BETWEEN THE PAGES

A romantic tale of love lost and love found

“It’s a great love story, Ally. When are you going to try again?” Darcy, my married sister asked when she looked up from reading my manuscript on my laptop. “I know Aaron’s passing was tough but it’s been three and a half years.”

I knew Darcy had my best interest in mind, she was my big sister. If it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t have gotten through losing my husband. I was healing, but she thought I was unnecessarily dragging my feet about dating again.

“I think you should start a writer’s group,” she said. “Coed.”

“Men don’t write romances.” It sounded like a good excuse to me but she wasn’t having it.

“Slim chance, probably true. Invite mystery writers, too, since you write romantic mysteries.”

I knew she was right and that I should start socializing more. I bit my lip in indecision, “I don’t know. What if I get a bunch of I don’t know what’s?”

Darcy laughed. “You forget I’m an English teacher and there are a few of my colleagues who’ve told me they’re working on something and asked if I would do the editing. I can email them your invitation for you. Then there wouldn’t be a bunch of I don’t know what’s”

I was skeptical. I was a writer who worked alone. She glided right passed my pause of uncertainty just like she did when we were kids and she wanted me to try something new. I knew, if I was honest with myself, she was right and I’d enjoy the experience just like I’d enjoyed countless others she’d instigated.

Her sly grin was a tell-tale sign she had just read my mind. “Good, you make up an invitation and I’ll email it. Ooh, I have a good feeling about this,” she finished, giving me a quick hug and left me to my task.

I wasn’t too sure about any of it.

Two weeks later, on a Sunday afternoon, I was expecting five people to come to my townhouse, sit in my living room and talk about writing romance and mysteries. None of whom I knew and Darcy wasn’t going to be here because she wasn’t a writer.

In a circle, seated around my coffee table, on my sofa, love seat and chair were two married couples who were writing partners and a strikingly handsome, dark-haired, green-eyed gentleman. Introductions started with the couples to my left.

It was the handsome guy’s turn. He grinned sheepishly. “I’m Ian and I almost didn’t come here today because well, I’m working on my first romance novel and I’m not sure I’m ready to share.”

He was honest. I liked that. Then, I noticed a tan line where a wedding band was recently. Probably today, I thought, my suspicions about this kicking in. It’s probably in the car and he was here just to pick up women. “Writers tend to feel that way,” I looked at each one of my guests. “I’m Ally, your host. I’m working on my first novel.” My eyes met interested sparkling green ones and I noticed how a roguish piece of his dark bangs fell over one eye. He smiled. I smiled back. I felt the link of attraction.

The moment was dissolved by one of the wives announcing, while wiggling the bundle of pages in her hand, “I brought the first three chapters of ours and we’re ready to swap.”

I watched as the woman from the other couple reached her hand out with a smile. When I turned my head, Ian was setting himself down on my coffee table with his manuscript paused mid-air in front of my nose. Raising my eyes, I was disarmed by his full, charming smile and asked, “Are you sure?”

“No,” he chuckled, “but I feel I have nothing to fear with you.”

I took his manuscript and handed over mine feeling suddenly awkward and fighting the urge to fidget.

“It’s the whole first draft.”

He gave me an adorable lopsided grin again. I think my heart missed a beat. “Mine is, too. Would you mind if I kept it until next week and gave you my critique of the whole thing then?”

“Only if I can do the same.”

“Of course.” My calm answer belying my inner writer’s skittishness. But, I soon settled in with his manuscript and read in silence until group time was up.

I peeked out the window as my group left, still holding Ian’s manuscript, I watched Ian sitting in his car, slide a gold wedding band on his left ring finger. Disappointed, I realized it was as I had suspected.

The following Sunday with our partner’s critique scrawled all over our manuscripts, my charismatic writing partner offered a compliment: “Your writing is as beautiful as you are.”

I wasn’t buying it. I muttered “thanks” but he continued. “Maggie was my wife,” he nodded towards his manuscript of love and loss. When I read your story about becoming a widow, I knew it was time to put my wedding ring away for good.”

My heart leapt for joy. I’d hoped I was wrong about him.

“And I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

“I would love to,” I grinned.

After everyone left, Ian and I walked down the block to a romantic café where he toasted, “Here’s to sharing stories and starting a new one.”

*Picture courtesy of Myriams-Fotos Pixabay