WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition (13 page)

“An MRI is always a good idea, just to rule
out other possibilities,” said Dr. Moshifari.”It helps give you
peace of mind. And we don’t have to do the MRI right away; we can
schedule an appointment tomorrow or next week. For now, I’d like
you to go home and take it easy, OK?”

“OK.” I nodded obediently, thankful to leave
the ER. Perhaps this Valentine’s Day could still be salvaged after
all.

• • •

Ben plumped up the cushions and I slowly
eased myself onto the sofa. “Can you please get me a drink?” I
asked, milking my injury for all its worth. “And a bowl of
gelato?”

Ben padded to the kitchen, fetching me a
glass of water and a tub of chocolate gelato.

“My neck hurts,” I simpered and shot Ben an
injuredprincess look. “Can you give me a neck rub?”

“Scoot over,” Ben commanded and flopped down
on the sofa next to me. Spooning me from behind, he massaged my
neck with long kneads and gentle strokes. “So, what would you like
to do tonight?”

“Watch a chick flick,” I said, stuffing my
face with gelato.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Roman Holiday,” I cried joyfully.

“
Ciao Bella!
” Ben gave a throaty
laugh. “That’s such an old movie.”

“It’s a classic!” I retorted. “Plus, Audrey
Hepburn is a star’s star!”

“Oh alright,” Ben relented. “Since you almost
smashed your head into smithereens tonight, I guess I’ll gird my
loins and watch a chick flick.”

Ben popped the DVD into the player and we sat
back, immersing ourselves in the beautiful world of black and
white. The chemistry between Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck was
magnetic and by the time the credits rolled, I was sniffling. “If
wish they had DVDs back in the 1950’s; they could have shot an
alternate happy ending.”

“Hey…” Bensoothed, cupping my chin and
cradling my face between his hands. “Don’t be sad. You can have
your own happy ending … I haven’t given you your Valentine gift
yet.”

I sat up straighter. “Gift?

“Well, first off, how do you feel?” His
eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Does your head still hurt?”

“It still throbs a little, but I feel
fine.”

“Good! Because I couldn’t wait to give you
this …” Ben reached inside his pocket, produced a ring and slipped
it onto my finger.

Gazing at my princess cut engagement ring, my
breath caught in my throat. “It’s exquisite.”

“You’re exquisite,” he deadpanned.

“Liar!” I flashed a toothy grin. “My front
tooth is missing and I’ve got a bruise on my head the size of a
cantaloupe.”

He pinched my nose. “You’re still
exquisite.”

I delivered a solid punch to his arm. “You
know I would have been happy and content with just the rubber stamp
on my wrist.”

“I know.” He touched my hair; the tenderness
in his voice was overwhelming. “That’s why I love you so much.”

“So …” My voice pitched higher. “Would you
still like to see the surprise I had in store for you?”

Ben’s lips twisted into a quirk smile. “I’ve
already seen you in your dominatrix Wonder Woman get-up.”

“No,” I protested. “Not that!” I extended my
hand, holding up my wrist. “This!”

Ben took my little hand in his big hand,
examining the symbols that decorated my left wrist.

A mixture of emotions played across his face.
“You got it inked?”

“Yep. I sure did — in Hebrew.” I beamed
beatifically. “It’s a permanent tattoo! And you better not make me
live to regret this.”

“I won’t!” His voice was confident and firm.
After a slight pause, he asked, “Why in Hebrew?”

“Well if I’d gotten the words ‘NOT FOR
CIRCULATION’ tattooed across my wrist, I’m pretty sure I’d resemble
a walking reference book.”

“Liv, you
are
my reference book.” He
cast me a meaningful look. “I’d be so lost without you.”

I shook my head, my eyes crinkling at the
sides. “OK, you can quit being a cornball now.”

Standing up, Ben scooped me into his arms and
walked toward the bedroom, carrying me over the threshold as if it
were our honeymoon night. “This marriage is a done deal in my
books.” He added, “And our story … our book will forever be shelved
in the non-fiction aisle.”

A bubble of laughter escaped me. “You’re such
a dork!”

“Shhhhhhhh,” Ben shushed. “No talking in the
library of
lurrrve
.”

Then he silenced me with a kiss.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This short story was inspired by Ruch E.
Chodrow who met her husband while working in a science library.

If you enjoyed
Love In The Stacks
, you
may also enjoy
Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel
,
by
Lisa Lim.

Praise for
Confessions of a Call Center
Gal
:

“
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
is a
fun mix of Bridget Jones’s Diary and The Office.” ~ Books Etc.

“Think Chelsea Handler, plus the politically
incorrect show The Office, plus chick lit. Are you already
laughing? ~ Precision Reviews

“
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
is a
chick-lit approach to the call center.” ~ The Wall Street
Journal

“The chick lit version of ‘Office Space’ for
a new generation. ~ Chick Lit Central

ABOUT LISA LIM

Lisa Lim is the proud mom of two little girls
and three rescue dogs. Lisa is also a chick lit junkie and author
of chick lit novel
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
(ranked
Top 100 in Kindle Humor). She is currently writing a sequel to
Confessions
. Lisa received a B.A. in Journalism from the
University of Wisconsin, Madison and she was a former Technical
Writer for a software company and Copy Editor for an IT
publication. You can follow Lisa on Twitter:
@LisaLim8
. Lisa blogs at:
http://confessionsofacallcentergal.blogspot.com/

What others are saying about Lisa Lim’s
work:

“
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
is a
chick-lit approach to the call center. This book is a reminder that
the call center predates globalization and outsourcing.” ~The Wall
Street Journal

“Lisa Lim is a great new voice in chick lit.
Confessions
is funny, romantic and realistic. It’s a strong
debut novel about real issues with lots of heart and humor.” ~Chick
Lit Club (AR)

“
Confessions of a Call Center Gal
is
Chelsea Handler, plus the politically incorrect show The Office,
plus chick lit. Are you already laughing?” ~Precision Reviews

“Guaranteed to make you laugh-out-loud. Fans
of Sophie Kinsella will love it.” ~bestselling author Sibel
Hodge

“A fun mix of Bridget Jones’s Diary and The
Office.” ~Books Etc.

By MG Ainsworth

One.

Dara felt an unusual sense of contentment as
she walked along the riverfront path holding Steve’s hand. Fog hung
damp in the air, enveloping them in their own little world. They’d
had a romantic dinner date at a small seafood restaurant and Dara
had decided it was time to take their relationship to the next
level. They’d been dating for almost two months and for Dara, it
had been far too long since she’d reached the point of intimacy in
a relationship.

Her large extended family always did their
best to mess things up. Sure, they meant well with their meddling
but they just didn’t understand that she wanted a guy to like her
for who she was and not because Cupid’s arrow had struck.
Literally.

Dara was both blessed and cursed to call
Cupid her grandfather. So did several dozen cousins since dear old
granddad had been a bit prolific as a result of his conquests. The
whole sweet, baby-faced little angels that Cherubs were commonly
depicted as couldn’t be further from the truth, particularly with
regards to Cupid himself. Instead, granddad was six and a half feet
of handsome tanned muscles, resembling Adonis rather than an
infant.

Ironically, if anyone resembled a Cherub,
Dara thought it was herself. She measured a whopping five foot one
inches tall, with a fair complexion and a face that had never lost
the baby fat in its cheeks. She sometimes felt all that separated
her from the classic paintings were wings and a harp. In a funny
twist of fate, she really could play the harp. Most cherubs had an
affinity for music, but the wings were just a myth. Dara couldn’t
even stand to fly in an airplane.

She liked to think that was where the
resemblance to her family stopped. For the most part, the rest of
them entered the family trade, meddling in the love affairs of
mortals when not leading a life of leisure and hedonism. They also
enjoyed meddling in Dara’s relationships despite her pleas that
they stay out of them.

They were definitely not descended from the
Biblical Cherubim, but instead were the Cherubs that the ancient
Greeks and Romans so loved. During the renaissance there was a
movement within the church to separate the Cherubs from the
Biblical Cherubim and they were renamed
Putti
, but thanks to
a campaign launched by some of her older aunts and uncles, the name
didn’t stick and faded into history. “I’m a Putti” sounded even
more ridiculous than “I’m a Cherub.” They’d remained Cherubs ever
since and commercially appeared in full force each year around
Valentine’s Day.

Seeing life as one big party, members of her
Cherub family favored the French Riviera and all-inclusive resorts
in the tropics to the damp and rainy Pacific Northwest where Dara
had settled down. When she’d announced she wanted to go to college
and have a career, they’d looked at her like she was daft and wrote
it off to her youth. At just over a century old, she was one of the
younger family members.

But she’d done it anyways. She’d gotten a
degree in mathematics before pursuing actuarial training. At the
completion she was proud to pass her actuarial exam and to find a
job with an insurance company in a field dominated by men.
Predicting trends and the probability of loss, was intellectually
satisfying for her.

She’d met Steve, also an actuary, at a
conference and had been very careful to not mention a word about
him to her family. Portland in January was not a place her family
would willingly visit, so Dara felt certain that the attraction
between them was genuine.

This had not been the case in her few
previous relationships and Dara had good reason to be cautious.
Somehow Cupid’s arrow had found each and every one of her prior
mortal beaus. Over the centuries, Cupid’s arrow had evolved. Gone
were the early prototype bows and arrows. The lethal shot was now
delivered by specially designed guns that would shoot a miniscule
dart at their intended target from either short or long range,
depending on the device. The target would feel nothing more than a
small sting or bite. The next man or woman they laid eyes upon
would become the object of their affection. The love potion they
delivered was ineffective on Cherubs but almost always successful
on humans. Dara’s older sister, Corazon, was particularly proud of
her tiny pink gun disguised as a tube of lipstick.

Dara thought it was ridiculous. In her
interactions with humans she’d found them perfectly capable of
making their own choices about whom they would love, sometimes
better than those of her family. She had an uncle, Fabio, who took
joy in matching polar opposites and claimed he’d coined the phrase
“opposites attract” long before Paula Abdul put it to music.
Unfortunately, the relationships he created stood out for both
their sizzling passion and their explosive fights.

Her brother Romeo was a master
mischief-maker. He’d seek out a happy couple and intentionally
split them apart by setting the sights of one of them on a
stranger. The Cherubs were honor bound not to not interfere in
relationships consecrated by the sacred vows of marriage, but prior
to the alter they had no constraints. If a marriage failed it was
sometimes the result of a defective batch of love serum or simply
human nature, as it is flawed at best. The only antidote to the
love potion was also held by the Cherubs, but rarely used.

Dara had spent most of her adult life keeping
an eye out for her meddling family. She’d deflected several darts
from striking her love interests in the past ten years and had to
use the antidote four times. Her sister Corazon, or Cora for short,
was particularly fond of selecting muscle-bound jocks for Dara with
her lipstick gun. One glance at Steve, her current beau, made it
clear that he spent more time in the office than the gym, but he
had a handsome face, a great smile and warm brown eyes. Even at
only five foot 11 inches he towered over her. Dara was content in
knowing that he was with her because he truly liked her and not
because of some silly love potion.