A Wink and a Smile

A WINK AND

A SMILE

Read on the Run

Anthology

Sally Basmajian

Dev Bentham

Michael Bracken

Madison Estes

Laurie Axinn Gienapp

Ilene Goldman

Anita Goveas

Meagan Noel Hart

Emorie Hill

Jonathan Ochoco

Meg Overman

Tricia Schneider

Jacqueline Seewald

Ginny Swart

Catherine Valenti

Anusha VR

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A Wink and a Smile

Copyright © 2018 by: Michael Bracken, Ginny Swart, Dev Bentham, Anita Goveas, Anusha VR, Catherine Valenti, Sally Basmajian, Ilene Goldman, Laurie Axinn Gienapp, Meg Overman, Emorie Hill, Madison Estes, Jonathan Ochoco, Meagan Noel Hart, Jacqueline Seewald, Tricia Schneider

Cover design by Elle J. Rossi http://www.ellejrossi.com

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

Smoking Pen Press

PO Box 190835

Boise, ID 83719

www.smokingpenpress.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-944289-10-2

First Edition: May 2018

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Other titles published by Smoking Pen Press

Introduction

Too Close To School ~ Michael Bracken

Que Sera, Sera ~ Ginny Swart

Treasure Hunt ~ Dev Bentham

Damage, Cosmetic Only ~ Anita Goveas

The Stranger At The Library ~ Anusha VR

Let Down Your Hair ~ Catherine Valenti

Appetite Delight ~ Sally Basmajian

The Wheels On The Bus ~ Ilene Goldman

Pinkie Swear ~ Laurie Axinn Gienapp

Critical Error ~ Meg Overman

Green Eggs And Cameras ~ Emorie Hill

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do ~ Ginny Swart

Abandoned Art ~ Madison Estes

Push To Talk ~ Jonathan Ochoco

A Spicy Admirer ~ Meagan Noel Hart

The Man Who Didn’t Like Children ~ Jacqueline Seewald

Afterlife ~ Dev Bentham

Cupid’s Arrow ~ Tricia Schneider

About The Authors

OTHER TITLES PUBLISHED BY SMOKING PEN PRESS

Links for digital versions of our titles, appear below. For print versions, check our website Smokingpenpress.com

Read on the Run series: Read on the Run is a series of anthologies with stories that are short enough to finish while you’re going about your daily business, but long enough to tell a good tale.

A Step Outside of Normal

A Bit of a Twist

Uncommon Pet Tales

Other Anthologies:

The Ancient

Novels:

The Weatherman

If you need additional information please contact us or visit our website

E-mail: SPP@smokingpenpress.com

Website: Smokingpenpress.com

INTRODUCTION

In this Read on the Run title, we present eighteen romances. Not love stories, although some of them do include aspects of that. But whereas love stories are often sad, each of the selections in A Wink and a Smile has either a happily-ever-after ending, or at least a strong suggestion that this is where the characters are heading.

That doesn’t mean these tales all sound the same; to the contrary, we’ve found quite a diverse collection of romances. Yes, there are some traditional romances, and there’s a healthy handful of budding romances, but you will also find a story set in the future, and a couple of fantasy tales. You will find stories of pastries, and candies, of young lovers and old. You will meet several matchmakers and you’ll see couples reconcile, and there are even a few stories that will make you laugh.

As always, each story in the Read on the Run series of anthologies is short, to suit your busy lifestyle.

TOO CLOSE TO SCHOOL

Michael Bracken

I purchased my home mid-summer, unaware of the noise and traffic congestion caused nine months of each year by the grade school only a block away. That’s why I was quite surprised when I was startled awake by pandemonium on the first day of school. I discovered parked cars lining both sides of the street in front of my house. Children and parents streamed down the sidewalk and across the corner of my lawn, and my neighbor’s dog barked at every one of them.

My alarm wasn’t set to ring for another forty-five minutes, but returning to bed was not an option. There was no way I would be able to sleep with all the commotion outside, so I pulled on a robe and limped past the closed door of the second bedroom all the way into the kitchen.

Being a caffeine addict but not a coffee drinker, I opened a can of cola and watched the parental and pre-pubescent parade through my kitchen window. The parents were mostly mothers, but a handful of fathers and a few couples escorted their children to school that morning.

Some of the children were eager to start school, while others practically had to be dragged to school by their parents. I wondered how my daughter would have reacted. Would Madison have enjoyed school, as I had, or would she have despised every moment of it the way her father had?

Because I would never know, I shook off the depressing, unproductive thoughts about what might have been, finished my cola, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead. With so much extra time to prepare, I dawdled my way through my morning routine.

I no longer wore dresses or skirts, and the last thing I did before pulling on my slacks was fasten a brace around my left knee. With the brace on, my limp was much less pronounced. Then I slipped on a pair of flats because I could no longer wear heels, checked my appearance in the mirror, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door.

Except for a pair of mothers standing next to a blue-and-rust pickup truck discussing something so important that it required a great many hand gestures, the crowd that had awoken me had dispersed. I climbed into my SUV, backed out of my driveway, and drove to work.

You’re here early, Frieda said when she saw me heading down the hall toward my office. Because she was often the first person in the office each morning and the last person to leave, she knew everyone’s daily routine. For that reason she had become the office’s unofficial hall monitor.

I told her about my rude awakening that morning. I knew the grade school was nearby, I said, but I didn’t expect my street to be overrun with children when the school year started.

We had worked together for several years, so Frieda had known me well before the accident. Are you okay with that?

There was a moment where I wondered ‘what if’, I told her, but the moment passed.

Frieda took my hand and held it for a moment. I was worried she might try to hug me, but I think she knew better. When she released my hand, she said, Let me know if there’s anything I can do.

I will, I said. Then I continued down the hall to my office, stuffed my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk, and spent a moment looking at the framed photograph on the corner of my desk as I settled into my chair.

I didn’t often get to work early, so I took a few minutes to stare out my office window, watching people arrive in the offices across the street and wondering what surprises they may have faced that morning.

Kathleen?

I turned to see Chuck standing in my open doorway. He had transferred from the East Coast only a few months earlier, and I knew as little about him as I knew about my new neighbors. I just hadn’t made the effort.

I’m surprised to see you here this early.

I let his comment slide without a response. What can I do for you, Chuck?

He needed a file I had open on my desk. I closed the folder and held it out until he crossed the room and took it from my hand. As he did, Chuck said, I’ll return it this afternoon.

There’s no rush, I told him. I have what I need from it.

Chuck turned and left my office without thanking me. He may have intended to keep his voice low, but it carried, and I overheard him a moment later. What’s with the gimp today? he asked. She acts like she lost her best friend.

I looked up in time to see Frieda grab Chuck’s arm and pull him down so that she could speak directly into his ear. When she finished, Chuck glanced over his shoulder and saw me staring at him. He straightened and hurried out of sight.

Rising early had impacted me more than I had realized, and I knew I would have to get my act together because Frieda couldn’t run interference for me all day the way she had when I first returned to work after the accident.

Luckily, I had no scheduled meetings and could spend much of my day squirreled away in my office. I took a deep breath, woke up my computer, and began to work.

The workday passed quickly enough, and the streets around my house were quiet when I returned home that evening. I had only lived in the house a few months, having moved from the other side of town to get away from the daily reminders of what I’d lost, and I had put my mark on the place. A two-bedroom brick ranch on a corner lot, it had been a bit of a fixer-upper I’d purchased from a divorcing couple eager to sell. I’d remodeled the bathroom, had new kitchen appliances installed, and had the hardwood floors stripped and stained. Then I had patched and painted the walls myself before finally moving everything from my apartment, arranging my furniture, and hanging all of my family photographs.

With work inside the house complete, I could use my free time to get my weed-infested yard in order, and after dinner I stood in front of the bay window staring at it. Though I had a yard service mow and edge each week, I had left landscaping and the other yard work for the cooler weather of fall. I wondered how my plans might change now that I knew children would be running through my yard twice a day.

As I prepared for bed that evening, I was still thinking about that morning. I knew I would not be able to sleep through all the commotion the following morning, or any school-day morning for that matter. I set my alarm to go off an hour earlier than I had been rising, slid beneath the covers, and tried my best to forget my day.

I couldn’t, and I tossed and turned for quite some time before I finally fell asleep.

The next morning wasn’t quite as bad as the first day of school because the alarm woke me before all the commotion began outside. Once again, I took my time preparing for work and left the house after most of the school crowd had dispersed. The blue-and-rust pickup truck was parked in the same place as the previous morning, but the two gesticulating mothers were nowhere to be seen.

Frieda didn’t comment about my early arrival, but as I was settling into place behind my desk she came into my office with a cold can of cola from the machine in the break room. As she placed it on the desk in front of me, she said, You don’t look like you slept well.

I didn’t. I told her about setting my alarm an hour earlier, but I didn’t mention the return of my bad dreams, dreams that had not bothered me in several months. I’ll need to start going to bed earlier if I’m going to be getting up earlier.

Remember, she said, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.

After I assured her that I would, Frieda returned to her desk. I popped open the can of cola she’d brought me and then went through the stack of things in my in-basket. At the bottom was the file Chuck had borrowed the previous morning, obviously returned the previous evening after I had left for the day. I wondered if my co-worker had actually needed it the entire day or if he had been embarrassed to face me after what I’d overheard him say about my gait.

My mornings gradually improved as the week progressed, but I still took advantage of my first day off since the start of the school year and slept late on Saturday morning. After a shower and a simple brunch, I dressed in clothes appropriate for doing yard work. Despite late summer heat more appropriate for shorts, I wore relaxed fit jeans with pant legs loose enough to hide my knee brace.

A month earlier I had taken advantage of a garden supply store’s sale and had purchased a variety of gardening tools, including gloves and a wide-brimmed floppy hat. I collected the new yard cart with never-used gardening tools attached and wheeled it into the front yard. I took a long, hard look at my next-door-neighbor’s lush lawn, imagining mine someday looking that nice. Then I put on my hat, pulled on my gloves, and sat on my front walk at the bottom of the porch steps.

I began pulling weeds and tossing them into the yard cart. I pulled every weed I could reach and then shifted position and did it again, working my way toward the sidewalk. Before long I had pulled so many weeds that my yard looked like it was developing brown measles.

You’ve given yourself quite a task, said a deep male voice.

Startled, I looked up to