Relatively Crazy Page 25
“Your Valiant Knight will magically arrive, plop down in your chair, and request a haircut. Then you both will fall madly in love, and he will rescue you.”
Good Lord. Had I really been that naïve? That silly? Well, yeah. I certainly had been. And, I also had to admit, I’d ended up doing everything I’d sworn in my precious pink ink not to do.
The funny thing was, I couldn’t have been happier. As I closed the cover, I felt the past slide back into its proper place, and I smiled, thinking about my bright, new future.
The bell above the door chimed, and I quickly slid my feet, protesting loudly, into my flats. “Be right there.”
“Hey,” Sam said as I rounded the corner to the reception area.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. “Hey, yourself.”
I stood perfectly still, staring. The elusive Sam Branson had finally returned from his extended vacation in Florida. He looked exceptionally tan, if not rested. But hell, who was I trying to kid? Tired-looking or not, he looked great to me.
“Congratulations.” He passed me a large bouquet of mixed fall flowers.
“Thanks.”
“So. Um…” Sam trailed off, then quickly produced a brown Godiva box from behind his back.
“Truffles,” I nearly purred. “My favorite. Thank you.”
After spending a few uncomfortable moments, each of us shuffling from foot to foot and straining to not make eye contact—we simultaneously broke the silence.
“You girls did a great job.”
“How was Florida?”
I laughed, and then so did he.
“I’m sorry, Wanda Jo. I’ve been a real horse’s ass.”
I blew out a breath. A simple apology and a true statement. When backed up with flowers and chocolate… Well, what more did a lady need?
I took the practical approach. “Need a haircut?”
“I could stand one. How about the grand tour first?”
After a brief tour—yeah, he did ask for grand, but just how interested in a deluxe, whirlpool pedicure station could he actually be?—I was once again fastening the cape around Sam’s neck.
“Just a trim?”
He nodded.
“No spikes? Mohawk, maybe?”
He groaned.
“I’m just kidding.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I meant what I said earlier.”
I nodded.
“So you agree?”
“Yes.” I retrieved my shears. “You most definitely were a horse’s ass.” I leaned back against my station, returning his gaze.
Sam reddened a bit. “I really am sorry for the way—”
I held up one hand. “It’s okay. Really.”
“So do you think maybe we could try again?”
I smiled and gave a nod.
“Maybe we could go a little slower this time.”
I tore my gaze away from Sam’s deep brown eyes, glancing toward my old book and remembering the words I’d scribbled inside.
Maybe part of it hadn’t been such a silly notion after all. And maybe a Valiant Knight of a slightly different variety had plopped down in my chair—not once but twice.
“I really do love you, Wanda Jo. I always have.”
I smiled. “Me too, Sam. Me, too.”
A word about the author…
At the age of nine, Ellen decided she was going to be a writer after she found her Aunt Nettie’s trunkful of True Confession magazines and spent untold hours reading the lot, a bag of Munchos potato chips and a frosty RC Cola at her side. Then she forgot all about it in the pesky business of growing up. Many years later, she spotted a confession magazine on the grocery store shelf and began tapping out her own stories, which were a joy for her to have published. Ellen now spends her days creating happily-ever-afters for The Wild Rose Press.
Ellen currently makes her home in the mountains of West Virginia with her human family and a large extended family of kitties. A city transplant, Ellen is amazed at the solitude of the woods, the complete lack of neighbors, and the incredible variety of wildlife, which she'd previously only glimpsed in nature films, now strolling by her deck. When not writing, Ellen enjoys reading, cooking, and gardening, and is hopelessly addicted to Lay’s potato chips.
Visit her at:
www.ellendye.com
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