Love Has The Best Intentions (2 page)

The terrier sounded an intruder alert and
Fiona raised her head. “Quiet, guys and gals! The Grinch is
back.”

She strolled over while I attempted to
maintain the appropriate expression of an Outraged Artist. “What’s
the complaint this time?”

“I can’t work!”

“Surely, you don’t blame me for high
unemployment rates.” Her smile was wickedly demure. “We’re staying
on our side.”

“But the noise isn’t.”

Her smile became penitent. “I’m sorry. I try
to keep it down to a dull roar. They’re quiet at nap time.”

“I can’t make a living painting an hour or
two a day!”

Fiona looked troubled. “I’m afraid that I’m
used to the country and no near neighbors. Why don’t we discuss
this over some freshly squeezed lemonade?”

Part of me—let’s face it, 98%--wanted to
hurdle the hedge and rush into the house with Fiona, slamming the
door in the pups’ faces. But pride held me back with a firm grip on
my shoulders while jealousy clutched at my ankles. She’d already
conquered Burt with that smile; a Harrison was made of sterner
stuff. Besides, if I weakened, the prospect of my fall show might
dissolve, along with my dream.

“If any of your critters sets a paw in my
yard, I’ll swear out a nuisance complaint and close you down, Ms.
Flynn.”

It didn’t take Fiona’s stricken expression to
tell me I’d gone too far, and all I had left was my pride.

I slunk back to my easel, but The Vendor no
longer excited me. Other images invaded my brain, filling my head
with swirls of color, and I recognized the symptoms of an “art
attack”, a period when I’m racked by a fever that won’t let me rest
until I capture, on canvas, the pictures crowding into my mind.

Propping The Vendor in the corner, I
stretched a fresh canvas and arranged it on the easel. When Burt
came home the next morning, he found me, unshaven and bleary-eyed,
frantically trying to capture the vision which oppressed me.

He hovered in the doorway, his voice
concerned. “Another art attack? You’re going to kill yourself. One
day I’ll find you lying dead in a pool of Vermillion #2.”

I said nothing, willing him to leave.

“Just one question, old buddy, closed or open
casket?”

“Out!” I slung a paint-smeared rag in his
direction.

Hours later, I unclenched my death grip on
the brush. In the midst of City Glimpses would be my masterpiece:
“Summer Interlude.” Drinking in the heady colors and delicate brush
strokes, I became aware of a persistent scratching noise and
turned.

The Cairn Terrier pup peered in through the
screen door. “Lost, little fella?”

Various muscle groups saw fit to remind me
that they’d been locked into the same position for nearly
twenty-four hours. Stifling a groan, I slid open the door. The pup
trotted in and flopped down, resting his head on my sneaker with a
gusty sigh.

“Harrison, Fiona’s lost a pup.” Burt halted
in the studio doorway.

Fiona ducked around him and burst into my
sanctuary. “You found Kirby! I was so worried.”

Kirby’s stubby tail wagged a greeting, but he
didn’t move.

“Bad Kirby! I’ve told you not to go near the
hedge. I’m sorry, Harrison. He must have tunneled under—” Fiona
broke off. “Are you all right?”

I suddenly realized I’d been able to
concentrate despite the noise. Fiona, not the pups, had been
responsible for my painter’s block. My knees turned to jelly.

The angel visitant caught sight of the
painting and froze. “Harrison!”

She stared, open mouthed, forcing me to
stagger unaided over to a chair. Humming, “I’ve Got a Date with an
Angel,” Burt disappeared.

I studied my newest work of art, which
depicted a woman seated on the grass. Her hair as dark as a raven’s
wing and eyes a heavenly blue, she smiled down on the pups
surrounding her. A pop-eyed bulldog had its rear end coyly elevated
while a rough-coated terrier leaned trustfully against its
mistress.

“Harrison, I’ve been guilty of disturbing
you. I’m so sorry. I guess I never realized what a talented artist
lived next door.”

I could only smile at the compliment.
Unshaven, exhausted and blissfully happy.

Fiona crouched beside me. She smelled of
sunshine, grass, and summer breezes. “I didn’t think you liked me
or the dogs! But this, this was painted with such love—”

As she spoke the last word, our eyes met and
she blushed. “I think I should get Kirby back to his buddies.”

“One of your dogs set a paw in my yard,
Fiona.”

She gazed at me blankly until remembrance of
my threat to close down her school colored her face rosy pink.
“Harrison, if you call the police, I’ll, I’ll ...”

“You’ll what? Set Kirby on me?”

The beast thus referred to licked my
outstretched hand.

Fiona sighed. “I should have boarded attack
dogs.”

Lust has never been as pure as the desire I
felt for my companion. “In return for my tolerance, you must pay a
forfeit.”

“A forfeit?”

I placed a kiss on the lips I had so
meticulously reproduced on canvas. The ensuing embrace progressed
nicely until needles sank into the flesh just above my shoe.

“I think Kirby’s jealous,” Fiona apologized
as she pried the puppy off my ankle.

“Such an interesting hypothesis. Shall we
conduct further tests?” Rejuvenated, I moved toward Fiona, but she
retreated, that adorable blush coloring her face again.

“Oh, dear, I’ve got to get back before my mob
of fuzzy hooligans breaks into the cookie jar and gets sick from
eating too many puppy treats.”

“We wouldn’t want that, darling Fiona. But
would you consider going out to supper with me tonight?”

Her answering smile was as divine as the blue
of her eyes.

“I’ll be over at seven o’clock.” I limped
after her to the front door. “Will all the mutts be picked up by
then?”

“All except Kirby. He’s mine.” Fiona stood on
tiptoe to bestow a butterfly-light kiss on my cheek. “But I’m
willing to share him. See you at seven. We’ve got fences to mend in
our relationship—starting with that escape tunnel Kirby made under
your hedge.”

Then she was gone, leaving me gaping after
her on the doorstep as Burt must have done the morning of our first
otherworldly visitation. My angel with her own guardian imp.

I hobbled back inside. If Kirby didn’t mend
his manners when I tried to steal another kiss, I knew of one
picture in my fall show that would have a certain terrier painted
out of it.

THE END

Love To
Go

Jenny and I blew into Corleone’s Pizzeria
just ahead of the approaching storm. I immediately felt its
coziness envelop me. “Brick ovens make all the difference in
texture and taste,” I informed Jenny, my words tumbling over each
other as I inhaled the scents of yeast and toasted cheese.

A small town girl, I’ve only been in the big
city for a few months. Jenny’s a co-worker who heard me bragging
about finding a fabulous restaurant and decided to tag along. Since
stumbling across the pizzeria, I’d visited the place nearly every
week. Watching the family members who owned Corleone’s and
listening to their banter and laughter made me feel somehow less
lonely.

I steered Jenny to a small red table whose
round top resembled a piece of pepperoni. “Here’s the order slip.
They’ll pick it up after you check off what you want. FYI, when
it’s ready, they announce your choice to the room, usually with
teasing comments.”

“Then I’ll order something non-fattening.”
Jenny smoothed her hair and glanced around the intimate interior.
“I see there’s mostly families in here tonight, RaeLynn. This
doesn’t look like such a great place to meet guys.”

It’s not a ‘meet’ market, it’s more of a
‘meat’ market—remember, I only claimed that the pizza’s great.” I
avoided looking for Nicky behind the counter. He worked Friday
evenings and somehow on Fridays I usually found myself hungry for
pizza. And a slice of Nicky.

The door blew open and the man himself burst
in, threading his way between the tables.

In a moment, Jenny would spot him—she’s got a
laser scope that locks on any cute guy in the vicinity, which meant
I was crazy for bringing her along.

I snatched up a slip and waved it under her
nose. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could order dates to
specifications?” In the “special order” section, I printed the
first item on my list of wants and wishes. “Dazzling smile—one that
makes me weak in the knees.”

“You go with the guy with a good dental
plan,” Jenny muttered. “I’d rather have one whose killer body does
the talking for him.”

But Nicky was more than just eye candy. I’d
watched him mop floors, hand toss pizza dough like a pro and listen
to complaints without ever losing his sparkle. By nibbling on my
pizza slices to prolong each visit and eavesdropping on the chatter
behind the counter, I’d learned Nicky took college courses several
evenings a week, chasing his dream of becoming an accountant.

I looked up in time to see him bend down to
retrieve a doll and hand it back to a tot who gazed up at him,
wide-eyed. He said something that made her giggle. I giggled too,
reminded of my next requirement and started to write again. “Good
with kids—I want a big family.”

I thought we were talking about a date, not a
commitment.” Jenny scowled at the choices on the order blank. “No
pineapple. They don’t offer many low fat options.”

“Not low fat, but life long,” I whispered.
“Like the type of marriage my parents experienced.”

“Okay, I’m out of here.” Jenny stood up and
shook back her hair with an impatient gesture. “If I decide to eat
three kinds of cheese and bacon on my pizza, I’m gonna do it some
place where they don’t announce my choices to the world—”

When she sank back down, her mouth slightly
open, I realized she must have caught sight of Nicky at the
microphone.

I scribbled down my final item. “Eyes a rich
espresso brown.”

The man’s husky baritone cut through the
chatter. “Who’s got #31? Hint: it’s a pie Popeye would love!”

At a corner table, a couple waved to the room
at large. “Spinach pizza. I yam what I yam!” the guy hollered
amidst a fresh burst of laughter.

I snatched up another slip and with quick
slashes checked the boxes for my usual order. Nicky’s sister
appeared at our table just as the door opened again, the wind
swirling our slips and a napkin to the floor. I dove for the orders
and handed them over to Mara, crumpling my wish list in my other
hand.

Nicky continued to entertain the patrons with
his good natured comments while I pretended not to watch and
clutched my “order”. If only I had the guts to talk to him. If only
Nicky would notice me watching him ...

Then Mara, a smile teasing her lips, handed
the next slip to her brother, who announced, “#38’s ready—and, wow!
Listen up, folks, someone’s ordered a great smile, a person equally
good with kids and numbers, and they’re looking for a lifetime
commitment and dark brown eyes. And they want it ‘to go’. Sounds
like we’ve got a marriage proposal here tonight, folks!”

Everyone applauded, along whistles and
shouts. Mara smiled at me while I sat as stiff as a wooden artifact
in a museum, thoughts flashing like traffic signals in my brain.
She must have recognized my writing, remembered me handing the slip
to her. No. Not possible. I must be asleep; this had turned into a
nightmare.

Nicky flashed that grin at the now silent
crowd, everyone craning their necks to see who was about to go down
on bended knee.

Jenny, traitorous Jenny, gestured at me.
“Over here, over here!”

I hated her.

Nick ignored her piping voice. “Now speak up,
who’s the romantic fellow—”

He broke off when his sister grabbed his
sleeve, gestured in my direction and whispered in his ear. Nicky
stared at the order again before his shocked gaze met mine. I
gasped, unfolding the wadded paper in my fist. Oh, no! I was
holding my actual pizza order, not my wish list.

Jenny burst out laughing. Covering my face
with my fingers, I wanted to sink under the table and die, in no
particular order.

After an eternity, someone gently moved my
hands; I stared into espresso dark eyes. The restaurant noise faded
as the world shrunk to just Nicky and me.

“Our advertising promises that we’ll serve
exactly what the customer orders. Shall we discuss your special
specifications?”

A shiver ran through my body as he brushed a
strand of hair back from my face and plucked my regular order from
my nerveless fingers, replacing it with my wishes and wants.

I gulped and stuttered, frozen in fear. Then
Nicky smiled the smile I adored, the one that makes me weak in the
knees.

I wanted to tell him how much I’d longed to
talk to him, how his smiles had warmed my lonely heart. Then from
somewhere I got the courage to pick up the shaker of parmesan
flakes and sprinkle it on his dark curls.

“If you recall, my usual order calls for
extra cheese.” He chuckled and I couldn’t stop an answering smile
from stretching my lips. “Let’s go for coffee at the diner across
the street,” I whispered. “Tonight, for a change, I asked for my
order to go.”

THE END

Perfect
Body—Perfect Match

Becca was in pursuit of the American Dream.
She craved what every man and woman secretly yearns for—a perfect
body and someone to appreciate it.

Her best friend, Lana, had a perfect body.
Becca sometimes wondered if Lana had ever endured the pimples and
awkwardness of adolescence. She appeared to have stepped, fully
grown, from the pages of a fitness magazine advertising French cut
leotards. Whenever Lana walked down the street, men forgot urgent
appointments, slammed into traffic light standards and drooled on
their silk ties.