First Meeting from A Novel Romance by Dellani Oakes

The movies call first meetings, in romantic comedies, the Meet Cute. I think that’s a stupid term and didn’t even know what it was, until I heard it mentioned in some program and had to go look it up. Even if I’m not a fan of the Meet Cute term, I am a big fan of first meetings. How the characters react to one another often tells readers a lot about them. First meetings don’t always go well. In the case of Lionel Pettigrew and Arista Lockhart, their first meeting hits a few snags—mostly because Lionel is the epitome of the absent minded professor. He’s brilliant, a certified genius, who possess very few social skills. Sadly, they always abandon him at the very worst of times.

He entered the sanctity of his office, sighing happily as he leaned against the closed door. It took a few moments to realize he wasn’t alone after all. Someone sat in a chair in front of his desk. He stared, mouth agape.

“I let myself in,”he young woman said quietly. “I’m sorry. The girl at the desk said it was okay.”

“Did you need to see me?” He wandered in the general direction of his cluttered desk, setting things in random spots as he passed.

“I’m your new research assistant,” she said quietly. “Arista Lockhart.” She leaned across the desk, her hand extended.

Lionel, whose right hand was still full, handed her the object instead of shaking her hand. Arista gazed at his left shoe with a puzzled frown. He took the shoe, dropping it on the floor beside his desk. After rubbing his hand on the seat of his brown corduroy pants, he took her hand.

“Research assistant? I’ve got one of those?”

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t think so. But they could have given me one and not told me. Or they could have told me….” His voice trailed off uncomfortably. “And your name is?”

“Arista,” she pronounced slowly. “Lockhart.”

“Like the small spikes on grain,” he said with a grin, making pointy fingers like spikes.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name. The little spikes on wheat—they’re called Arista. Or some kinds of insect antennae…. Uh….”

She gave him a very puzzled frown. “If you say so.”

“So, research—um—assistant?” Lionel cleared his throat, frowning.

“Doctor Murphy said it was all arranged. You requested an assistant? I thought the other girl might be.”

“No. She wouldn’t know how to go about research. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know how to research?”

“Depends on the subject, but yes, I’m fairly proficient. I’m here to learn how to do it better.” A strained smile pasted itself on her lips. “Doctor Murphy had the impression it was imperative that I start immediately.”

“Oh! Oh. I wonder when I requested you.”

“Less than three weeks ago. You walked in, told him you needed a research assistant immediately and left. He got me as fast as he could….”

“Oh. How odd. I wonder what I was thinking?”

“But you do need me?”

“I’m sure I do. I must, if I asked for you.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“Doctor,” he corrected.

“What?”

“Doctor Pettigrew. Not—not Mister. Doctor.” He gestured feebly with his hands. Scratching his head, he twirled some hair around his finger.

Arista tried very hard not to roll her eyes. She almost succeeded. “Right. We need to talk about what my duties are.”

“I’ll have to figure that out, Miss…. Um….” The scent of her perfume had finally drifted over to his sensitive nostrils. It was sweet, sultry, enticing—a little spicy. He found it very hard to concentrate.

“Lockhart. Are you okay? You seem really distracted.”

“I’m fine. Just fine Miss—Miss Lockhart,” he said slowly and deliberately. “I have to figure out what I needed you for, then I can tell you what I want.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” He gathered up a handful of loose papers, trying to stack them. He failed, scattering them all over the floor. Lionel stared at them helplessly.

Miss Lockhart rose, gathering the papers on her side of the desk. Her skirt was short, but not alarmingly so. It was soft, dark chocolate fabric that clung to her hips, flaring at her knees. Her long legs were shapely, encased in some sort of patterned tights. Her top was a rich, rose pink with a high neck and long sleeves. A matching brown jacket was draped over the back of her chair.

Lionel took all this in as she picked up papers. He fumbled awhile with those on his side of the desk, wondering who she was and where she came from.

“I bet if you told me what projects you’re working on, we could figure out what you need me for.” Her voice was slightly muffled because she faced away from him, still picking up his papers.

She grabbed the last page from the floor. Straightening up, she went through them, putting them in order. Fortunately, they seemed to be numbered. Lionel didn’t realize he was staring until her eyes met his with an unnerving, withering glare.

“They match your skirt,” he babbled, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

“Excuse me?”

“Your—um—your eyes.” He cleared his throat again. “Match.” He waved his hand between his eyes and his pants, indicating they matched her skirt.

She cut her eyes at him suspiciously. What’s with this guy? Is he retarded or what? “Your project,” she said patiently.

“I—I’m between projects at the—at the moment.” Dammit! He thought he’d conquered that stammer. Indulging in mental profanity, he cleared his throat again.

“Coffee?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Want some coffee?”

“Do you want me to get you some?” She looked around in confusion.

“No. No, I can make some. I won’t drink what they produce down in the lounge. It reeks of chemicals. Mine’s organic.”

“You a vegan?”

“No.” He looked puzzled, then his frown cleared. “No. I don’t trust the crap they put in coffee. Never know where it’s been.”

“Organic is grown in manure,” she said politely.

“But at least we know where that’s been.” He laughed rather awkwardly.

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Bad Day by Dellani Oakes

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. Regardless of what they are called, I love introducing my characters to one another. These meetings often set the tone for the relationship, even if they don’t necessarily happen under the best circumstances. In Bad Day, Reva Kelly isn’t have a very good day. In fact, it’s so awful, she falls and breaks her leg, ending up in the hospital. She and her assistant, Jane, are waiting for her to be taken down to X-Ray.

There was some fumbling with the curtain and a young doctor poked his head in with a grin. “Am I in the right place? I’m looking for Reva Kelly?”

I waved, smirking sardonically. “You’ve found what’s left of me.” I grinned shyly.

He eyed me in a more than professional fashion, lingering on my broken ankle. Then his gaze drifted back up to my eyes, focusing there.

“Red hair,” he murmured.

“And green eyes,” I countered. “And you are?”

A brown haired, sun bronzed love god, by the look of him. His eyes were a amber brown with little flecks of gold.

“Sorry, I’m Mr. Perrine’s personal physician.” He smirked and winked.

“You are really a doctor, aren’t you?” This was from Jane. I guess she felt like I did that he looked really young.

“Of course. Doctor Hal Perrine at your service.”

“You’re related to Mr. Perrine?” Jane jumped in with all the right questions before I could even formulate them.

“Yes, his great-nephew. My grandfather is his older brother.”

“But you are a real doctor?” Jane couldn’t let that drop.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?” He held out his hand to her, artificial smile on his face.

“Jane Mercer, her assistant.”

“Ms. Mercer, I promise, I’m a bona fide doctor. See? It even says so on my coat.” He pointed to his name tag.

“How much experience do you have?”

“Is this a job interview? I came by to be polite and see if Miss Kelly needed anything.”

“And I’m very grateful,” I interjected. I didn’t blame him for being annoyed. I have people think I’m too young for my job too. “Jane’s concerned for my welfare, Dr. Perrine. She takes a sisterly interest in me. We’ve worked together nearly five years and we’re very close.”

I smiled sweetly at the doctor and flashed Jane a warning look. Her lips clamped shut on whatever comments she had, but her eyes were very expressive.

Hal picked up my chart and read through it quickly, nodding and making noncommittal noises as he did so. His smile was distracted as he put the file back down.

“Miss Kelly, Uncle Jake is really concerned about you. I’ve never seen him take such interest in one of his people before. You must be very special.”

I shrugged. “No more so than anyone else, I’m sure. Though what use I’ll be in a cast, I can’t imagine.”

“It won’t slow you down that much. A little at first until you get used to it. The pain meds will make you groggy though.”

“Have you had a broken leg, Doctor?” Jane asked abruptly.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ve broken both legs at different times. Both arms within six months of each other, three ribs, my nose, one wrist and an odd assortment of toes. It’s why I became an orthopedic man. After all my fractures, I had a pretty good working knowledge and thought I’d put it to use.”

“Were you in car accidents or something?” Jane was amazed at the doctor’s list of breaks.

“Mostly clumsy, but also I like extreme sports. I’ve been sky diving, wind surfing, bungee jumping, snow boarding from helicopters and I like to race dirt bikes.”

“Is that how you broke your leg?” I asked, figuring dirt bikes were pretty dangerous.

He glanced away, rubbing his nose distractedly before answering. “Actually, I broke my leg once playing golf and the other time falling out of bed.” He blushed, looking more than a little embarrassed. “What? It was a high bed!”

He looked so innocent, I had to laugh. Hal laughed heartily at himself as well. I liked Dr. Hal Perrine. He was handsome, funny and intelligent. Everything I look for in a man. Could I be so brazen as to ask him out? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. What the hell, I had enough drugs in me to stop a truck.

“Hal,” I said before I lost my nerve. “Maybe some day after I get used to the cast, we could go for a cup of coffee or bungee jumping?”

“No bungee for awhile.” He tried to frown and couldn’t. “But coffee sounds pretty safe. I haven’t broken anything drinking coffee—yet.”

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Bad Fall by Dellani Oakes

The movies call first meetings, in romantic comedies, the Meet Cute. I think that’s a stupid term and didn’t even know what it was, until I heard it mentioned in some program and had to go look it up. Even if I’m not a fan of the Meet Cute term, I am a big fan of first meetings. These often set the tone for the relationship, this is certainly true in the case of Frank Atherton and Marka Ventimiglia in Bad Fall ~ Now available at many online book retailers!

Frank works as the assistant director at a large retirement complex. He’s staying in one of the guest rooms at the facility, to keep an eye on the son of one of the residents, who is causing trouble. Frank has just seen a short interview on the in-house TV station, with the new staff psychologist, Marka Ventimiglia and is somewhat surprised when she shows up at his door.

Someone knocked at his door. Thinking it might be someone about Mr. Penwarren, he groaned quietly as he stood up.

“Be right there!” he called. He dropped his plate in the kitchen sink and went to the door. “What’s he done now?” he asked automatically as he opened it.

It wasn’t Sue or one of the other staff members. An attractive brunette stood there.

“I’m sorry? Who did what?”

“Oh, no one you’d know. Frank Atherton, Assistant Director. I just saw you on TV.” He held out his hand after wiping it on his T-shirt.

She smiled. “Marka Ventimiglia. Nice to meet you. I feel really stupid asking, but yours is the only room with a light on. I took a chance that someone was up.”

He invited her in. She hesitated a moment, then followed him inside.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m embarrassed to ask. I’m staying in a guest room and I’m out of toilet paper.”

“Really? No spare?” he was puzzled by that. “The girls usually put it under the sink.”

He walked to his restroom. It was quite spacious, with a tub and a separate, walk-in shower. He opened the sink and didn’t find a spare paper under there. Checking all the cupboards, he came up empty.

“That’s weird. Gimme a second.” He dialed housekeeping but got no answer, so he dialed the front desk. “Sue, it’s Frank.”

“Hi, Frank. All’s quiet at the moment. Whatcha need?”

“Dr. Ventimiglia is with me and she hasn’t got a spare roll of toilet paper. Neither do I.”

“Oh, gosh. You want me to run some up there?”

“No, you don’t need to. Is Kathy around?”

“She should be. Shall I call her?”

“I just tried. I’ll call her again. Thanks.” He dialed the housekeeping office a second time. No one answered. Puzzled, he hung up.

“I’ll try later,” he told his guest. “Do you need some immediately?”

She looked slightly uncomfortable. “As a matter of fact….”

“Please, make yourself at home. There’s a nearly full roll.” He gestured to his restroom. “Want some coffee?”

“Love some. I’m a caffeine addict. I also drink a lot of water. Hence the urgency.” Marka closed the door behind her.

Frank set up a pot of coffee, pulled out the half and half and sugar packets. She came out just as the coffee finished.

Smiling, he served Marka, inviting her to sit on the love seat. His laptop occupied the chair. He set it carefully on the floor and clicked off the TV.

“I’ll give Kathy a call again a minute,” he explained. “She might be on break.”

“Thanks. I’m still learning my way around. I got here yesterday.”

“I caught your show tonight. Interesting. You should get a good turn out. I’ll talk it up for you.”

“You wouldn’t believe the success I had when I was doing my clinical,” she responded excitedly. “It was amazing, the results!” she sobered slightly, catching herself before she got too crazy. “I won’t bore you with details. You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Atherton. I get very excited about my work.”

He smiled, eyes twinkling. “I’m glad one of us can. I’m either playing nursemaid, mother or cop. I never thought I’d have a job like this. None of my duties were in the job description.”

“The director, Mr. Norton, speaks very highly of you.”

Frank laughed abruptly and rather rudely as he finished his coffee. “Yeah? Boy, that was lie. He thinks I want his job.”

“Do you?”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Looking surprised, he set his mug down. “Not really. Too much schmoozing.”

“Isn’t that in your job description?”

Frank laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not a schmoozer. I’m more of an in your face kind of guy.”

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting by The Best Medicine by Dellani Oakes

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. For Tanya in The Best Medicine, the first meeting she has with Morgan is somewhat embarrassing and rather annoying.

Tanya examined the last set of X-rays and left the room, dragging her feet on the linoleum floor. Even the best shoes did not keep her from having sore feet by the end of a sixteen hour shift. She shuffled into the staff lounge and collapsed into the nearest easy chair, putting her feet up on the coffee table.

The room was empty except for another doctor dressed in surgical scrubs. He looked absorbed in the science-fiction book he was reading, so she leaned back and closed her eyes. Before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep. A sound startled her and she jerked awake. She blushed as she realized the sound that had woken her was her own snoring. Mortified, she glanced at the doctor, but he hadn’t raised his head from his book. She shifted in her chair, straightened her shirt and closed her eyes again.

“You should head home if you’re that tired,” the man said without looking up from his book.

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m just too exhausted to drive. I’m afraid I’d have an accident and end up back here taking up bed space.”

He chuckled, setting his book aside. “You’d get some rest anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t, I’d have all you bloody doctors poking me to see what made me tick,” she managed a soft chuckle and nestled further into her chair.

“We’d save special tests just for you. The most intrusive possible, with blood drawn every hour. I’m sure we could find ways to occupy your time.”

“No doubt,” she said, starting to get annoyed now by the conversation. She wanted to rest and she wanted to be left alone, neither of which was happening. “Look,” she said, sitting up in her chair. “I don’t really mean to be rude….”

“Sure you do,” he smiled, looking up from his book for the first time. He was quite attractive, but had a smug expression on his face as he clasped his hands together between his knees. “You say that so I won’t think that you think I’m being intrusive. But whenever someone starts a sentence with things like, I don’t mean to be rude, or with all due respect, they mean just the opposite.”

Tanya pressed her lips in a tight line. She glared at him for no reason other than he happened to be in the line of her stare. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing white in his well tanned face. When did he have time to get a tan? Tanya was pale from all the extra hours she spent indoors in dimly lit rooms. It was bad enough he was gorgeous and tall with dark hair and dancing blue eyes, but he was tanned, muscular and had on a cologne that made her dizzy.

She stood, intending to leave the room in a huff, but the walls spun as the floor and ceiling suddenly switched places. Disoriented, she fell like a load of wet sand. Strong arms caught her before her head hit the coffee table, easing her back into the chair she’d risen from. She felt fingers on her pulse and the cold of a stethoscope on her chest. He checked her pupils next, flashing his light in her eyes. The bright beam made her eyes water.

Voices echoed down the hall, congregating outside the lounge. The chatter faded as three other doctors crowded into the room and gathered around Tanya and her tormentor. Two of them she recognized, the third was slightly familiar. All three started talking at once, asking the man what had happened, completely ignoring Tanya.

“She fell, I think she may have fainted. She didn’t hit her head, I caught her before she collided with the table.” He was making her sound like a fading flower or something, it was really ridiculous.

“If it’s all right with the rest of you,” she said in her haughtiest tone. “I do think I’ll go home now!” The haughtiness diminished somewhat by the fact she was whispering.

“I’ll drive you,” her friend Davida said. “I’m off shift now and I’ll take you home.”

“I need my car for the morning, D. I can’t just leave it here.”

“I’ll drive her,” the new doctor said. “You bring her car.” He and Davida had the situation in hand.

“Does anyone want my opinion?” Tanya sounded childish and huffy even to herself, but wouldn’t have admitted it for anything.

“No,” Davida told her with a smile. “I’ll grab my purse. Where’s yours, in your locker?”

Tanya nodded slowly, but that brought on another wave of dizziness, so she stopped.

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from After Midnight by Dellani Oakes

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. Amos Lowery is a malnourished, homeless man who wakes on the beach one morning with blood on his hands and a crusty knife in his pocket. After going to the police department, he is taken to the hospital, he meets a young doctor, Annabeth Crane.

A quick word with the nurse and a different doctor, a young woman with short black hair and a sassy attitude, came instead.

“Hey there. I heard you and Craig had a problem?” She was very Southern. Amos placed her accent around south Alabama.

“He was rude,” Sarah said, ready to cut loose.

“He thought I was a junkie,” Amos said, shrugging.

“Hmph,” she snorted. “Don’t look like one to me. I’m Annabeth, and I’ll be accosting you with sharp tools. Let me get a clean set up. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, Annabeth.”

The nurse brought a tray instead and stayed to assist while the doctor took a small sample of the welt. The nurse did the blood draw, and the doctor washed her hands before settling on the end of the bed.

“He’s another mystery drug man?” she asked of the room.

“Yes,” Van said. “We were hoping for an update on his labs.”

“I’ll get that. We’ve been monitoring for Dr. Weiss, but someone was supposed to tell you. Probably Craig.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t take it personally,” she assured Amos. “He’s entitled and superior, because his daddy has money, and he hasn’t had to work for a living. I put myself through school.” She bounced out and got a tablet from a stand near the nurses’ station. When she came back, she sat on the bed next to Amos and accessed his files.

“This is the level when you came in. It was still quite strongly in your system. Honestly, I’m surprised you were able to do much of anything, but lie on the beach and gurgle.”

Amos and the others laughed.

“It’s going down gradually. That’s interesting.” She paused, examining something on the tablet. “It hit a point and started to degrade more quickly. You’ll be glad to know, it’s very nearly gone from your system. Based on this rate, I’d say it should be completely dissipated in a few hours.”

“Do you think I’ll get flashbacks, like with acid?”

“I honestly don’t know, Amos. I’m sorry. You’re the first person to survive this.”

“How did the others die?”

The police and doctor exchanged a look that Amos could easily read. They didn’t want to alarm him.

“Look, I don’t scare easily. I’ve lived on my own for six years, much of it on the street. Before that, I was dodging my old man’s fists, and learning to hold my own with boys twice my size. I’m gonna go out on a limb, and say it was a real ugly death.”

“Yes,” Annabeth said softly. “Very ugly. They mostly committed suicide. Some died as a result of the drug. We don’t know enough about it, to predict what will happen next.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Dr. Weiss believes the reason you survived is because you’re otherwise ridiculously healthy. Despite being malnourished, you’re the healthiest man I’ve ever met. In fact, your blood work is so good, they’re singing your praises in the lab.”

Amos chuckled, ducking his head. “I can’t afford to be bad,” he admitted.

“Clean living, no matter why, is probably what saved your life. You’re obviously not a junkie.”

“What’s-his-dick thought so.”

Annabeth snorted. Her lips were full, her skin a light cafe au lait. Amos suspected there was an interesting mixture of races in her background, which had gathered together to make an elegant woman. Her eyes were so dark brown, they looked like ebony. Her lashes were long and thick. He felt a flush start in his chest and move downward. Closing his eyes, he dearly hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“What’s-his-dick also thought, because I worked my way through med school as a pole dancer, that I’m a whore.”

Amos’ eyes flew open, his mouth firmed up. “How do you stand him?”

“I find myself having to rise above a lot. I clamp my mouth shut and pretend I’m the adult. I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was six. No pompous, pampered prick is going to take that from me.”

Chuckling, Amos nodded. “I like you, Dr. Annabeth.”

“I happen to like you, too, Mr. Lowery.”

First Meetings from Analysis of Love ~ A Love in the City Romance by Dellani Oakes

Quaid Jennings is shy. Despite the fact that he’s a well established psychologist, he has trouble communicating on a personal level. Coming out of a bad breakup, he finds it even harder. Sensing his difficulty, his business partner, Boyd, help him out. They go to an anniversary celebration for Boyd’s parents, where much of the family has gathered, and Boyd introduces Quaid to his favorite cousin, Faydra.

One pair of blue eyes watched him lean on the bar, chatting with the bartender as he prepared the drink. Shorter than her cousins, she tended to be surrounded by the crowd, rather than standing out in it. In four inch heels, she wasn’t even five and a half feet tall. In flats, Quaid would be a foot taller than she.

“Sup, cuz?” Boyd asked, as the crowd of women moved away from them, toward Quaid and the bar.

His diminutive cousin sighed, shrugging. “Watching the girls work their magic.”

“You’ve got magic, too, Faydra.”

She shrugged again. “I’m the size of a peanut. He won’t even see me with Trixie and Belladonna there.”

Belladonna was Trixie’s twin sister. Both were nearly six feet tall, and a whole lotta woman. They were tag teaming Quaid, one on each side, flashing tits and making invitations. They’d roped in more than one man who held a secret fantasy about doing twins.

“Go say hello.”

“Maybe later.”

Boyd took her arm. “He’s not even interested in them.”

“Every man is interested in them. They have boobs out to here and those long legs. Men fantasize about having them both at the same time.”

“You’ve read too many seedy novels.”

Boyd moved forward suddenly, dragging her with him. He could see the look of panic on Quaid’s face, and knew he had to rescue him, before his friend ran screaming from the room. Butting into the conversation, he elbowed Trixie aside, pulling Faydra in front of his friend.

“Quaid, I don’t think you met Faydra. She was in Europe when we came up for Una’s wedding.”

Trixie and Belladonna looked daggers at their male cousin and glared at the runt. Since their quarry didn’t seem all that interested, they went looking for another one. Each of the men in the family had brought a male friend, so there were greener pastures to be had.

“Faydra, this is my roommate, Quaid Jennings. We have our practice together.”

“Oh, hi.” She laughed nervously. “I’m Faydra…. But you know that because Boyd just introduced us. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you over the years. And Claudette has about a hundred pictures of you two. Some of the girls think you’re gay, cause you live together, and all, but it seems to me that being roommates makes more economical sense. I mean, it gets real expensive to pay rent and bills. And try to find a job in your field! Well, I guess you guys have, right?” She rolled her eyes at Boyd. “Oh, tell me to shut up….” she pleaded.

“Fay has a little bit of a shyness problem,” he explained to Quaid, as if his friend couldn’t tell.

“I tend to babble,” Faydra explained, taking a drink that was offered to her. “My daddy used to ask my mama where the off switch was. I just don’t know when to shut up. I get nervous, and I talk and talk….” Groaning, she took a sip of her drink. “God, Boyd, just punch me!” She looked around, but her cousin was gone, talking to a pretty brunette whom he seemed to know—well. “Oh, I’m gonna kill him!”

“He does that to me, too,” Quaid said. “We’ve roomed together nearly ten years, and he still wanders off and ditches me when he catches the scent of a hungry vagina. Oh, hell,” he whispered.

“Your off switch is missing, too, huh?” Her blue eyes sparkled.

“Yeah, that’s more of a filtering problem, brought on by a lack of intimacy.” He chuckled. “That, I meant to say.”

“So, you’re horny and spoilin’ for it?”

“You could say that, yes. I’m not just trying to get laid,” he explained quickly. “I mean, that would be great, but after awhile, at the end of the day, don’t you just want someone to talk to?”

“Yeah,” she confessed softly. “I do.”They walked toward the front porch. It wasn’t as crowded out there. Twinkling Christmas lights bathed the exterior of the cabin in a golden glow. Glasses in hand, they walked to the far end and leaned against the railing. Quaid slung a hip over the top of the railing, but Faydra wasn’t quite tall enough. He hopped down, lifting her to the broad railing, made specifically for sitting on, before joining her once more.

“I’m the midget in the family. My mama had six ahead of me, and they all got the tall gene. I’m the runt.”

“Runt of the litter makes the best companion,” he said quietly. “Being short is okay, Faydra.”

“Says the six foot man.”

Laughing, he rolled his eyes. “I’m the short one of my family, too.”

“Liar.” Her lilting voice held a hint of the South, flavoring her words with honeysuckle sweetness.

“You’re not from around here, are you.”

“What was your clue? A Dixie Darlin’ accent you can cut with a butcher knife?”

Chuckling, he nodded. “Might have been a clue. And you don’t act like these other girls. You’re different….”

Sighing, Faydra eyed her drink, sure he wanted to talk to someone else instead. “If you want to go speak to my classier, big city cousins….”

“I want to talk to you. I said you were different. I didn’t say they were better.” He smiled, his eyes meeting hers. “I like different.”

“I’m short and bony. I’m not one of these super model types.”

“You’re petite and athletic, and I don’t like super models. Making love to a tall woman is like having sex with another guy.”

Faydra bust out laughing. “Did you mean to say that?”

Quaid laughed, ducking his head. “About ninety percent of what I say, I mean. The other ten….” He shrugged. “Not so much. Trust me, if I say something I didn’t mean to, you’ll know, because I’ll turn red as hell.”

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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First Meetings from A Bride for Brodie by Dellani Oakes

I am a big fan of first meetings, or the Meet Cute as they are called in romantic comedies. These often set the tone for the relationship, and tell us a lot about how the couple will interact with one another later in the story. In the case of Malcolm Brodie and Cassandra Tillerman, the first meeting does not go well. Fortunately, they are able to overcome their differences, but based on their first meeting, it doesn’t seem very likely.

Brodie isn’t having a very good day. He’s almost late for work, waiting for the elevator, which is being slow. He gets on the crowded elevator and a pretty redhead parks herself right in front of the panel. Unfortunately, she’s on the phone and isn’t paying attention to the floors other people need. Since she’s blocking it, someone has to do something. Brodie takes her phone, hanging it up, earning himself a tongue lashing. Eventually, he manages to escape, has a brief and happy meeting with clients, only to have a very nasty surprise when waiting by the elevator once again.

Bell dinged, door opened and out walked the Phone Princess, glowering the moment she saw me. Surprise replaced the anger as she saw Janine Tillerman apparently delighted with my surly, brutish company.

“Mother? What are you doing?” She turned abruptly in my direction, snarling. “You bastard! Take your hands off my mother this instant!”

I jumped back like I’d been shot. A yelp escaped me that reverberated in the marble lined hallway and echoed around the entire tenth floor. People peeped out of offices and cubicles all around us, leaning forward to get a better view. We gave them a hell of a show. Phone Princess, or as she was more commonly known, Cassandra Tillerman stood three feet five inches away from me, arms akimbo.

If you don’t know what akimbo means, imagine your fourth grade teacher chewing you out for throwing spit wads when her back was turned. Remember how her hands were planted on her hips and she leaned forward in a threatening manner? That’s akimbo.

“What,” she repeated loudly, “are you doing?” This was directed at me.

I let go of Janine Tillerman so fast, my hands blurred. Horrified, her mother stood with her mouth open, eying her daughter balefully.

“Cassandra, what on earth?”

Cassandra advanced like a she-wolf coming in for the kill. Her dark brown eyes flashed with cold flames. Short, curly auburn hair burned with hell’s fire and steam rose from her nose, billowing around her head. Okay, that one was my imagination, but you get the idea. She’d reached a level of pissed off I’ve never seen before.

In short, I was terrified. There was no way I could show fear, or she’d have me. Instead, I adopted the same bored expression I did when Mrs. Flaherty chewed me out for the spit ball fiasco. Pretending indifference, I listened politely, waiting for her to stop for air. She went an incredibly long time before drawing a breath.

I admired her stamina and the way her chest rose and fell as she bellowed at me for a good five minutes. I’ve seen some attractive women in my time, but Cassandra Tillerman was as exquisite a specimen as I’d seen in awhile. It didn’t matter that she hated my guts, nor did it especially matter that she was yelling less than a foot from my face. She smelled amazing and had a dimple in her left cheek that showed deeply when she pursed her lips. Her eyes were a shade of brown that was so dark it was like looking in a well.

I fell in that well, weighted down with the fact that she absolutely, positively, unequivocally detested and abhorred me. I’m certain of this fact, because she told me in no small detail just how loathsome an individual I am.

Her parents could do nothing to control her. Ches couldn’t get a word in edgewise, try as he might to deflect her diatribe. Cassandra was in full voice, locked and loaded, ready to take aim and fire, when security showed up. Three large men, even bigger than I am, tumbled out of the same elevator she’d exited less than ten minutes before.

“Er, got a problem up here, Mr. Winchester?” Pete, the guard captain asked my boss.

“I’m not really sure.” Ches replied hesitantly, looking aghast at Cassandra Tillerman with mixed alarm and dread. He glanced at me. Seeing my stony silence and tight lipped demeanor, he blinked rapidly. Ches always blinks a lot when he’s nervous. “Brodie? Do we have a problem?”

“No, sir.” I replied, lips snapping together. “I don’t have a problem. Perhaps Miss Tillerman does?”

Cassandra Tillerman had finally decided she’d gone too far. The fact that she’d drawn a crowd hadn’t phased her, but when the security team surrounded her looking tough, she got very quiet. Quelled, I think is the right word. Decidedly quelled.

“Cassie, for goodness sake, tell me what’s wrong? Why are you behaving so abominably?” Her mother was appalled and not unaware of the lingering crowd.

Her father was silent, looking furtively between us. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, or felt sorry for me. I was too furious to tell and too pissed off to give a shit.

“He is abhorrent!” She pointed at me, her well manicured finger shaking slightly.

“What did you do?” Mrs. Tillerman turned appealing to me.

“Shall I tell them about the little fiasco in the elevator, Mr. Whatever, or do you want to?”

I shrugged. “I’ll tell them. One of us has to be an adult here. I pick me.” I quickly filled them in on the salient points of our first encounter.

Miss Tillerman’s face grew red, her hands clutching white knuckled at her sides. She looked ready to grab my throat and rip it out with her teeth and sink her nails into my spine.

“You wicked, nasty man! That isn’t what happened at all!”

© 2019 Dellani Oakes

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And Finally—Z by Dellani

I thought of this story when I was driving down State Road 44 into New Smyrna. The traffic is horrible at certain times of day, particularly in the summer. I can’t remember now why I was there, rather than taking I-95. There had to have been a good reason for it, because it’s usually a drive I avoid. In any case, this story, Driving Blind, was born as I languished in traffic.

It had been an indescribably horrible day. Zenobia drove with the top down, listening to Battle Without Honor or Humanity at full volume. Her red VW Beetle zipped along Interstate 95, her sun-streaked blonde hair billowing behind her like a standard.

She pulled off at the New Smyrna, eastbound exit, slowing way down for the sharp curve. Checking traffic, she eased her VW into the flow heading toward town. At the stoplight on the east side of I-95, she slowed as the light changed to yellow. She could have driven through, but there was a motorcycle cop three cars behind her on the left. She turned down her music and waited for the light to change. The left turners eased across State Road 44 and the police officer on the motorcycle pulled up next to her.

Zenobia risked a glance at him. She couldn’t see much because of the helmet and glasses, but she saw a strong chin, broad shoulders and tanned arms covered in silky black hair. She smiled and looked away when he turned toward her. The light changed and she carefully put the car in gear, moving forward slowly in the heavy traffic.

As luck would have it, the next light was also red. Slightly frustrated, Zenobia checked the traffic to see how badly it was backed up. Another look out the front window showed the cars were thick ahead as well as to the rear. The police officer was a car behind her, but eased up once more, crowding the SUV ahead of him. The driver peeped over her shoulder guiltily, but the officer did nothing.

Zenobia felt eyes on her and looked around to see the officer staring at her. She smiled again, nervously, and flipped her hair to cover her face. A furtive glance in her rearview mirror showed the officer staring at her, smirking. He had full lips and a hint of a five o’clock shadow. Of course, with hair that dark, he probably had a shadow right after he shaved. What little she could see of his hair was so black, it had a bluish cast to it.

The light changed and the car behind Zenobia honked. Flustered, she forgot to put her car in gear. Scrabbling around, she put it in first, took her foot off the clutch but not the brake and the car stalled. More honking followed. Mortified, she got the car started, put it in gear and jack-rabbited through the intersection as the light changed to red.

Flashing blue lights and a whoop of a siren warned her to pull over. There was an abandoned driveway from a long defunct business. Zenobia rolled over there, turning off her car. She pulled out her license and registration, ready for the officer. He was busy on the radio, calling in her humiliation and probably checking to see if she had any priors or outstanding warrants. Thankfully, her driving slate was clean. She lived a steady, boring life. At 29, she lived with her parents, putting her advanced computer degree to less than great use working on the Geek Squad at Best Buy. Far from ideal, her circumstances couldn’t be helped. She’d had a lot of difficulty finding a good paying job in her field that was also close to home.

Feeling an overwhelming desire to cry, Zenobia put her head on the steering wheel. “This is the worst day ever!” she sobbed into her lap. She forced the tears down, but couldn’t keep her shoulders from shuddering.

The clearing of a deep, male voice got her attention. She looked up in the the darkest brown eyes she’d ever seen. Black eyebrows arched over thickly lashed eyes. His nose was almost too big for his face, but he made up for it by having a square jaw and a cleft in his chin. He smiled down at her.

Zenobia handed her license and registration to him. He gave them a cursory look, jotted something down on a pad with his left hand and gave them back to her.

“I’m sorry about the mess back there,” she apologized quietly. “I’m still getting used to standard.”

“No big thing,” he replied. His voice was deep, husky and flavored with a true Southern accent.

“Are you gonna write me a ticket?” Her voice cracked making her feel even more foolish.

“You okay?” He frowned, taking a step closer.

Unable to control herself another second, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to get out of the ticket by crying,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know what I did wrong and I can’t afford a ticket and I’ve had the worst day ever!”

Rather than being sympathetic, he laughed. Zenobia glared at him. He laughed harder.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m not laughing at you—well, I am—but not because you’re crying. I pulled you over to make sure you aren’t having car trouble. You had such a problem at the light, I thought maybe your engine stalled. I wanted to get you out of traffic.”

“You—you aren’t giving me a ticket?”

“No. No.” He chuckled again. “I’m really sorry, Miss Vlachos. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Zenobia squinted up at him, surprise replacing worry. “You pronounced it right. No one ever gets it right.”

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

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Y Do I Bother? by Dellani

There’s an invisible spot beside my sink where dirty dishes go to hide. Really clever dishes can hang out there 3 or 4 days without being detected. It’s a great hiding place for greasy pots and tomato sauce encrusted spoons, dirty plates and disgusting forks.

The most interesting thing about this invisible spot is that I’m the only one in the house who can see into it. The dirty dishes cannot hide from me. The men in my family—well, that’s an entirely different ballgame. It’s completely hidden from them. Anything to the left of the sink—at the edge of the metal lip, can’t be seen by male eyes. Something about that Y chromosome, I’m sure.

I’ve found that the Y chromosome also seems to make them incapable of changing out toilet paper rolls, voluntarily emptying trash cans or putting new bags in when they’re done. It makes them deaf to the sound of my voice too.

That Y chromosome’s a pesky bugger who really likes to get under my skin. It makes my youngest son stare at me wide eyed, wondering why I’m yelling at him for riding his bike all over town without permission.

It makes my husband say things like, “You got your hair cut? It’s going to take some getting used to.”

My middle son simply doesn’t hear me. I can say the same thing to him sixteen times and not get a response. “Why didn’t you tell me dinner was ready?” “I told you already.” “I didn’t hear you…..”

All of them, without fail, put things away in the wrong places in my kitchen. It’s got to be a Y chromosome problem. No woman in her right (or wrong) mind would put things where they do. I’m missing several things right now. Got no clue what they did with them. Mr. Y also makes them forgetful.

“Who put the potato peeler with the measuring spoons?”

“Wasn’t me,” my husband declares before I even finish speaking.

“I didn’t do it. I know where those go,” the youngest says.

“I didn’t put those up,” the middle one tells me. “Must have been Dad.”

Sometimes, based on where things are put, I can tell who did it. Each of them has a favorite wrong place for things. The measuring spoons are mixed with the peelers (husband). The ice cream scoop is put in the knife drawer (middle son). The metal bowls aren’t properly stacked (youngest).

It’s getting so bad that it takes me twice as long to fix a meal because I’m having to search for food items or kitchen tools as I go. I neaten the bowls only to have the plastic containers fall out of the cabinet at my feet. My spoons & forks are mixed up, spatulas & rubber scrapers are stuck in the wrong drawers.

Since my eldest son and his girlfriend have been living here the last year or so, the Y factor is even stronger—so much so, it even affects us two women from time to time.

The sink isn’t the only area where things can hide. Other places also harbor the occasional invisibility vortex. One day, my plastic wrap went missing and was gone for quite awhile. I finally asked the household at large where it was.

“Where is my plastic wrap?”

Blank stares.

“It’s red and has a baby on the outside of the box.”

More blank stares and not a word spoken.

I knew exactly where the box is. I’d located it in the garage where one of them left it. I just wanted to see if they’d own up to it or at the very least, bring it back inside. I bought another one, complaining loudly about the loss of the first one. It’s probably still out there.

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

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The X-Factor by Dellani

I’m always looking for ways to expand my vocabulary and this X Challenge gave me a good reason to go looking for new words. I don’t know a lot of X words, apart from Xylophone, X-Ray and Xanadu. Xenon and Xenophobic also are ensconced in my vocabulary. However, I wanted to expand upon that, so I went to Collins Dictionary and did a little excavating.

I recently watched a silly show on Netflix. One of the characters was named Xanthippe. I found it interesting to read that Xanthippe was the name of Socrates’ sharp tongued, spiteful, harping wife. They writers had obviously chosen this name for a reason, because the character was all of that and more.

I discovered, in my explorations, that xylophagous is an adjective pertaining to certain insects, crustaceans, etc feeding on or living within wood. With xylo as the root of the word, I wasn’t particularly surprised to find that xylobalsamum is the name of the dried, fragrant wood of the Balsamodendron gileadense that produces resin known as Balm of Gilead. And just as logical that xoanon is the name of a primitive image of a god, carved, especially originally, in wood, and supposed to have fallen from heaven.

If that weren’t enough, the x-factor, a noun (informal) an unknown or unexplained element that makes something more interesting or valuable, the excellent apogee of this exciting article, we come to the last X entry in the Collins Dictionary. I didn’t know that a xyster is a surgical instrument for scraping bone; surgical rasp or file. To be honest, I never thought about it having a name. I’m not surprised such an instrument exists, as I’m sure it’s extremely important.

I believe I’ve had enough of X today. Perhaps another time I’ll be more interested in extolling the excellent exigencies of X, but until then I’ll relax, enhance my Xi and plan my trip to Xochimilco noun a town in central Mexico, on Lake Xochimilco: noted for its floating gardens. Pop: 364 647 (2000).

© 2018 Dellani Oakes

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