was a joy. Hank was jaded when it came to love, but he had to be happy with his daughter.

  “You are so lucky.” Kimmy pounded her fist on her leg. “Madison has a little sister. She’s a baby, but someday when she grows up, they’ll play Barbies together and have light saber fights and build Lego castles and play princess.”

  We could be like her, the eggs said. Don’t give up.

  “You can do all that with your dad.” Your wonderful, wonderful dad.

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” Kimmy leaned in closer. “Daddy is sad a lot because we don’t have Mommy anymore. Or a little sister. You could be the next best thing.

  “Which would be...”

  “A big sister!” Kimmy clapped her hands.

  The eggs huffed.

  “Hey.” Hank appeared at the gate, looking like he’d just received some very bad news.

  “Hey,” Julia and Kimmy said.

  Paula’s face appeared in the window of the back door. She smiled encouragingly.

  Julia sighed. “I’m waiting for marching orders to get started.” May as well keep this business-like. One more day, and then Hank would be out of her life. Her heart would be broken, and a hard lesson would be learned: Always listen to your mother, not the Love Advice lady.

  “Can we talk first?” Hank tried to smile, but oh, that smile looked like the break-up face.

  How could he have the break-up face? They weren’t even an item.

  Retreat! Retreat! Cried the eggs.

  Paula opened the back door, apparently having decided she couldn’t eavesdrop as easily with it closed.

  “Kimmy said you brought plants. Why don’t I dig some holes?” Julia grabbed a shovel, positioned it in the middle of a flower bed, and jumped on the flat ends. The blade sank into the loose, composted soil easily. That’s what Julia needed—something easy in her life.

  “Daddy likes to play ‘what if’ with the plants before he digs,” Kimmy said. “Sometimes he plays ‘what if’ for hours and hours.”

  “Julia.” His palm came to rest on her shoulder. He took her shovel with his other hand. “I didn’t like it the other day when you kissed the FedEx man.”

  The eggs shimmied with hope.

  Julia wasn’t as easily fooled. “Those were just harmless air kisses.”

  “I didn’t like it when you kissed Mr. Jamison from the bank when he collected your deposit.” Hank’s voice was bankerly-serious. His gaze as unreadable as a loan officer’s.

  “Air kisses.” Her hands fluttered in the wind. “You have to kiss a lot of frogs, you know.”

  “Sounds like you kissed a ton.” Kimmy came to stand in the dirt at her feet. “I got into trouble kissing boys at school. You should stop.”

  “I didn’t like it this morning when you didn’t kiss me.” He moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek.

  Gasps filled the patio. Julia’s. Kimmy’s. Paula’s.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night because of the thought you might not be able to have the child you dreamed for....” Hank’s voice fell out of banker territory and into uncharted territory. “I thought I might help...somehow.”

  Julia couldn’t move. What did he mean?

  Everything, the eggs whispered.

  Hank locked his gaze on Julia. “But today I realized that I couldn’t imagine you raising that child without me. And Kimmy.” Hank smiled down on his daughter.

  Oh, my. The eggs fainted.

  “A little brother or sister?” Kimmy began doing a hoe-down in the flower bed, stomping feet and clapping hands. “This is my lucky, lucky day! The stork is coming. Wait until I tell Madison.”

  If he was offering to fertilize her eggs and then be a part time daddy, Julia wasn’t interested. Somehow, over the course of the week, she’d fallen in love with him. Part-time Hank just wouldn’t do.

  Feeling a bit surreal, Julia covered his hand with hers. “You’re a great guy, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to participate.”

  Good thing the eggs were still passed out cold. They wouldn’t approve of the out Julia was giving Hank.

  “This isn’t a business negotiation.” He shook his head. “I’m willing to be your frog. The last frog you ever have to kiss to find your happily ever after.”

  “What are you saying?” Julia didn’t dare hope or breathe or wake the eggs.

  “I went to see your Fairy Godmother.” He grinned. “I’m saying stop air kissing every man who walks in the door in the hopes he’ll be your Prince Charming.” He set the shovel aside and took both her hands in his. “I’m saying I’m your prince and your frog and the future father of our children, as many as you want as long as your life isn’t put at risk.”

  “But...but...I haven’t even gotten to Lesson #18.”

  “Throw away the book, girl,” Paula chimed in.

  “No books today. No school.” Kimmy twirled around the fountain. “Just frogs and babies.”

  “I have no idea what book she means,” Hank said. “But if you feel that we could have something together, it’s time to take a leap of faith.”

  “I’ve kissed enough frogs,” Julia murmured, allowing him to draw her into his arms and kiss her.

  Copyright © 2015 by Melinda Curtis.

  Petronella Glover is a multi-genre author whose work has been translated into a dozen languages, including the Catalonian Romance language, where she has won two awards for Best Translated Story. A little quirky, very geeky, and unabashedly romantic, she hopes to one day visit the City of Love, find a bustling café where she can sample their hot chocolate and write her first New York Times Bestseller. This is her sixth appearance in the magazine, and you can find out more about her at www.petronellaglover.com.

  QUEBEC ROMEO VICTOR

  by Petronella Glover

  Please Note: This beautiful love story written by Petronella Glover appeared in issue four only a few short months ago. Speaking with Petronella, I found out that the story had been printed with one of the characters mis-gendered. Namid is a female name in indigenous First Nation Canadian culture, not male, but the magazine had not yet published same-sex romances (which is a change we are making from this issue forward) so she sold the version of the story to the magazine where the couple were heterosexual. The sexual orientation of the characters were never discussed in the original, so the tweak was minor. But as our dear romance fans know, love takes many different forms, so I’ve asked Petronella if we could have permission to reprint her story with the correct genders in place. The story is clever and beautiful in its original form. It goes to show that a love story is a love story, no matter the gender of the characters.

  —Tina Smith, Editor

  “RA0ISS, NA1SS, this is K1TTI. Anyone out there?”

  Ugh. Even I could hear the slight desperation in my tone. Class it up, Kitty.

  I opened up a block of Lindt Dark Noir Coconut Chocolate, popping an oversized piece in my mouth, and grabbed the handheld microphone attached to my Yaesu FT-2900R amateur radio. Using the keypad on the microphone, I chan
ged the frequency from 145.825MHz to 144.49MHz. While the former signal was used by the handheld Ericcson radio in the Columbus module of the International Space Station, the astronauts were more likely to switch one of their other radios to the latter uplink frequency at this stage in their orbit; they had just started their pass over the Americas, which that signal covered.

  I’ve been trying for a few months to reconnect with Namid Carpenter—once my school chum, now a celebrated Canadian astronaut—during several of the sixteen passes the ISS makes over America each day. Towar"chapter-sub"ds the latter half of her 126 day stint on the Space Station I had found out she had taken particular interest in using the amateur radios in the various modules outside of the Station’s regular appointments with student groups. That alone had sparked the idea to renew our acquaintance in the most unexpected, and even sentimental, way. We used to communicate with each other via HAM radios when we had first gone to our separate ways to different colleges, following graduation. Then Life interrupted, and, well...we have not talked in nearly a dozen years.

  Up until around a couple of months ago I had sometimes heard a ghost of a reply from the International Space Station. I had even thought I’d heard Namid’s voice once: “NA1S—Crackle—ere. November Alpha One Sie—Crackle—eaking.” But, by the time I responded, either someone else was using the bandwidth to talk to the astronaut, drowning out my weaker connection, or it appeared the ISS had moved beyond the range my circularly polarized crossed-Yagi antenna could handle.

  I grabbed another piece of chocolate and shoved it in my mouth, grimacing at the cramp searing across my lower belly. I knew my emotions were more heightened because of my period, but, following the recent media frenzy over the hushed up incident on the ISS two months ago, and whispers of assassination attempts on the astronauts from Expedition 63 whom had since returned back to Earth, I’ve grown genuinely concerned for Namid’s safety. After literal radio silence from the International Space Station for the better part of two months, it was a relief to read on various ammeter radio forums that people were starting to hear chatter on the Station’s regular frequencies again. I was determined to find out if my former best friend was well.