Dianne Bright's Blog - Posts Tagged "cleanreads"
Keep the Valentine's Day spirit going strong: "Kissing Contest"
A February breeze forced Madison to shut her shop window. She noticed Logan—in his red flannel jacket—closing up his ice cream parlor across the way.
Pulling the curtain tight, she pondered her loan for $50,000 from Mr. Langley, glad he’d seen the potential in her chemistry degree from Berkeley—or maybe it was just the handmade caramels she’d left on his desk.
Locking up, she stopped by Stan’s Diner for some chicken chili. Biking home was quick, then an hour on the treadmill—watching a romcom—trying not to worry about next month’s rent.
Chuckles’ incessant purrs awoke Madison Saturday morning, as he massaged her chin with his moist nose. She ate her standard cup of oatmeal with fresh berries and a strong cup of black coffee.
Setting the bowl in the dishwasher, she smiled—puzzled by her dream about Logan—before announcing to Chuckles, “That’s it, I’ll start a kissing contest. The hundredth customer of the day will receive a kiss on the cheek. And if the person doesn’t want a kiss, I’ll give them a box of candies instead.” Perfect for Valentine’s Day, she thought to herself.
Chuckles meowed his agreement, as she grabbed her laptop. “‘Kiss or Candy?’ That’s what I’ll call it.” Then, bouncing into a Word doc, she ordered a couple banners and printed a few dozen flyers to post around town.
By Tuesday afternoon, a line of fifteen people trailed out the door of Jellies & Jingles—where the kiss or candy option was paying out about fifty-fifty. Mr. Crane, a retired bus driver, won the kiss just before 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, and blinking—it was already Thursday with yet another kiss for Mr. Crane. Friday began with a quick hug for Chuckles before dashing out for the shop.
At a quarter to five, Madison looked up and saw Logan—holding a box of old-fashioned bubble gum.
He paid in cash. “Thanks for the gum, Madison.”
Her hand brushed against his. “You’re number ninety-four.”
He winked. “I guess I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
“Good night,” her employee, Jane, interrupted, clocking out.
“See you tomorrow,” Madison answered, closing out the credit card machine, before refilling candy bins and prepping the coffeemaker for Saturday.
Now home, she grabbed a weathered copy of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables before climbing into bed.
Saturday morning arrived with coughing and chills, plus a phone call to her mom. “Thanks for helping out, Mom. I hope the drive in from the desert isn’t too bad.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Kathleen replied. “Tell Jane I’ll be there in an hour.”
At 2:17 p.m., it was the girl from Oceanside, who chose sour gummy worms. By 4:15 p.m., Kathleen texted saying they were at one hundred and seventy-eight. That’s when Madison called the shop, recognizing the man’s voice in the background.
“Hey, Jane. Where’s Madison today?” Logan asked.
“She’s home with a cold,” Jane replied.
Madison smiled, offering some deposit instructions before hanging up—laughing into her pillow. About ten minutes later, she heard a knock, grabbing her red floral robe. It has to be my mom, she said to herself.
“I heard you were sick, so I brought you some soup,” Logan said, his dark hair hanging loosely around his grass-green eyes.
She slammed the door shut. “Hold on…”
Tying her robe tighter—Madison opened the door, smiling.
“These are for you,” he said, handing her a bouquet of daisies.
“Thanks, Logan. Sorry for being rude,” she said.
He smiled, setting his keys on the pub table.
“Are you dating anyone right now?” Madison asked, blaming the bluntness on her cold medicine.
“There have only been a few people since Anne and I got divorced,” he answered. “She called it quits after her last miscarriage.”
Madison moved a couch pillow. “That must have been so hard. I’m sorry.”
He scooted closer. “The truth is, I’ve wanted to ask you out for the past several months. I just didn’t know...”
Madison blushed like a Mister Lincoln rose petal—putting her hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t dated much since Brian either.”
The next few hours of talking blew by like the winter howl just outside her stained-glass kitchen window.
Standing up to stretch, Logan reached for her hand. “If I don’t bump into you tomorrow at church, I’ll swing by the store on Monday—for a kiss?”
Now on her tippy toes, Madison reached for his lips—her heart beating faster than the pounding raindrops overhead. “How about now?”
He bit his lower lip, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Not bad," she said. "Maybe even the best kiss so far."
"I hope I'm better than Mr. Crane," he replied, reaching for her lips again.
The following Friday, Madison closed up her store and walked a few blocks down Main Street to hand her shop landlord three months’ rent.
Loading up her bicycle’s basket with a container of homemade chicken noodle soup, a box of Kleenex, and a bouquet of daisies—she headed over to check on her Valentine.
------------------------------------------------------
Please COMMENT BELOW if you would like to read this as a novella.
Bright is a contributor with Reader's Digest and has written two indie novels. Her book of parenting reflections comes out later this year with CrossLink Pub. For more info, go to DianneBright.com
Pulling the curtain tight, she pondered her loan for $50,000 from Mr. Langley, glad he’d seen the potential in her chemistry degree from Berkeley—or maybe it was just the handmade caramels she’d left on his desk.
Locking up, she stopped by Stan’s Diner for some chicken chili. Biking home was quick, then an hour on the treadmill—watching a romcom—trying not to worry about next month’s rent.
Chuckles’ incessant purrs awoke Madison Saturday morning, as he massaged her chin with his moist nose. She ate her standard cup of oatmeal with fresh berries and a strong cup of black coffee.
Setting the bowl in the dishwasher, she smiled—puzzled by her dream about Logan—before announcing to Chuckles, “That’s it, I’ll start a kissing contest. The hundredth customer of the day will receive a kiss on the cheek. And if the person doesn’t want a kiss, I’ll give them a box of candies instead.” Perfect for Valentine’s Day, she thought to herself.
Chuckles meowed his agreement, as she grabbed her laptop. “‘Kiss or Candy?’ That’s what I’ll call it.” Then, bouncing into a Word doc, she ordered a couple banners and printed a few dozen flyers to post around town.
By Tuesday afternoon, a line of fifteen people trailed out the door of Jellies & Jingles—where the kiss or candy option was paying out about fifty-fifty. Mr. Crane, a retired bus driver, won the kiss just before 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, and blinking—it was already Thursday with yet another kiss for Mr. Crane. Friday began with a quick hug for Chuckles before dashing out for the shop.
At a quarter to five, Madison looked up and saw Logan—holding a box of old-fashioned bubble gum.
He paid in cash. “Thanks for the gum, Madison.”
Her hand brushed against his. “You’re number ninety-four.”
He winked. “I guess I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
“Good night,” her employee, Jane, interrupted, clocking out.
“See you tomorrow,” Madison answered, closing out the credit card machine, before refilling candy bins and prepping the coffeemaker for Saturday.
Now home, she grabbed a weathered copy of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables before climbing into bed.
Saturday morning arrived with coughing and chills, plus a phone call to her mom. “Thanks for helping out, Mom. I hope the drive in from the desert isn’t too bad.”
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Kathleen replied. “Tell Jane I’ll be there in an hour.”
At 2:17 p.m., it was the girl from Oceanside, who chose sour gummy worms. By 4:15 p.m., Kathleen texted saying they were at one hundred and seventy-eight. That’s when Madison called the shop, recognizing the man’s voice in the background.
“Hey, Jane. Where’s Madison today?” Logan asked.
“She’s home with a cold,” Jane replied.
Madison smiled, offering some deposit instructions before hanging up—laughing into her pillow. About ten minutes later, she heard a knock, grabbing her red floral robe. It has to be my mom, she said to herself.
“I heard you were sick, so I brought you some soup,” Logan said, his dark hair hanging loosely around his grass-green eyes.
She slammed the door shut. “Hold on…”
Tying her robe tighter—Madison opened the door, smiling.
“These are for you,” he said, handing her a bouquet of daisies.
“Thanks, Logan. Sorry for being rude,” she said.
He smiled, setting his keys on the pub table.
“Are you dating anyone right now?” Madison asked, blaming the bluntness on her cold medicine.
“There have only been a few people since Anne and I got divorced,” he answered. “She called it quits after her last miscarriage.”
Madison moved a couch pillow. “That must have been so hard. I’m sorry.”
He scooted closer. “The truth is, I’ve wanted to ask you out for the past several months. I just didn’t know...”
Madison blushed like a Mister Lincoln rose petal—putting her hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t dated much since Brian either.”
The next few hours of talking blew by like the winter howl just outside her stained-glass kitchen window.
Standing up to stretch, Logan reached for her hand. “If I don’t bump into you tomorrow at church, I’ll swing by the store on Monday—for a kiss?”
Now on her tippy toes, Madison reached for his lips—her heart beating faster than the pounding raindrops overhead. “How about now?”
He bit his lower lip, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Not bad," she said. "Maybe even the best kiss so far."
"I hope I'm better than Mr. Crane," he replied, reaching for her lips again.
The following Friday, Madison closed up her store and walked a few blocks down Main Street to hand her shop landlord three months’ rent.
Loading up her bicycle’s basket with a container of homemade chicken noodle soup, a box of Kleenex, and a bouquet of daisies—she headed over to check on her Valentine.
------------------------------------------------------
Please COMMENT BELOW if you would like to read this as a novella.
Bright is a contributor with Reader's Digest and has written two indie novels. Her book of parenting reflections comes out later this year with CrossLink Pub. For more info, go to DianneBright.com
