Fisher Amelie's Blog

December 31, 2016

Hello, my darlings! Here is my short little short story for New Year’s. I hope you enjoy Midnight. Let me know in the comments if you enjoyed Jack and Adeline!

Midnight


There was no one to kiss at midnight. I was okay with this. So I didn’t have a boyfriend? I was never one to insist on having one even if it meant a lonesome New Year’s. I’d done Christmas alone and I weathered that like a champ regardless of my Aunt Sarah’s pouty laments about my dying an old maid if I “didn’t figure myself out soon.” Sigh. I could do alone. I was happy with myself and since I didn’t care to kiss random strangers, either, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to kiss anyone at midnight.


I was okay with this.


Well, I was ninety-two percent okay with this.


Loud music thumped through the crowded party I was at. I looked around me and noticed two of my workmate girlfriends sidled up to their gentlemen dates. A tiny pang of sadness filtered across my skin.


Fine, I was seventy-seven percent okay with not kissing anyone at midnight.


I glanced at the time on my phone. It read nine p.m. Three more hours, I chanted in my head. No, I amended, two hours forty-five minutes. In a flash second, I decided it was best to be in a cab headed for home ten til. No sense standing around like an idiot, smiling like one as well, at all the happy people around me, locking lips, feeling exhilarated, feeling enchanted.


I was sixty-four percent okay with the whole not sharing a kiss at midnight thing.


I crossed my arms across my stomach, balancing my empty martini glass at my hip, trying for casual. I kept fidgeting, which probably meant I looked anything but casual. Sigh. It was just as well. No one was looking at me anyway.


I was forty-three percent okay with the lack of kissing potential.


“Refresh your drink for you, Adeline?” Jack said. Jack was a work frenemy. He and I were always neck and neck, occasionally elbowing the other out of the way if it meant we could get the attention of one of the partners. Half the reason I did well as a first year associate at our New York law firm was because of him. I couldn’t be lazy around Jack.


I stood up straight. He was always angling for a way to tease me and I didn’t want to supply the fuel. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”


He took my empty glass from me and set it on the kitchen counter next to his phone.


“Whose loft do you think we’re in?” he asked me.


“I heard someone say it belonged to Justin Chekov.” Justin was one of the firm’s clients.


Jack looked surprised. “This is Justin’s apartment?” He studied his surroundings. “We should have charged him more.”


I laughed and nodded. “Did you come with the rest of us?” I asked him.


He shook his head at me. “Remind me not to ever send you with an investigator, will you? I was sitting one away from you.”


He was subtly reminding me with that comment that he was put in charge that day of overseeing the other first years.


I stared at him. “Not fair. It’s so easy to overlook you.”


“Is it, though?” he asked, throwing his chin the direction of two girls ogling him.


I rolled my eyes and pretended to study them. “Let me rephrase. It’s easy if your name isn’t Cinnamon or possibly Chandelier.”


He smiled an easy grin. “Touché.”


I inclined my head toward him.


“How about Helluva Bottom Carter?”


I burst out laughing. “Yes or Eileen Dover.”


He nodded in approval . “How about Amanda Hugginkiss?”


“Lauren Order?”


He barked out a laugh and I knew I’d won. Jack never laughed out loud if he could help it.


He cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway, I read that brief you drafted.”


I perked up a little bit. “Oh yeah?”


“It was good.”


I snorted. “Just good, huh?”


“It was brilliant, Adeline, okay? What more do you want from me?”


“Ha! I knew it. Proof you think I’m brilliant.” I slapped my hands back and forth as if to clear them of imaginary dirt.


“I said the brief was brilliant. I never said you were.”


My mouth hung open. “So you don’t think I’m brilliant?”


“What I think is irrelevant.”


I shook my head. “No, Counselor, it is extremely relevant,” I teased.


The expression on his face flickered a moment. “What would it matter to you what I did or did not think?”


I stood a little taller. “It- it doesn’t,” I stuttered.


His teasing grin came full force. “It-It-It It doesn’t sound like it,” he needled.


I felt my cheeks heat up a bit. “Okay, Jack, whatever.”


“Okay, Jack,” he mocked in falsetto.


“Oh, real mature, Jack.”


“Real mature, Jack,” he parroted.


I shook my head at him just as Justin came over. Jack abandoned high school and put on his big boy suit. “Justin,” he said as they shook hands.


Justin turned toward me and offered his hand. “Adeline, nice to see you again,” he said after I took it.


“Of course, Mister Chekov. Thank you for having us.”


“Please, call me Justin.”


I smiled at him. “Thank you for having us, Justin.”


“It’s a pleasure,” he said. “Listen,” he continued, placing his other hand on top of mine when I tried to pull away, “I was wondering if I could interest you in dinner sometime?”


“Um, of course, did you want to go over the results of your case?” I asked.


He laughed and winked at Jack in that, girls, aren’t they precious? kind of way. It grossed me out. From the look on Jack’s face, he concurred. He looked my way and must have read the deer-in-the-headlights vibe I hope I was giving out.


“Actually, Justin,” Jack explained, taking my hand and surprising the crap out of me. It was warm and fit perfectly over mine. Butterflies filled my stomach and my skin flushed all over. “Adeline and I are together.”


Justin looked a little taken aback but he rallied well. “Oh, excuse me, the way you two bickered at one another, I assumed- well, never mind what I assumed. Excuse me, I hope I didn’t offend.”


I shook off the honeyed effect Jack’s hand had caused and smiled at Justin. “Of course not, I’m flattered all the same. Good for a girl’s complexion, so thank you,” I tried to appease.


Justin smiled back, peered down at our joined hands briefly, before offering a smile and retreating back into the party.


Jack let go of my hand. Neither of us said anything to one another for at least ten seconds before we both spoke at once.


“Jack-“


“Adeline-“


“Go on,” he said.


“Thank you for that,” I said, unconsciously rubbing at the palm he’d just held. “I, uh, I didn’t want to offend him but-“


“But didn’t want to go out with him?”


I smiled and nodded. “No!” I shivered a little. “I know a few things about him and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t date him for all the money in the world.”


“So it was cool for me to, uh, you know, hold your hand?”


“Of course! I mean, yeah, it was perfect. I mean, it worked perfectly. He doesn’t get offended and I get to keep my standards.”


Jack smiled at me. “And your job.”


I bit back my own smile. “You’re going to lord your new position over me every single chance you get, aren’t you?”


He laughed. “Who? Me?”


“Come on, you two!” Peter, another associate, yelled our direction. “There’s fireworks going off over Times Square and Justin says we can see them from the roof.”


We followed the crowd to the roof after grabbing our coats and stood near the railing as fireworks burst above us. The sound was almost deafening but the sights were unbelievable, full of whites, reds, and greens. The sky lit up beautifully.


Forty-one. Forty-one percent okay in that moment.


I glanced toward Jack and felt my throat close up a little at the memory of what his hand felt like in mine. His eyes found me and I quickly forced mine back toward the sky. Being as careful as possible, I glanced his way again with what I hoped was a skillful side eye.


Jack was certainly good looking. I’d always known that. He was tall. He was built but lean. At least, I thought he was. His Mad Men style suits always hung so well on him. Half Jack’s attraction was his ability to carry himself well and the boy had swagger. He had a Forties throwback haircut, always perfectly parted. I dug it, I won’t lie, but I also itched to ruin his part just so I could see what his reaction would be. He wasn’t classically handsome but he had a jawline and a pair of baby blues that could send any woman to her knees, but what drove me personally up the wall, in a good way, though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, let alone myself, was his Adam’s apple. The man’s neck was beautiful. I imagined dragging my thumb down the line of his throat and inwardly shivered. Where did that come from?


I took a deep, shaky breath and tried to focus on the fireworks. I shoved my hands out of my gloves and set them on the ledge near me. My fingers found my neck and dragged down, unbuttoning the top button of my coat. I was gulping in air.


“You all right?” Jack asked from beside me. The warmth of his breath puffed in the air around us.


I jumped a little then laughed. “Yeah, I’m cool or whatever.”


“Amazing, right?” he asked, gesturing at the sky.


“It’s magical,” I admitted.


We stood in silence until the finale faded into the sky and the world turned quiet, save for the typical city noise I was accustomed to.


Jack smiled politely at me and I felt my heart rate increase. Uh oh. We followed the funneling crowd toward the roof’s door and ended up being dead last. Jack opened the door for me and I began to walk through when I suddenly remembered my gloves on the railing’s ledge.


“My gloves!” I protested.


Jack looked around. “Where are they?” he asked.


“Just there,” I said, pointing. “I”ll get them,” I said, just as he said the same.


We let the door shut behind us and started toward the railing. He beat me to them and picked them up for me, handing them over, as we headed for the door again. He grabbed the handle and yanked but it didn’t budge. My pulse picked up again but this time in a bit of a panic. He pulled as hard as he could but it wouldn’t open.


“Shit,” he whispered. He reached into pant’s pockets, looking for his phone, I assumed. The expression on his face went from collected to frantic as he checked his jacket pocket and his coat pockets, turning up with nothing. “Oh shit,” he said again. “My phone’s on the island downstairs.”


I gulped. “Mine’s in my purse.”


“Let me guess, also downstairs?”


I nodded, afraid to speak.


“Well, we’ve got ourselves a little situation,” he commented.


“Surely they’ll notice we’re not there.”


He nodded but didn’t look convinced.


“Carmen will definitely wonder where I’m at,” I said, feeling a little better.


“Carmen left,” Jack told me.


“What!”


“Yeah, I was standing with Peter earlier and she said she had to go back to the office. One of the partners needed her. She said she’d text you.”


“Oh my God,” I said, feeling a little sick.


It was probably twenty degrees out.


“It’s fine,” he said, using his litigator voice, which made me nervous. “It’s all going to be fine.”


He walked to the roof’s edge and peered down. He followed it all the way around.


“What are you doing?” I asked.


“Checking for the fire escape.”


“Oh my God, yes! The fire escape!”


He looked at me then shook his head. “It’s broken, Adeline.”


I scoffed. “No way. They wouldn’t let something as important as the fire escape in a posh building like this go to disrepair.”


“They would and they did,” he said, pointing over the edge.


I stomped over beside him and peered over. “Oh my God, I’m going to report them immediately!”


Jack’s hands went to the back of his neck. “Okay, okay, let’s think about this.”


I glanced around the edge. It was too high to call down and the nearest window was too far to safely descend. We were truly stuck.


He began kicking at the big metal door and I helped him.


“Maybe,” he grunted, “we. can. get them to. hear us.”


We pounded and pounded until both our hands and feet were raw but no one came. We both fell back, tired and defeated.


“We’ll just have to wait then,” he said.


With that, fear filled me entirely. My eyes started to glass and Jack noticed.


“No,” he whispered, “don’t worry. I promise we won’t be up here much longer. Let’s just find a way to stay as warm as possible for the time being.”


I swallowed and nodded. We both stood and glanced around us. There was only a bunch of covered patio furniture nearby so we decided to search the other parts of the roof to see if there was anything else. We rounded  the roof’s door only to find more furniture but about fifteen feet further from that, tucked in the far corner, was something that could have been a gas fireplace. It, too, was covered but I didn’t think it could be anything else. Together we lifted the canvas cover and saw that it was, indeed, one of those gas fireplaces.


“Oh thank God!”


Jack searched its perimeter. “It needs a key to work,” he told me. I met his side and tried not to get hysterical. “I think I might be able to rig it.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something similar to a pocket knife but even crazier looking.


“What the hell is that?” I asked.


He laughed. “It’s some sort of multi-purpose tool Ned gave me for Christmas. I thought nothing of it at the time but now I could kiss him.” Ned was the firm’s investigator. Jack started rummaging through the knife’s options and found something he liked. He bent and attempted to pick the gas lock, eventually getting it to turn. He flipped the pilot light’s switch but it wouldn’t turn so instead he had me stand back as he bit at the flint attached to his new Christmas gift. The flame burst to life and I squealed like a little girl, jumping up and down.


“I can’t believe you did that!” I told him.


We held our hands over the fire and warmed up for a few minutes before deciding to pull up a few chairs. Jack gathered a bunch of furniture covers, tying them to the corners of our chairs and the stone surrounding the fire, encompassing us completely and keeping the warmth of the fire close. We sat and reveled in the heat.


“That was pretty ingenious,” I told him.


He shook his head. “Nah, it was all Ned.


I didn’t say anything because I knew he would have denied it anyway, but I knew for a fact that had he not been there, I’d have frozen to death on that roof.


“Thanks for helping me,” I told him. “I’m sorry I got you caught up here.”


“It wasn’t your fault,” he offered.


“Yes, it was. This is just my awkward way of thanking you for getting caught out here with me and not letting me die.”


He smiled at me then turned his gaze toward the fire.


“I wonder what time it is,” he said absently.


A thought occurred to me. “I hope I didn’t screw with any plans you had.”


“What do you mean?”


“If you had someone waiting for you at midnight, I mean.”


He looked at me, his eyes furrowed in confusion. “Who would be waiting for me, Adeline?”


I swallowed. “A girlfriend or whatever.”


He laughed. “Have I ever talked about someone at work?”


“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have someone or whatever.”


“I suppose it could mean that but that would also mean I was an asshole, don’t you think? Never talking about some girl I was with?”


“Not really. Some people are just really private.”


“Oh, I see, does that mean you’ve got some guy chasing your skirt?”


“Excuse me? Any one who chases me better be up for climbing ladders, let my skirt alone.”


“Are you wearing a skirt while on this ladder?” he asked.


I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Oh, shut up, Jack, you know what I meant.”


His chest and shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re so easy.”


“I am not easy!”


“No!” he laughed, “I meant it’s so easy to bug you. You make it too easy for me.”


“I know what you meant, jack ass. You get a lot of joy out of flustering me,” I told him.


He sobered. “Do I fluster you?”


I felt my skin flush. “Not as much as you’d like,” I told him.


“Tell me then how much you think I’d like to fluster you?”


This is dangerously close to flirting. 


“It’s unquantifiable. What might be much to me might not be much to you.”


“What is much to you then so I can gauge it.”


“How could I measure that?” I countered, not wanting to make myself any more vulnerable to him than necessary.


“Easily,” he teased.


“Set the value then.”


“On a scale of one to ten, one being you’re complete indifference to me and ten being that I totally agitate you,” he goaded.


“What’s the median?” I asked.


“Provoked but it’s not necessarily unwanted.”


I twisted my lips. “I say just above the median,” I said. A mischievous grin grew across his mouth, “With the occasional outlier,” I amended.


“What is the outlier?” he asked.


“Fantasies of lopping off a certain reproductive organ.”


He made a show of crossing his legs and I fought a grin. “That day Smith overlooked you for me when you were obviously just as qualified for the case and I was already overloaded?”


It fascinated me that he went right to it. “To name a few.”


“Smith is an antiquated, sexist fool, you know that, right?”


“He’s still a partner, Jack.”


“He’s pushing eighty-five, Adeline. He can barely try a case anymore. They’re constantly loading him with busy work. He’s there for show only and they’ll push him out soon.”


“Maybe,” I agreed.


“And then I can, well-“ he didn’t finish.


“You can what? Tell me. Find a position for me? Help me out?”


His eyes serious, he shook his head back and forth slowly. “You don’t need help from anyone, Adeline.”


I swallowed. Thirty-nine percent okay with not having someone to kiss when that clock struck twelve.


“So what did you mean then?” I asked.


“Well, it’s just, if they promote from within then we can vie for any open associate position. It’d be between us.”


“Yeah, so? You’d get it, Jack.”


“And why do you think that?”


“Because they gave you that promotion today.”


Jack laughed. “You want to know why you didn’t get the promotion?”


“Why?”


“I overheard the associates’ secretaries talking. They chose me over you because they needed you free and available for the Martinelli case next month.” I started breathing heavier. “They felt you’re the most capable.”


Jack had been campaigning to be put on the case as the junior for weeks. It was one of the biggest cases our firm had gotten in years and had even garnered national attention. Whoever the junior was on that case was going to have the biggest card in their pocket if we won. I couldn’t believe they were looking to place me.


“Wow,” I whispered.


Jack smiled at me. “They’re right, you know. You are the most capable so when we both vie for that open position and you get it? Then I can relax.”


“Relax.”


“Yes, damn it. Do you know how ragged you run me? I can barely keep up with you.”


I laughed out loud. “I get four hours a sleep a night on average, I eat out of containers at my table surrounded by files, I’ve got Ned on speed dial, and I haven’t gone on a date in over a year and it’s all because of you.”


Jack’s jaw went slack. “You haven’t dated because of me?”


My face flamed. “I, uh, just meant I don’t have time for anything else anymore. I’m always trying to figure out ways to beat you.”


He smiled at me. “So you don’t have anyone to kiss at midnight either then.”


I shook my head. “You know I don’t.”


“Interesting,” he said.


I lifted one brow. “Why is that interesting?”


He drew the backs of his fingers down his jaw and tried not to smile. “It just is.”


“Have you been drinking?” I asked him.


He threw his head back and laughed. “Maybe a little,” he answered.


“How much?” I asked.


“Enough that I’m letting down my guard but not so much that I don’t know what I’m doing.”


I leaned forward. “What are you doing?” I asked.


He opened his mouth to answer but stopped short when he noticed it had started to snow.


“Uh oh,” I whispered.


Jack grabbed the leg of my chair and pulled me closer to the fire. It was bold and it was sexy and I felt my stomach flip on itself. My whole body swung toward him when the chair stopped and he leaned toward me. “We’ll have to stay close like this to stay warm,” he explained.


Feeling a little out of breath, I said, “Will we?”


“Hey, Adeline?”


“Yeah?”


“When you walked into the office to meet everyone tonight?”


“Yeah, I was a little late.”


“We were all standing near the elevators, getting ready to head downstairs, and the doors opened and you were standing there in that peach dress, your shoulders exposed. I opened my mouth to quip something at you but I was stunned silent.”


“You were?” I quieted.


“You’re a beautiful woman, Adeline.”


I swallowed. “There are lots of beautiful women at our firm.”


He smiled but shook his head. “Not like you, though.”


I sucked in a breath. “What are you saying?”


He shook his head and let out a deep breath. “I’m just admitting I find you handsome is all.” He sat back in his chair, resting the back of his neck on the top of the chair and exposing his magnificent throat. “I’m not telling you something you don’t already know, though.”


“Do you want in on a secret?” I asked him.


“Always.”


“A girl can suspect she’s beautiful. Unless it’s confirmed, though, it’s merely a suspicion.”


“That’s ridiculous.”


“But it’s the truth all the same.”


He sat up. “Has no one ever told you that?” he asked me.


“A few boys in high school, but they always looked raring to go at the time, so it lost its value immediately.” Jack grinned. “A drunk boy in college but it was at a party where he also told one of our three hundred pound linemen the same thing.” Jack laughed, giving me butterflies. “And all the time on the streets here but it’s usually quickly followed up by the word bitch because I won’t give them the time of day.”


Jack shook his head. “It sounds like you’ve been tossed about by idiots. You don’t trust when someone says it and they’re genuine.”


“It’s hard to trust anyone anymore.”


“Men aren’t who they used to be,” he told me, “but I’m not a product of that school, Adeline. I mean what I say.”


I took two deep breaths. “I believe you.”


He smiled at me, his brilliant teeth startling white against his warm face. “Good.”


I didn’t have anything else to say so I decided to keep quiet, a trick the juniors learned the second we hit the firm’s floor for the first time.


He cleared his throat then leaned back again. “I’m not the best looking guy out there, I know this,” he began.


I laughed, interrupting  him. “You’re foolish, Jack. You’re really attractive.”


He sat up. “Girls, like the ones earlier, think I have money so they pay attention but as just some guy off the street? They don’t even bother looking.”


“That you know of.”


“I know. Trust me, I know.”


“Then they’re gosh damn fools who can’t see what’s right in front of them. You don’t want the stupid ones anyway, so no skin off your back.”


His smile spread wide. “You’re good, you know that?” He studied me a second. “You’re an excellent attorney.”


This was always a secret insecurity on my part. I’d only been practicing law for a year and anytime I got in front of a judge, my stomach would be in knots for days. I hadn’t yet mastered that part of myself yet and I thought everyone knew it.


“I still get really nervous at even the simplest hearing.”


He nodded. “You could never tell. You’re a pro.”


“Thank you,” I told him.


The snow started falling harder and was gathering in steeper and steeper piles against the roof’s ledges.


“How long do you think it’s been?” I asked.


“Not sure, to be honest. I think the longer we’re up here, the less likely someone will find us anytime soon,” he said.


“My purse is still down there, though. Eventually they’ll wonder who it belongs to?”


“Possible,” he said, not sounding confident at all.


“Do you think the gas source is from the pipes?” I asked.


“Most definitely. We won’t be running out of fire anytime soon.”


We were quiet for a little bit. I studied his hands, the way the fabric of his pants stretched across his thighs, the way his jacket strained against his shoulders. His swept bangs swung forward a little bit. He swallowed when he noticed me staring, pronouncing his Adam’s apple even more and sending me spiraling.


“What are you staring at?”


I found his eyes. “Nothing,” I whispered.


I was thirty percent okay. Getting lower all the time. 


“Want to play a game?” he asked.


“Have a deck of cards in that knife of yours?”


He shook his head and smiled at me then held his palms out. I scooted forward and when I placed my hands on top of his, a tiny spark of static electricity sparked between us and we both pulled our hands back. When I remembered to breathe again, I shook my head and laughed a little.


He swallowed. “Let’s try this again,” he said quietly, setting his hands out once more.


I placed mine on top of his and a syrupy warmth traveled up my fingers, hands, and arms and settled in my chest. It was a long time before we both noticed we were just staring at our connected hands. Jack cleared his throat and scooted forward a little bit, our knees barely brushing. He shook his right hand a bit to fake me out but I didn’t fall for it. He tried time and time again to slap my hands but he failed every time. By the seventh attempt, he had me rolling he was so frustrated.


“Why can’t I get you?” he asked.


“Because I know you. I’ve spent eighteen hours a day with you for the past year. I know when you’re bluffing and when you’re not.”


He looked at me. “I bet you don’t know everything about me, though,” he said, making my stomach drop to the floor, and bringing his left hand out and slapping it on top of mine.  “Gotcha,” he whispered.


I tossed my hair behind me and sat upright, desperate to ignore my racing heart. I laid my palms out and he placed his hands on mine. Our eyes found one another and we stared at each other. Every attempt I made at besting him, he thwarted.


“I won’t give up,” I told him with a smile.


He smiled back. “I already know this,” he said, as my hand found his with a light crack.


Just then someone turned a light on from the floor just above the roof in the building next door and we both launched up trying to get their attention. No one came to the window, though, and eventually we got too cold to keep trying and returned to our chairs.


“You live anywhere near here?” he asked.


“No,” I laughed, “I’ve got a little studio in Chelsea.”


“I’m in Chelsea too.”


“Needed to be close to work, huh?” I asked him.


“More like needed to be ready for whatever you have up your sleeve.”


“Don’t you like the competition?” I asked.


“You know I love it.”


I nodded. “So do I,” I admitted.


“Do,” he began, then cleared his throat, “do you think that, uh, it might be too much sometimes, though?”


I sat up a bit. “Why? Because neither of us seem to have any kind of life other than work?”


“Yes,” he answered.


Do I be honest? “Maybe.”


“I like the drive, the fun of the chase, but I want more, Adeline.” He pulled at his hair a little. “I don’t want my life limited to the rungs I ascended, by the cash in my pockets. I want a real, full life.”


My throat went dry. “What do you think a real, full life is, Jack?”


“I don’t know yet, but I know it’s more than five a.m. alarms, than sleepless, brief-filled nights, than demanding grunt work.” He leaned back, his long legs extended before him, his hands gripped at the arm of his chair. “I don’t know. “ He looked at me. “Are your parents still together?”


“Yeah, they are.”


“Are they happy?”


“I think so.”


He nodded. “Mine are too. I didn’t go home over Christmas because of work, of course, but I called them up and spent the morning sitting at my laptop in my sad studio watching my family open gifts together. As I sat there, I wondered at what the hell I was playing at. I saw my brother and his wife and kids. He looked exhausted but fulfilled. I saw my mom and dad happy and full of something I’ve never once felt in any relationship I’ve ever been in. I know it exists because I’ve seen it.”


Twenty-three percent okay with the whole not kissing at midnight thing.


“I know exactly what you’re talking about. My parents aren’t impressed with my job, with my paycheck. They don’t care for anything but to see me happy. About six months ago they just up and asked me what I wanted in life. Without thinking, I blurted out that I wanted someone. All my life, growing up and working myself to death toward this idea of success, I would have thought my immediate answer would be to crest that mountain, looking down below, my foot mounted on the top of the hill.” Jack studied me. “Don’t get me wrong, I still want those things, I still have drive, I still have the endurance, but I figured out, maybe a little later than some, that it’s not what I actually want to define me.”


“Right. What do you think people say to those surrounding them on their death beds? Nobody speaks of financial regrets or a missed opportunity at a power grab.” He shook his head. “They talk of love not finished, of a time of love cut too short, or the flip of that, the happiness in a love they shared. That’s what I want. Love should always be at the center of this life, no matter who you are, no matter where you’re from.”


I drew deep breaths over and over, my pulse quickened in my veins. Jack turned toward me.


One side of his mouth lifted in what I’d come to learn as “the worried Jack face.” “You’re not, um, you’re not going to use this against me, are you?”


“Only if you don’t use what I said against me,” I quieted.


“It’s off the record, Counselor.”


Twenty percent okay.


I smiled at him. “Let’s make a pact then.”


“What’s that?” he asked.


“Whenever either of us seems to be getting ready to abandon focus, the other reins them back in.”


“Deal.”


I extended my pinky and he wrapped his with mine, sending warm, anxious blood all throughout my body. We stared at our connected fingers but neither of us pulled away. Slowly he flattened his hand out and slid it into my palm. My breaths came in pants and our eyes met briefly.


“Jack,” I whispered over the hush of falling snow.


“Yes?”


“What are you doing?”


“I’m checking something.”


Seventeen percent okay.


“What are you checking for?” I asked, swallowing hard.


His long fingers slid further and wrapped around my wrist. Not able to help myself, I wrapped my own around his. He closed his eyes then lazily opened them. I felt his pulse quicken.


“I wasn’t imagining it then.”


“What do you mean?”


“Earlier tonight, when I took your hand, I felt something in your skin. Like something familiar to me even though I know I’ve never touched you, like I’ve known your skin for years.”


Down to ten percent.


My chest constricted. “It does.”


“What did mine feel like?” he asked.


“Like my whole body was on fire, Jack.”


He smiled so wide I could tell it embarrassed him and he hung his head low to hide it. “Is that a good thing?” he asked the rooftop.


“A scary thing, but a great thing nevertheless.”


He picked his head up, the line of his throat exposed. With my free hand I ran the backs of my fingers down the side of his neck. He visibly shivered and that did something to my insides. He stood up and dragged me with him, took a deep breath and peeled the shoulder of one side of my jacket back a little. The tip of his index finger followed the line of my neck near my ear all the way down the top of my shoulder, making me sink into him.


“I’ve wanted to do that since the elevator, Adeline.”


Two percent.


“How was it?” I asked.


His eyes met mine. “Addicting,” he admitted.


I closed my eyes, afraid to look at him. “Don’t say things like that.”


“I lied. I’ve wanted to do that since the first day we were introduced.”


“Stop,” I told him, “we can’t go back to how we were if you don’t stop.”


“I don’t want to stop, though, Adeline.” He swallowed. “Do you?”


I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I hesitated but knew I couldn’t lie. “No,” I spoke low.


“Good.”


He laid a soft kiss at my shoulder, making my heart beat into my throat, then pushed my coat back over the skin but it looked like he regretted it and that washed a drugging, satisfied feeling over me.


“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he told me.


“Have you?” I asked.


He nodded, his hands finding the sides of my neck. I reached up and did the same, letting my thumb brush the line of his Adam’s apple, reveling in the fact that I made him swallow at my touch.


Yeah, I was definitely not okay with having no one to kiss at midnight.  Or didn’t I have someone?


He brought his cheek to mine and smelled my hair.


“Jack,” I stated in his ear as the nearby clock chimed once, twice.


“Yes, Adeline?”


Three, four, five times.


“Have you no one to kiss at midnight?”  I asked.


Six, seven, eight.


“I’ve got someone,” he answered.


Nine, ten, eleven.


“So do I.”


Twelve.


“Happy New Year, Adeline.”


“Happy New Year, Jack.”


 


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Published on December 31, 2016 07:00 • 154 views

August 1, 2016

Hello, all! My name is Fisher Amelie and I wrote a little story called Penny in London. Thank you so much for joining us today and I hope you enjoy our little teasers on this, the day of its release. “May your first child be a masculine child.”


Screen Shot 2016-07-25 at 7.54.40 PM


You know how everyone says when one door closes another one opens? At the time, you find this statement obnoxious as all get out because a) you don’t really know what the future holds, it certainly hasn’t been a cakewalk so far, and b) the thought of change is unbearable. You feel like your life is falling apart and everyone around is feeding you clichés like they’re made out of kale or quinoa or whatever the trend health food is right now. You don’t want kale clichés, you want double-chocolate fudge realisms, and you want them now. You just want things the way they were, but then something happens, a moment, an instant that sets you out on a path toward happiness you never knew could exist, and suddenly you think, huh, I don’t think I want double-chocolate fudge anymore. I think I’m in the mood for this heaping serving of strawberry cheesecake sitting in front of me…with a side of kale. And a pair of split pants, but we won’t get into that right now.


Graham Glenn may have tossed her in, but Oliver Finn made her feel again.


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Come listen to the Penny in London soundtrack!

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Published on August 01, 2016 07:00 • 97 views

July 27, 2016

FisherAmelie_PennyinLondon_CoverReveal


You know how everyone says when one door closes another one opens? At the time, you find this statement obnoxious as all get out because a) you don’t really know what the future holds, it certainly hasn’t been a cakewalk so far, and b) the thought of change is unbearable. You feel like your life is falling apart and everyone around is feeding you clichés like they’re made out of kale or quinoa or whatever the trend health food is right now. You don’t want kale clichés, you want double-chocolate fudge realisms, and you want them now. You just want things the way they were, but then something happens, a moment, an instant that sets you out on a path toward happiness you never knew could exist, and suddenly you think, huh, I don’t think I want double-chocolate fudge anymore. I think I’m in the mood for this heaping serving of strawberry cheesecake sitting in front of me…with a side of kale. And a pair of split pants, but we won’t get into that right now.


Graham Glenn may have tossed her in, but Oliver Finn made her feel again.


BookCover5x8_Cream_250_Final copy


 


Screen Shot 2016-07-25 at 7.54.40 PM


***


Penny in London releases August 1st!


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Come listen to the Penny in London soundtrack

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Published on July 27, 2016 16:00 • 92 views

February 26, 2016

FisherAmelie_WorthwhileSoon I will be having surgery. It will improve my life tenfold. It will prevent me from sometimes debilitating pain. It will save me from humiliating and often awkward conversations.


And yet I don’t really want to do it.


Because it will also leave me sterile.


Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But, Fisher, you already have kids.” I know and I’m very grateful for the children God gave me. In fact, I couldn’t be more surprised by the miracles that are my children, the gifts He saw fit to give me. It’s truly humbling.


For those of you who don’t know, I have had rather difficult, high-risk pregnancies that risked not only my life but my children’s lives in the third trimester. It’s a rare condition that increases the risk of prenatal death in all carried infants in the last four weeks of gestation. It’s also why all my children were born prematurely and why I looked like a walking zombie for eight months with all three of them. It caused my liver to stop working altogether and I was forced to take toxic meds for hep c patients so I didn’t keel over while carrying them. Once my children were born, though, within hours, my body would bounce back as if nothing had happened. My liver would regenerate quickly and I didn’t look like a jaundice cancer patient after a few weeks. It was astonishing, really.


God gave me three children. Three. Three incredibly beautiful, unbelievably intelligent, outrageously creative children. And they are walking miracles. In a way, I am too.


A few years after Matt and I married, I got pregnant and was flabbergasted. It was scary, but I was so excited. Weeks flew by, the vomiting was atrocious, I started to show signs of gestational cholestasis, but didn’t know it at the time. Fifteen weeks in, the unthinkable happened. My baby died. And it was… devastating. I’d made huge announcements to my family and friends. I’d bought furniture and clothing and it was horrifying to look at them and the things I’d purchased. It was a stabbing pain to the heart and it was inexhaustible. It’s hard to put into words the pain of miscarriage, but I’m just going to put it out there. It’s death. It’s death and it’s terrible and it’s a mourning process that you deal with alone, because most people just don’t get it. They never held the baby, they never saw the baby, so, to them, that baby wasn’t real. The baby was real but only I knew them. It was like a private hell and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. My only comfort is that they are in heaven waiting for me. In GREED, you can listen to Cricket tell Spencer her motivation for reaching heaven. If you read between the lines, you can see I am talking about the infant I never got to hold.


Soon after, though, I was given a peaceful reprieve in my oldest son. It was a rough pregnancy, as you know, but he was my finish line and it was a beautiful achievement. I had trouble conceiving for a few years after him and decided that it was what it was. If I was meant to be the mom of one, then that was spectacular. But God wasn’t done yet. He gifted me a second boy. Another extraordinary light in an otherwise dark earthly world and he made me feel even brighter, which was astonishing when I thought I could have gone blind from the resplendency that was my oldest. I was open to more, but because it took so long to have my second son, I assumed it would be difficult for me to get pregnant again, but I was wrong. My third baby, a girl, was born fifteen months later, and when I saw her shining face, I discovered a pattern.


Children are addicting. You don’t just love them, you fall in love with them. They are peace in chaos. They are wonder in gloom. They are reason in decay. They are new, unblemished souls and they change you. My children saved my life.


As a human, I am inherently selfish. I was lackadaisical in most areas of my life, especially my dedication to God, but my children broke through those hard set, limestone layers of selfishness, narcissism, and self-seeking that prevented God from entering my heart and soul. They shattered the shale and my eyes were suddenly uncluttered. Truths are deeper, dishonesties are clearer, and all because I started to worry about something bigger than myself.


Which is why I am grieving.


I’m grieving the loss of hope. I’m grieving the loss of possibilities. The children that will never be. The abrupt end of it all.


I will never be able to pick up one of my infants again, bury my face in their new, warm neck and breathe in the life they give off.


And that kills me.


Which brings us to the meat of it all. They found a tumor in my uterus. Don’t worry, it’s benign. I’m lucky. My physician told me that it was now or never if I wanted to have at least one more. That was back in September. The tumor has grown so large so quickly, though, that my stomach measures six months pregnant. I get asked all the time when I’m due. Innocent curiosities on most people’s part. I don’t blame them at all. I look decidedly pregnant. It’s disproportionate. Although the questions are innocent, it still crushes me to hear them, because now the tumor is too big to carry a baby safely. I’m not even sure I could get pregnant at this point.


It is what it is.


I used to explain to people what was really wrong with me, but it just became awkward and uncomfortable. I can’t even hide it anymore. If a stranger asks me my due date, I just tell them June and move on. I can barely discuss what is going on with close family members. It’s a constant reminder of what will never be for me.


My doctor could remove the tumor, but the tissues is there, and it grows rapidly. I could be back under the knife every few months. So after a few weeks of prayer, I have decided to take my doctor’s advice and have a hysterectomy. I don’t want it, but it’s what’s best. I don’t want it but I have accepted it.


The entire point of my confession is to let you in on my world right now. A lot of readers ask what took so long with FURY. I felt so badly that I haven’t been as prolific as I’d like to with my novels, but it was simply too difficult to explain what was going on, especially since I didn’t really fully know.


I’m an intensely private person, so it’s hard for me to open up in my public life. I wanted to share this all with you anyway because, as a fellow human, I want you to know that I am aware that you suffer more than you let on as well. We all suffer in a our private worlds and I get that. I feel for you. I love you for it because I understand.


Life is full of sacrifices so I have decided to give mine to God. At least then it will all be worth it. There can be worthwhile meaning in anything, right? We just have to choose.


I write but I’m more than a writer.


I hurt but I’m more than the pain.


I exist but I’m more than my existence.


I love but I’m more than a lover.


I’m Mom, but I could NEVER be more than a mother. There has been nothing greater than that for me. It’s a microcosm of heaven, motherhood.


Keep me in your prayers. Love you all to the moon and back five times.


Peace and Love,


Fisher

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Published on February 26, 2016 15:28 • 343 views

May 4, 2015

11160619_828091343949558_1908716099510704418_o


FURY is out now! And it’s only $1.99! This week only! Get it now while it’s hot!


Amazon: http://goo.gl/MkIRzl

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iBooks: Drops May 6th!


From best selling author Fisher Amelie… FURY

Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.


What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I’m a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I’m here for my revenge.


I’m Ethan Moonsong…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.


*Can be read as standalone.


***

“I looked back at Cricket. She brought her hand up to Spencer’s back. He followed suit and tucked his hand into her back pocket, incensing me. Immediately, I walked to my truck and opened the passenger side door. The knives sat in their sheaths in the glove box. I hadn’t touched them in months, and my hands itched to hold them again.


I reached for them but paused a few inches from the handles. My hands shook and my heart pounded.


“What are you doing?” I asked myself.


I shut the glove box and sat on the bench of my truck, my booted foot resting on the concrete below. I ran my hands through my hair and rested against the back of the seat, shocked I’d been even contemplating what I’d been pondering.


“What were you going to do?” I asked myself. “MURDER him?”"


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Published on May 04, 2015 14:21 • 190 views

April 27, 2015

FURY_PartOne


Part One


Ethan


I was running late. The parking lot was full so I had to park my piece in the furthest space available. Why is it when you’re running late your problems always compound? I grabbed my bag out of the bed of my truck and sprinted toward the double doors that entered into the hall of my first class.


The bell at my high school rang five succinct times. I made it to the door just as the fifth chimed.


“You’re late, Mister Moonsong,” Mr. Levi said, absently flipping through a textbook.


“Sorry,” I told him.


Everyone’s eyes stayed on me as I walked past lab table after lab table finally tossing my bag on the floor next to my seat. I fell into my chair.


“What’s up, Fin?”


“What’s up?” Finley Dyer asked, lifting her head a bit.


She closed her Chem book and drummed her fingers on the cover. I noted she’d chosen green nail polish that day. It had a purple shimmer to it, reminding me of a mermaid.


Finley crossed her long legs and I averted my eyes. She wore her usual cut-off’s with flip-flops but neither did anything to detract from the provocativeness of her freaking long, lean legs. My eyes traveled to safer sights over her shorts, briefly held a private laugh at her t-shirt which had a picture of a hedgehog and read, ‘Hedgehogs. Why don’t they just share the hedge?’, and settled on her face. A face I found a little too beautiful, a little too flawless, a little too NOT Cricket.


I cleared my throat and focused my eyes at the front of the classroom, staring at the markerboard Mr. Levi was writing on.


“Do anything fun over the weekend?” she asked.


My head whipped her direction. She wore a genuine smile


“Nah, you?”


“Not really,” she said, wiggling her shoe back and forth on her foot. “Well, I did go swimming at Hungry Horse with August Hunt.”


My brows furrowed. “August Hunt,” I repeated in disbelief. “He’s so much older than you, though.”


She snorted. “By two years, Ethan.”


August Hunt was Caroline’s cousin. I knew him very well. I liked him just as well but that didn’t mean I’d want one of my friend’s hanging out with him.


“Uh, August Hunt is bad news for girls like you,” I told her.


“Girls like me?” she asked. Her face did not look at all pleased. “What does that mean?”


“I just mean that August isn’t interested in your mind, if you catch my drift.”


“So what if he isn’t?” she said, sitting up a little. “What’s it to you?”


The words ‘I don’t know!’ sat at the tip of my tongue.


Instead, I told her, “You don’t want to get a rep, dude.”


She sat up completely then and I regretted the words instantly, wishing I had just kept my mouth shut.


“And what kind of reputation would that be?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.


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Published on April 27, 2015 17:21 • 134 views

April 24, 2015

FURY, the much anticipated third installment of The Seven Deadly Series releases May 4th, 2015! As we count down the days, I’m teasing you yet again! The highly awaited cover!!


And so, without further ado…


FURY, the third standalone in The Seven Deadly Series releases May 4th!

FURY, the third standalone in The Seven Deadly Series releases May 4th!


 


FURY…

Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.


What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I’m a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I’m here for my revenge.


I’m Ethan Moonsong…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.


We start where we left off from Fisher’s last excerpt. If you’d like to read it, you can go here!


FURY, Excerpt Two


Ethan?” she asked. “Is that you?


“Hello, Finley,” I answered.


“How are you?” she asked, somehow devoid of the pity I’d often heard in so many greetings since Cricket. I was grateful to her for this.


“I’m fine,” I slurred, lifting my head a bit to meet her eyes.


A grin met her lips. “You were always a terrible liar.” Her smile fell a little. “What are you doing here?”


“I’m drinking.”


She narrowed her eyes. “You hate drinking.”


“I learned to love it,” I said, downing the remaining contents of my glass, letting it burn.


She looked me up and down, making me feel self-conscious. “But apparently it doesn’t love you.”


“Thanks,” I snorted, acting like I didn’t care. But I did.


“You look terrible,” she said, ignoring me. “Are you even eating?”


“I’m consuming the daily recommended calorie intake,” I hedged.


“Ah,” she answered, examining my empty glass.


I shook my head and signaled to Vi for another.


Finley narrowed her eyes once more. “Can I get a basket of chicken tenders too, Vi?” she added.


“Sure thing,” she said, ringing up Finley’s food before grabbing the bottle of Jack and filling me to the top.


Finley examined my glass but didn’t say a word.


“What?” I asked, feeling defensive.


“Nothing,” she answered, looking at her hands.


“Judging me?”


“Not at all,” she said sincerely and looked me dead in the eye.


This look froze me, and the glass slipped from my fingers and back onto the bar top, spilling a little from the rim.


“I’ve done that very thing,” she said, gesturing toward my glass.


“Drink ’til you’re numb?”


“No,” she said, “succumb to a vice in order to forget.”


I leaned forward, stunned by this admission, and my eyes found hers. “What, Finley?”


She hesitated, started to open her mouth, but someone called her name and she turned around. It was an ex-classmate of ours, couldn’t remember her name, the one she’d been dancing with, and I found myself feeling anxious all of a sudden. I hadn’t felt anxious in a long time. Hadn’t felt anything, really, other than severe pain and shame, in a very long time. Huh.


“Finley, Chris is gonna give me a ride back home. You cool?” the girl asked, eyeing me. She knew. The whole town knew about my tumble down the rabbit hole.


“Yeah, Holly Raye. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answered, her brows scrunched in confusion.


Finley was surprised by Holly Raye’s apparent worry which I found odd.


“Okay,” Holly Raye said, kissing Finley’s cheek.


Chris was waiting by the door for her, and we both watched them leave, afraid to speak, our earlier moment gone.


Vi walked up with Finley’s chicken tenders and set them in front of her. Her fingers found one but lifted up quickly with a tiny gasp.


“Hot,” she whispered, resting her fingers against the side of her water glass.


She let them cool for a few moments and we sat in awkward silence. I wasn’t sure what she was still doing there. I didn’t have any clue why she had even started to talk to me either. I mean, I knew in high school she’d had a crush on me, but I figured it was long gone. She used to stare at me a little doe eyed, and I had always done my best to be kind to her but not too kind. I’d considered her a friend but nothing more, even if I did take solace in my conversations with her. I’d never admitted that out loud to anyone then, though, not that I was ashamed or anything. It’s just, I was in love with Cricket.


Cricket.


The ache in my chest burned deep, a restless reminder of all I’d lost. And suddenly I felt guilty for finding Finley attractive even when I thought she was a stranger. Even after Cricket left me for Spencer.


“You should probably leave,” I told her.


She looked at me like I was crazy. “I’ll do whatever I want,” she said, sitting taller, pitching me that confident Finley attitude I remembered from high school.


“Whatever,” I said, then called out to Vi for another round, which she served up quickly.


Finley tore apart a few tenders then handed me half of one.


“Uh, no,” I said, downing my glass.


“Uh, yes,” she mocked, shoving the piece in my face.


“Stop,” I said, swiping it away.


“Eat, damn it,” she said.


I looked at her and the expression on her face told me she wouldn’t quit, so I roughly took it from her and took a large bite. She bit into her own piece, a smug look on her face. She practically hand fed me every piece in the damn basket, but I didn’t care. I knew what she was doing, but it wouldn’t work because the liquor resting in my belly was too substantial to be worked against.


“What have you done with your summer?” she asked me.


“This,” I said, gesturing to my glass.


“What the hell, Ethan?”


“What, are you my mother?” I asked, immediately regretting those choice of words. I closed my eyes.


Mom. My heart dropped into my throat. Must remedy that.


“Vi,” I said loudly to her at the other end of the bar. “One more.”


Vi walked the length of the bar and filled my glass again, much to Finley’s obvious horror.


“Vi, can I get some mozzarella sticks?” she asked.


“Of course, darlin’.”


Finley smiled at me.


“I’m not eating those,” I told her.


“Oh, you’ll eat them.”


“I won’t.”


“You will.”


“I sure as hell will not, Finley Dyer.”


She leaned closer and my head began to swim. Her signature scent of apples and wild daisies swarmed around me, making my heart race. It’d never bothered me before. It’s the liquor, I told myself.


“You will or I’m taking your ass home right now.”


“You can just kiss that ass, Fin.”


“That’s the Jack talking.”


“No, that’s me. I don’t want to play anymore. I want to be left alone now.”


“You see,” she said, settling her elbows on the bar top, “I think- No, I know you’re lying. Like I said before, you’re a terrible liar. I think you’ve lied so often about wanting to be left alone, though, that you’ve convinced your head it’s the truth, but you can’t convince the heart, Ethan. You know why? Because the heart can’t ever be lied to, and yours beats the loneliest I’ve ever heard.”


I didn’t answer her. Couldn’t answer her.


“What have you done this summer?” I asked, ignoring her spot-on observation.


She played along. “I’ve had a temp job here in Kalispell answering phones for Smith Travel, trying to earn cash for my trip.”


My brows furrowed. “What trip?”


“I’m heading over to Vietnam for a year.”


This shocked me. “What in the world would you go to Vietnam for?”


“Charity work,” she answered, making me laugh.


“Why?” I asked.


“Don’t be an asshole,” she replied.


“No, really, why?”


“I’ve wanted to do this for close to five years now.”


“How come I don’t ever remember you talking about this at school?”


“Ethan,” she said softly, “let’s not pretend we ever really talked in high school deeper than filler conversation.”


This wounded me a little, though I’m not sure why. “What the hell, Finley? You and I were friends.”


Now it was her turn to laugh. “We were most definitely not friends. I may know everything about you and you may know everything about me because we grew up together, but we were not friends. You had a constant bodyguard in Cricket.”


I sat up at the mention of her name. “Don’t ever say her name again,” I gritted.


She raised her hands in concession. “Fine.”


There was a pregnant pause as she let me calm myself down.


“I talked to you a lot in the classes we had,” I offered.


“We talked a lot about the upcoming football games or class assignments. Once or twice, we took the seventy-year-old route and discussed the weather.”


I fought my grin. “Okay, so it was always surface observation, but we were kids.”


“No, Ethan, that’s not what it was.”


“Well, you were in love with me,” I bravely spit. “I couldn’t take it further than just below the shoal.” Thank you, Mr. Daniels.


“Full of yourself, are we?” she asked. “Listen,” she continued, “I had a crush on you in high school. So what? Lots of girls did. But I was, am, a human being. You didn’t have to treat me like some leper. Trust me, Ethan, we all know who you belonged to,” she said.


She stood to leave, but I grabbed her arm. The heated warmth of her skin shot straight to my heart. We looked at one another, wide eyed, our chests panting. I shook my head to recompose myself. “I’m sorry,” I told her, encouraging her to sit back down. “I’m- I know you deserved better.”


She hesitated but sat back in her seat. I stared at her, a little too intently thanks to the Jack. She nodded once and we sat in a comfortable silence as I had five more shots.


The whiskey made my body heavy as hell, the weight of its honeyed venom deadened the ache inside me pleasantly.


I sighed and smiled to myself.


“What’s so funny?” she asked.


I looked up at her though it felt unusually burdensome and leaned toward her. “I’m going to get them back,” I admitted to her.


She narrowed her eyes. “Who, Ethan?”


Them,” I said, bringing a tired finger to my lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”


I fell back into my chair. I brought my fingers to my empty glass and tilted it, balancing it on one finger. She was quiet for a moment.


“Ethan,” she began, whispering, “that’s not like you.”


I smiled. “I’m not who I used to be, Finley.”


“That’s a shame,” she said, “because you used to be wonderful.”


I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you know what they did to me?”


“She left you for him,” she said matter-of-factly.


I let the glass tip over onto its side at her bluntness. “Exactly. After all I did for her. After all I was to her. She left me for him.”


“She wasn’t meant for you, Ethan.”


My skin burned with hatred at that statement. “No one is meant for anyone, Finley. You choose someone and then you make a commitment.”


She shook her head at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.“


“She chose me, convinced me that she was all in, and I was willing to die for her because of it. She convinced me she actually loved me. I thought she loved me.”


“She did love you. I believe she, you both really, would have been somewhat happy if Spencer had never shown up.”


“Exactly.”


“You’re not hearing me. You both would have been somewhat happy. Neither of you would have been utterly happy.”


This infuriated me. “I could have made her happy!” I yelled, earning a few glances from around the bar.


“Yes, you could have made her happy, but not as happy as Spencer does.”


My blood simmered in my veins. “You are cruel,” I bit.


She leaned forward. “I’m being honest with you. Someone has to since you’re not being honest with yourself. I saw them together, Ethan, and she never looked at you like that.”


“Stop,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Stop.”


“Ethan,” she said, resting her hand on mine. I yanked it from her. “Don’t you want the same thing for yourself? Don’t you want forever with someone who burns for you the way you burn for her? You deserve that just as much as she does.”


“Shut up,” I said, bringing my hands to my hair and fisting it at my ears. I didn’t want to hear it.


“Fine,” she said, sitting up. She looked around her and asked Vi for two cups of coffee.


I couldn’t breathe. Finley voiced everything I’d worked so hard to drown out, I’d attempted to numb. I hated her for ruining the struggle to suppress it. I just wanted to pretend. I wanted my hate, wanted it to live close to me. It was the only thing I felt could keep me alive. I couldn’t let her go. I didn’t want her to be loved by anyone but me. I didn’t want to be reminded that someone else really did love her better than I did, that someone else made her happier. Because I had watched them too. I saw what Finley saw, and my God did I hate Spencer Blackwell for it.


 


I wanted bitter.


 


I wanted sadness.


 


I wanted revenge.


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Fisher Amelie resides in the South with her kick ace husband slash soul mate. She earned her first ‘mama’ patch in 2009. She also lives with her Weim, Jonah, and her Beta, Whale. All these living creatures keep the belly of her life full, sometimes to the point of gluttony, but she doesn’t mind all that much because life isn’t worth living if it isn’t entertaining, right?


Fisher is the author of The Seven Deadly Series, The Sleepless Series, and The Leaving Series, and was a semi-finalist in Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award.


 

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Published on April 24, 2015 08:25 • 149 views

April 1, 2015

The much anticipated release of my third standalone installment of The Seven Deadly Series, FURY, finally has a release date! Stay tuned below for the reveals of my new covers for VAIN and GREED, a chapter from FURY, as well as the heart-stopping trailer for FURY, due out, drum roll please, May 4th, 2015!


Prepare Yourselves.


Synopsis


Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.


What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I’m a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I’m here for my revenge.


I’m Ethan Moonsong…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.


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The new cover for the first standalone in The Seven Deadly Series, VAIN.


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The new cover for the second standalone in The Seven Deadly Series, GREED.


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And now for an excerpt from FURY, due out May 4th, 2015…


I heard a snap and the light cracked on, piercing through my closed lids. My head pounded and I groaned then rolled over, pulling my cover over my head to drown out the source of my pain.


“Get up,” a deep voice commanded. “Get up,” he continued, kicking my shoe.


“Dad,” I rasped. “I’m hungover and feel like shit.”


He was silent for a moment so I pulled the cover down just enough to see his face. He was not amused.


“Ethan, watch your language, get your butt up, and find a job.” I didn’t answer him. I had nothing to say that would please him. “And while you’re at it, stop this ridiculous drinkin’, son.”


I sat up, ran my hands through my long black hair and wrapped the length around my fist. I sat back against the wall, reveling in how cool it was, and tried not to vomit.


“Did you see them today?” I asked him, unable to help myself.


My dad removed his hat and leaned against the jamb, scrubbing his face with his free hand. “You like to torture yourself,” he said, shaking his head then sighing. “You remind me so much of your mama.”


The mere mention of my mother sent me spiraling down once more in depression. We’d lost her a few years before and I was still in agony. That, coupled with the fact that Spencer Blackwell stole my girl right out from underneath my nose, was enough for me to drink to excess every night. I hate him.


“Are they,” I swallowed, afraid of his answer, “are they together now?”


My father sighed again. “Ethan, get dressed.”


“Are they?” I asked again, letting my hand drop to my side. My hair slid with it and cascaded down my back.


“You are a stubborn boy. Yes, okay? Yes, they’re together. All the more reason to move on, son.”


My body suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and I felt my head reeling. So it was true then. They were together and they would probably get married and I was going to have to sit there in that godforsaken small town and watch it all happen. I was going to get a front row seat to my own misery.


I nodded once, rested my hands on my knees for a brief moment, then ran past my dad, shouldering him as I did so and nearly knocking him over before making it to the small bathroom across the hall and retching everything in my stomach into the toilet.


My dad stood in the bathroom doorway shaking his head in disappointment. When I was done, I fell back into the wall. That look shamed me to my core. Any time my dad felt let down, I felt the weight of my disgrace so heavy the only thing I could think to dull the ache was to drink myself into a stupor. It was a vicious cycle.


I let my hair cascade over my face. I heard the old wood floor creak beneath his feet as he left without another word and jumped when the front door slammed. My eyes closed as my head pounded.


The claw foot tub sat to my left so I leaned up and turned on the water, slowly removing my clothing one piece at time. Each movement felt like a hammer slamming into my head.


“God,” I groaned. “I am an idiot.”


I stood then stepped underneath the warm water and just stood in silence, letting the water absorb into my hair and seep into my skin. I breathed in the steam deeply. I was miserable. Not just physically but my heart was the heaviest it’d felt since my mom passed and I had no one to blame but Spencer Blackwell for that.


The asshole who rode into my life under the guise of helping his sister only to yank what I thought was a stable foundation right out from underneath me. He stole from me, a bona fide thief, and I wanted to make him pay. No, I needed to make him pay.


But how?


I finished showering and threw a towel around my waist, stepping from the tub and toppling onto my bed when I reached my room and fell to sleep, not even bothering to dress myself. I fell quickly, fantasizing about my revenge.


I must have slept for hours because when I woke, it was pitch black outside. I rolled onto my side and checked my alarm clock. Eleven o’clock. Perfect timing, I thought.


I sat up and tucked my towel around my waist a little tighter, stood and went straight for my dresser. I grabbed a pair of boxers and socks and put those on before heading for my closet and tossing an old, worn pair of jeans on, a thermal and an old tee. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my wallet and keys, threw on my boots and headed toward my piece of shit truck.


I knew exactly where I was going because it was where I planned on going every night until I forgot about Caroline Hunt.


My truck started but barely and I tore out of our driveway not bothering with my seatbelt, kicking up dust and rocks as my tires spun against the loose gravel. I’d replaced my stereo because I couldn’t stand radio, at least not Kalispell radio, and plugged my phone into the audio cable. Bastille’s Dreams remake blasted and I turned it up, letting the painful lyrics wash over me, fueling my desire to get plastered as quickly as possible.


I entertained myself with thoughts of strangling Spencer Blackwell with both hands then beating the crap out of him with my fists. Bastard. I pulled into the local pub and put my piece into park before tucking my left foot into the emergency brake.


I disconnected my phone and the stereo went silent, reminding me of how alone I really was. I turned the engine off and absolute silence surrounded me. I couldn’t take it. My door creaked with age as it swung open and I slammed it shut, unable not to. The fury raging in my blood was more than I could contain.


Before heading inside, my hand went to the empty space between the cab and the bed and searched for the bottle of whiskey I always had wedged in between. I took a large swig, not wanting to spend too much of my savings on the liquor inside the crap establishment. After all, I was going to need it. Revenge was a costly business.


I took one more swig for good measure and wedged it back in its usual place then wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve. My hair swung heavy in my eyes. It was still a little wet from my shower and I thought about tying it back with the extra leather tie I usually kept in my glove compartment but thought better of it. It helped me hide and I wanted to hide.


I looked around me. The lot was full but I only recognized a few cars this time which was good because I had no intention of making conversation. Regardless, most of Kalispell had stopped trying because I’d rarely done any responding since Cricket cut out my fucking heart and ate it raw. The hair was only insurance.


I took two deep draws of air, gulping it down, desperate for it to soothe me but, of course, it didn’t. I let each escape my lips in shaky breaths and clenched my fists over and over before deciding to head inside.


My boots crunched the gravel beneath my feet as I headed toward the door. When I entered, I ducked my head toward the floor and let my hair cover me, not that it did any good other than to conceal me. I could still feel the heat of their stares, though, still feel the pity in their gazes. I wanted so badly to yell at them to fuck off but I kept as much composure as possible. I couldn’t get kicked out of the only real bar in Kalispell.


I picked a stool at the end of the bar, the same stool I always did in the corner and in the back because it was dark. I sat and met Vi’s eyes. She sauntered over to me, placing her elbows on the bar top, giving me a clear view of her generous chest. I held back my eye roll.


“Hello, darlin’,” she drawled. “You look like shit.”


“The usual, Vi,” I told her as quietly as I could.


“How ‘bout a kiss then first?” she asked, leaning in a bit more.


“Christ, Vi, how many times? Huh? Just get me the gosh damn drink.”


She laughed. “Already worked up then, I see. I like it,” she said, winking.


Vi, or Violet, was thirty-nine years old, had lived in Kalispell her entire life, and had worked as a bartender for over fifteen years. I could tell at one time Vi had been a beautiful woman but I could also tell she had heard many hollow promises from equally hollow men and that she obviously believed them all. Otherwise, why would she still be there? I watched her tired eyes and her slightly too-forced smile. She had the look of someone who used to be chased but had graduated to the chaser. She looked miserable.


She left and returned with an empty glass and a bottle of Jack. She set the glass on the bar and filled it to the brim. She was being generous. She was always this way. She told me once she hoped I would drink it all away and decide to take her up on her offer. I told her that would be a cold day in hell, to which she only laughed.


“Drink up, buttercup,” she said, smiling lasciviously.


“I will,” I told the bar top.


I watched the world around me through the breaks in the hanging strands and six glasses later, I was starting to finally feel numb. I lifted my head a little feeling slightly relieved, feeling like I could breathe a little deeper now that the ache wasn’t so severe. I continued to search the crowd, not knowing who I was really looking for.


A quiet but persistent nagging awareness took residence in my chest for some unknown reason as I watched a girl dance on her own in the middle of the dance floor. Others around her paid no attention to her but she was the first person my eyes were drawn to. I studied her.


Her hair was tucked into a blue scarf, little tendrils peeking through and grazing across her neck whenever she moved. She was extraordinarily tall and her hips and rear end were more indulgent than I’d ever considered before. She turned slightly, giving me her silhouette. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were full. She was beautiful, I could tell, even if I couldn’t see her fully through the low lights.


“Jeez,” I said, swiping a hand down my face. “I’ve had too much.”


But I still couldn’t stop watching her. She wore worn jean cut offs, a fitted button up with the sleeves rolled up her forearms and ankle boots. She rolled her shoulders playfully, enticing someone she knew just off the dance floor. Another girl joined her side and they did the robot. She threw her head back and laughed.


This shocked me almost sober. “That laugh,” I whispered to myself. “That laugh,” I repeated. I knew it but couldn’t quite place it.


She took her friend’s hand and twirled her around the floor vivaciously. She was so full of life. So my exact opposite.


She lightheartedly skipped in place and raised an arm in salute to her friend before turning toward me.


That’s when I got a good, clear look at her. I gasped out loud and placed my hand on the back of my head, my elbow on the bartop, ducking my head down lower to hide myself further.


Please, please, please do not recognize me, I thought, still watching her from the corner of my eye.


She stood two seats down from me. “Vi!” she said, laughing a little. “Vi!”


Vi turned toward her. “Hey, baby! What’ll it be?”


“Can I have a water, please?” she asked, sitting down and releasing a breath of exhaustion. She continued to smile, though, and it ate a little at my gut.


“Of course,” Vi answered and started to pour water into a clear plastic cup. Vi’s eyes pinched a little. “Hey?” she said.


“Yeah?” she asked.


“How come I never see you drink anything harder?”


Her face fell a little but picked right back up. No one would have noticed it but me. “I’ve never had good luck with alcohol,” she admitted a bit sadly.


Vi was quick enough to recognize something there that didn’t want to be said and let it go with a nod, handing over the water without another word.


“Vi!” someone else called out and she walked their direction.


She took a long drink from her water and set it down, turning toward the crowd and surveying the dancers. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, some private joke she shared with herself.


I looked on her for a long time. Long enough for my heart to calm itself. Long enough to struggle with myself in an internal argument. Finally, I decided that I wasn’t watching her because I found her attractive, though I knew she was. Only that I was wondering what she was doing there.


She turned around in her seat after catching her breath and glanced at me. For a moment, I believed she didn’t recognize me but I was wrong. A second scan confirmed it for her. She leaned in and narrowed her eyes. Shit.


Ethan?” she asked. “Is that you?”


“Hello, Finley,” I answered.


FURY Trailer



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Purchase VAIN, Standalone One in The Seven Deadly Series


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Published on April 01, 2015 07:30 • 216 views

March 19, 2014

December 25, 2013


“Hey, babe,” he told me.


Even after all those years, the second I heard his voice, even after only a few hours absence, he sent my stomach into my throat. The adrenaline rushed through my veins making me feel euphoric. The Beatles’ Blackbird sang throughout his studio in the Village. One of my favorites.


It was a bit hot out so his window was open and the light breeze shifting over his small garden balcony made of rod iron brought the beautiful smells of the Sweet Alyssum’s summery honey scent through the room. I’d planted them in pots and set them at the sill there because he let me. He let me do anything I wanted whenever I wanted. I once asked him why he was always so accommodating. “I love you, Cricket,” he explained simply.


The room was dim except for a warm lamp over his straw colored hair as he was reading. He sat upon his sofa. The same one, when he bought it, that once he jumped into the cushions and wouldn’t stop sinking said, “Bullseye.” He was positively mouthwatering every second that he existed.


He lounged in a pair of white track pants and his practically threadbare gray t-shirt from Brown. He never wore socks because he hated the feel of them without shoes on. His bare feet crossed at the ankles on his industrial metal coffee table.


He stopped reading long enough to sport a lopsided and devastating smirk. “Come here,” he ordered and I tossed my bags to the floor without hesitation.


I walked over to him steadily, fighting the urge to run as I always did.


When I was close enough, he shut his book with a definitive thud and tossed it onto the table. He shifted his body so that his legs spread across the entire seat of the couch. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me, tossing me beside him and wedging me between his body and the cushions at the back.


He breathed in my neck. “I missed you today,” his deep voice rasped against my skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. My eyes closed tightly in reaction and my breathing shallowed.


“I-I missed you, too,” I choked.


“You-you did?” he mocked playfully, kissing my ear and sending me drowning in sensation. My mouth opened but nothing came out. His effect on me was singularly like nothing I’d ever experienced before.


He grabbed at the dark plastic frame of his glasses and I watched as his hand moved away from his face, sliding down the front of the couch. His other arm wound tightly around my shoulders and I remember wishing so badly I could have studied the defined muscles of his forearm there but dared not give up being held. He kissed my temple then down the side of my face until he reached my ear, facetiously growling, making me laugh.


“God,” he breathed barely, lightly running his lips against my throat. “You smell so good, Cricket.”


He dropped his glasses to the floor and brought both hands to the sides of my neck, making me face him. He smiled just before running his hands throughout the length of my hair.


“It’s getting so long,” he said.


“I’m too broke and too lazy to cut it,” I explained with a smile.


His own smile fell when he noticed mine. He was distracted. I distracted him. I bit my bottom lip.


“Cricket,” he said, eyeing my mouth.


“Sorry,” I said releasing my bottom lip, not in the least bit sorry.


“Can I just…,” he began steadily, studying my face. He kept my hair threaded in his fingers while he tenderly kissed every square inch of skin of my face, making me sigh heavily. He ended his exploration with a hard kiss against the mouth before inexplicably bringing me hard against his chest and kissing the top of my head with a frustrated groan.


Without any prompting, he opened the coffee table drawer and handed me the pad and pencils I kept there, placed his adorable glasses back on his face and retrieved his book once more, tucking me in closely to him before opening to the last page he dogeared.


I set my pad on his washboard abs and began sketching away, working on the sculpture I planned on creating for my final piece for the show I had coming up. After half an hour, I was done shading, bored with it, and laid my pencil on top of the pad. It rolled back and forth, back and forth with each breath it took and finally slid to the floor after he took a deep breath.


I looked up at him, silently imploring him to retrieve it for me.


He laid his book on his chest and looked out from the top of his glasses. “What?”


“Could you?” I said, gesturing toward the pencil and biting my bottom lip again for good measure.


He opened his mouth briefly with a flirtatious grin but it fell too easily and instead of the playful admonishment I usually got, he only watched me, swallowing hard.


I furrowed my brows, “You okay?”


He gulped audibly, his breaths shallow and nodded his answer. He stretched his hand down and brought the pencil back up but rather than hand it over to me, he clenched it in his palm. For a brief moment he steadied the pencil in his hand, then brought it to the pad of paper my left hand had found rest on while waiting for him.


His eyes locked on mine briefly, his jaw clenched, before eyeing the pencil tip resting on the paper. He brought it up and began to trace my left hand slowly.


“I love this hand,” he told me, his eyes trained on his work.


“Why?” I asked, curious.


“It’s lovely that’s why but mostly because it creates so much pleasure for me. This hand,” he said, rounding my index finger painfully deliberately, “creates life. It sculpts the art that defines a world I want to live in, strokes my hair, my skin,” he said, stilling the pencil and staring hard into my eyes. “It sends shivers down my spine, this hand,” he said seriously before returning back to the sketch pad, rounding my middle finger then. “This hand represents so much to me. This hand will be the means to an incredible happiness, Cricket.”


“How’s that?” I asked, watching his unimaginably clear eyes.


“Because,” he said, sliding the lead tip down the side of my hand to meet my wrist.


He stopped drawing then and lifted the pencil, threading the fingers of his free hand with mine and tucking it against his chest. He brought the pencil back down and ever so lightly drew a straight band of shading across the ring finger of my newly sketched hand.


“Please?” he asked simply.


I gasped and swallowed heavily. My chest felt heavy and tears slipped but they were happy. I looked on his sweet face, watched his eyes dance as they awaited my answer, drank in his lopsided smirk, memorized the outline of his jaw and as the song came to an end, I took the pencil from his hand and copied the last line of Blackbird as my answer.


I was only waiting for this moment to arise.







 


***


Six months later…


 


“Just breathe,” I told myself, closing my eyes tightly. “Whatever you do,” I ordered, before taking a very deep breath, “don’t cry.”


My eyes burst open just as Blackbird began to play and the double doors whooshed opened, revealing the breathtaking old gray stone floor and one hundred year old wood beams. Maybe you can cry a little.


I felt strong hands grab my arm and loop my hand through his. “You ready, baby girl?” he asked.


I looked up at my grandfather. I admired him, loved him as a father as well, and I knew without a doubt that I would remember him in that moment forever, like that, always.


“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to contain my emotions.


We began to walk toward the stone aisle and my hands shook wildly.


He patted my hand in his arm twice. “No need, Cricket.”


I smiled at him and nodded once, suddenly made of steel by just the slightest reassurance from him.


I felt the weight of my gown behind me, the glow from the candlelight lining the pews warmed me, the heavy stares of our loved ones comforted me, cushioned me. My chest filled with anticipation as I moved my eyes straight ahead of me. The heat of his gaze burnt me through and I gasped slightly at the sight of him.


Our eyes met and so much was said when they locked. The promise of happiness, love, children, fire, passion. The promise of forever. My eyes stung with ecstasy. I didn’t deserve him but I knew love wasn’t fair. I knew love discriminated and I was grateful to its partiality. Love chose him for me, chose me for him. Love was the best of friends to me.


Spencer’s mouth gaped slightly. He shook his head back and forth as if in disbelief and his hand went to his heart and stayed there. He devastated me. I began to lurch forward, to run to him, to reach for him, but my grandfather’s hand stayed me where I was.


“Sorry,” I whispered, falling back into place.


“For what?” he asked, his eyes crinkled in delight.


I turned back to Spencer. You are the only one I see. You’re the only one I can see, I repeated over and over.


The remainder of the walk down the aisle was pure agony for me and it looked as if it was as so for him as well. He bounced on his heels and clenched his hands into fists repeatedly, making me beyond giddy.


I turned toward my grandfather and he kissed my cheek.


This is it. This is it. I took a deep breath and faced the altar just as Spencer came forward. My grandfather took my hand, squeezed it and gave it to Spencer.


My fingers slid into his palm and I almost sighed out loud. He held me with such comfortable ease, it felt as if he was an extension of myself and every dream he owned became mine and every wish I had became his. An overwhelming surge of happiness engulfed me in that moment and I began to choke back tears but Spencer stopped them with a kiss to my temple.


“Thank you, Emmett,” he told my grandfather.


“Thank you, Son,” he replied, squeezing his shoulder then turning to join my grandmother.


Spencer turned to me with the biggest little-boy grin on his face, I almost burst out laughing. “My word, you’re so beautiful, Cricket.”


“Thank you, darlin’.”


“No, Cricket,” he continued, swallowing. “You’re stunning. I-I’m speechless.”


I winked at him. “You clean up well, too.”


We stood watching one another at the top of the aisle, neither of us moving, too engrossed in one another. That is, until the priest asked us if wanted to get married sometime that night to which the entire congregation giggled and my cheeks flamed red. Spencer plastered himself to my side and led me to stand in front.


The ceremony swirled around us in a blur and all I knew was that my hand was tucked into Spencer’s and our hearts were tucked into each other.


“Spencer?” we heard. “Spencer?”


“Huh?” Spencer asked, turning.


“Repeat after me?”


He nodded.


“I, Spencer Blackwell, take you, Caroline Hunt, to be my wife.”


“I, Spencer Blackwell, take you, Caroline Hunt, to be my wife,” Spencer spoke.


“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.”


“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health,” Spencer repeated, making my heart race.


“I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”


Spencer took a deep breath. “I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”


The priest turned toward me. “Repeat after me, Caroline?” he asked kindly.


I nodded.


“I, Caroline Hunt, take you, Spencer Blackwell, to be my husband.”


“I, Caroline Hunt, take you, Spencer Blackwell, to be my husband,” I echoed, the breath from my lungs stolen from me with the powerful words.


“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health,” he said.


“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health,” I copied, recognizing how weighty those words were to us already.


“I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”


I opened my mouth but choked on the words. The lump in my throat got in the way. A single tear slipped as Spencer squeezed my hand. “I will love you and honor you all the days of my life,” I told him.


“The rings?” Father asked Jonah and Jonah handed him the bands.


“May the Lord bless these rings which you give to each other as the sign of your love and fidelity. Spencer, place the ring on your wife’s hand and repeat after me.”


Spencer glided the ring onto my hand.


“Caroline, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”


“Caroline, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he told me.


Father turned toward me. “Spencer, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”


I slid Spencer’s band on to his left hand. “Spencer, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”


“By the power vested in me, by God and man, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” he told Spencer.


My heart began to race, my skin turning hot. Spencer’s hands found my neck and brought me slowly toward him. “I love you,” he whispered right before pressing his lips softly to mine.


I lightly sighed into his mouth. I felt such unbelievable relief when his lips touched mine, like a small piece of me could finally breathe easily as if I was drowning and I had just breached the surface. He broke the kiss too early but it was always too early, never long enough, never quite satisfying enough.


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Father announced to the crowd, “May I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Blackwell.”


Our family and friends cheered and hollered as Spencer yanked me down the aisle laughing from the gut, my hand entangled with his. When we reached the double doors, we tried to catch our breath, to absorb the moment but we were immediately showered with kisses and congratulations. The crowd grew so quickly, our hands were forced apart. We stared at one another as more and more of our guests created a wider and wider gap between us.


We were whisked away to the chauffeured vintage limo in front of the church and tucked away inside.


“Alone, Mrs. Blackwell,” Spencer said when Jonah closed the door.


“At last, Mr. Blackwell.”


His brows lifted playfully and he began to slide toward me when the door burst open once more and a little girl’s gulping cry interrupted us.


“Ba ba! Ba ba!” she kept repeating desperately and both Spencer and I melted immediately.


“What did you do to her, Jonah!” I demanded.


“I’m so sorry, you guys. She saw Spencer and wouldn’t stop crying. I was hoping you could tell her hi and give her a kiss?”


“Come here, Savannah,” Spencer said, taking his niece in his arms.


She reached out to him and hugged his neck, shattering my heart.


“Ba ba,” she kept repeating over and over while sobbing.


“Shh,” he said, kissing her cheek. “It’s okay, baby girl.”


After ten minutes, it was apparent she wasn’t willing to let him go, making me laugh. Another ten minutes went by and she was buckled in a car seat in between us in our wedding limo and on our way back to Hunt Ranch for the reception.


Five minutes in to our drive and Spencer and I were laughing almost uncontrollably as Sav gibbered incessantly about nothing we could understand but that’s not what we found so funny. No, it was the fact that a toddler car seat full of toddler was wedged between my new husband and I.


“I imagined this going a little differently,” he told me.


“Oh, so did I, babe,” I flirted.


“Just wait,” he promised.


“I’ve waited long enough,” I told him, leaning over Sav just to get closer to him.


“Trust me, Cricket, no one thinks that more than I do,” he told me. His eyes roamed the length of my gown. “Especially right now.” He reached over Sav and caressed my cheek softly with his thumb. “You’re so soft,” he whispered and I wanted to jump into his lap but the moment broke when Sav put her chubby hand on my other cheek.


“Sof’,” she agreed, making me smile.


We both turned toward her.


“Not as soft as yours,” I told her, caressing her plump, red cheeks.


We pulled into the ranch and the limo dropped all three of us off at the vintage carriage house.


We’d spent two weeks cleaning it out and readying it for the reception. The hundred old wood beams had always been my favorite part until we’d cleaned it properly and I’d discovered that the hand sewn wood plank floor was a close second.


We’d filled the entire room with three solid rows of rectangular tables, lining them with cream silk table cloths. A giant row of green hydrangea graced the center length of the tables, like a giant garden. They even draped off the table and onto the floor.


Simple white china and glass completed the simple but impactful tablescape.



“Oh my God,” I said out loud, balancing Savannah on my hip.


“I know,” Bridget said, joining me at my side. She kissed my cheek and grabbed her daughter. “Sorry about this,” she said, gesturing toward the oblivious baby.


“Don’t ever be sorry, Bridge,” I told her.


“You guys better go hide out for a little bit so you don’t ruin your entrance once the guests arrive.”


Alone with my new husband. Uh, yes please. “Come on, babe,” I told Spencer, who was answering a question the band leader had posed.


“Gotta’ go,” he told the man, “the old ball and chain,” he said, gesturing at me with his thumb.


We ran through the maze of tables and into an old horse stall we had used for storage for over fifty years but converted into a little private area for me and Spence to wait for our guests in.


Once inside, we shut the gate, not that it provided much in the way of seclusion but it was better than nothing. Spencer tossed me against the wall immediately, surprising me a little.


“Mr. Blackwell, what do you think you’re doing?” I asked him.


“I need to touch you. I have to touch you,” he explained, pressing his lids together tightly.


His hands found my shoulders before running them the length of my body and back up, feeling every curve with an abandon I’d never experienced before with him. He pinched my hips bones between his thumbs and his forefingers and pressed me against him, rounding his hands to my backside.


He kissed me deeply and it ignited a fire I didn’t know existed within me.


“Spencer,” I gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly.


“I know,” he said as his eyes searched mine. “Is it the rings?” he asked.


“Oh, it’s definitely the rings,” I told him, kissing his mouth hard and sucking in his bottom lip in between my teeth and biting gently.


He pulled away and shook his head slowly. “Oh, you’ve done it now. I told you that’s a weakness for me.”


“I know, but I don’t have to hold back now, Spencer. You belong to me. You’re mine.”


“Oh, I’m definitely yours, Mrs. Blackwell.”


I kissed him harder as his hands climbed the lace at the back of my dress and began unbuttoning my top button there.


 


Someone cleared their throat.


 


We sighed deeply and our foreheads fell together.


“Sorry, guys, but, uh, they’re waiting for you.”


“We’ll be right there,” Spencer told the coordinator. He turned back toward me. “Later?”


“Sooner,” I promised as I made my way toward the door.


He swatted me and I laughed. He joined my side just as the bandleader gestured toward us.


“It’s with great pleasure,” he began, “to introduce to you for the first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell!”


The crowd cheered and we waved and smiled and headed for our part of the wedding party table but it was all a rouse. We had absolutely no interest in being there. Whatsoever.


The reception commenced with the arrival of dinner, the first dance, etc. etc. and after each event we promised each other we’d steal away but every time we made our way toward the door, someone caught us or something had to be done.


Finally, dinner was over, the dancing had begun and the alcohol had been pouring freely for almost an hour. We were alone at the back of the carriage house and no one seemed to notice us.


Spencer eyed me with such heat, it nearly burned my dress right off. “Now,” he demanded.


We discretely made our way toward the sliding door and slipped behind it, closing it, hiding us away from our entire family. Not a word was said as I lifted my skirt and Spencer carried what little train I had. And we ran. Laughing and giggling all the way to his truck. He opened my door for me and lifted me as if I weighed nothing, tossing me into the passenger side. He coolly rounded the front, eyeing me with a fever I’d never seen in him before. He threw open his door and jumped inside, closing the door behind him and engulfing us in pitch black.


“Come here, missus,” he said, grabbing me by the waist, making me squeal and sat me in his lap.


His left hand braced my back as his right followed the lines of my face, down my neck and shoulders and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I let my head fall back and exposed my throat for him. He kissed the length to the clavicle and stopped there.


“Oh my God, Cricket, I’m so in love with you.”


I righted myself and looked at him. “I’m so in love with you.”


“Get ready,” he said.


I smiled at him. “For?” I asked, dying to know what he was about to say.


“For me to show you just how much, darlin’,” he smiled steamily.


 


And that’s how we missed the cutting of our own wedding cake.



Merry Christmas, my lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the little short story. – Fisher


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Published on December 25, 2013 00:03 • 559 views