Love, Unscripted

by Denise Hunter

she’d stayed up late paying restaurant bills, then lain in bed overthinking. It was a specialty of hers.

For the first time he noticed the slogan on her tee: I’m not short, I’m fun size. No doubt.

There was something about seeing a person at his weakest—and being seen at your most vulnerable—that lowered a person’s walls. She thought he might feel the same.

There was no doubt she enjoyed his company. He was kind and thoughtful and funny. He enjoyed teasing her and making her blush, but he never pushed too far. He’d taken such great care of her when she was sick, and she was pretty sure Buttercup now preferred his company to her own.

Somehow Chloe had ended up in his lap again. Okay, so he’d pulled her down as she’d been passing by.

Could he help it if they were one chair short? But she seemed comfortable leaning back into the curve of his chest, his arms encompassing her waist. She was so tiny. He usually dated tall women, but he was finding he liked her compact size. It made him feel protective somehow.

Their gazes connected again, the moment lengthening as their smiles fell away. Something passed between them. Something momentous. Something beautiful. Something real. All those intimacies they’d been sharing flowed naturally into the next logical step.

He forgot about his reasons, forgot about the rain, and homed in on her lips. So soft and warm and responsive. When her mouth parted on a breath he took full advantage. She emitted a soft mewling sound that lit a fire inside. He turned her back to the car. He’d wanted her like this forever it seemed.

I am a writer. (Anything you say or do may be used in a story.)

It seemed something unique and magical happened when two flawed people who were meant for each other came together.

“Where you gonna call home, Liam?” another reporter called. The reporters, the cameras, and the flashes faded into the background as he gazed at her with forever in his eyes and answered, “Wherever Chloe is.”