Every year romance tops the list of the most widely read genres. From Edward and Bella to Harry and Sally to Romeo and Juliette, most of the greatest stories ever told have at their center two people discovering their feelings for one another.
We love tales of characters fighting to find a connection, but before we can flush out a fiery story filled with heat and tension, we need to understand what kind of spark our characters are experiencing.
3 Types of Romantic Feelings
I’ve experienced three different forms of romantic feeling: infatuation, lust, and love. Each is its own unique kind of fire. When we write romantic relationships between characters, it’s important we know which of these three types of burn they are experiencing.
1. Infatuation Sparks like a Match
I remember in high school being infatuated with a girl that sat near me in chemistry. When I saw her, my mouth filled with cotton, my heart raced, and butterflies flew fast circles in my stomach. I saw her everywhere. I noticed her in the hallway walking to class, in the cafeteria chatting with her friends, and outside of school at places I least expected, like the grocery store.
For three weeks, I couldn’t get her out of my mind; but as quickly as it had come, the infatuation faded.
This form of romance is like a match. When struck, it ignites and burns bright, but it is exhausted just as fast.
2. Lust is a Wildfire
The most popular poster in my all-male college dorm was a provocative picture of Jennifer Aniston. None of us knew Jennifer Aniston, nor did we care to have a conversation with her. The image represented something we longed for. The talented actress was just an object we thought would fulfill our desire.
Lust is not about the object of our desire; it is about fulfilling our desire. The object is simply a vehicle.
While it is most often associated with sex, we can lust after anything: fame, money, glory, power. Anything we can want can be made into an object of lust.
Unfortunately, lust rarely pays off like we hope. If we obtain the object of our desire, we are left still unsatisfied because the reality of the experience will never match our fantasy. In this way, lust is like a wildfire. It burns with reckless abandon until everything is consumed and the ground is left scared.
3. Love Burns Hot and Long
I worked as a pastor for fifteen years. During that time, I performed a lot of weddings and almost all of them contained a reading of 1 Corinthians 13—the love passage. If you’ve attended a wedding, you’ve probably heard it:
Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It is not rude or self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
What I love about the passage's description of love is that in it, love is all about how you should treat another person.
While lust is about getting what we want, love is about seeing another person become the best they can be. While lust is about finding satisfaction, love is about bringing satisfaction to another.
If infatuation is a match and lust is a wildfire, then love is the steady burn of an oil lamp. It has the same spark, heat, and light of the other two, but it is not quick. It endures.
Our Opportunity as Writers
The great news is that as writers we have the opportunity to play with all three forms of romantic feeling—sometimes in the same scene. Think of the three types as different flavors: one is sweet, one brings heat, and one is savory. When mixed together, the ending dish can be a work of art that is not only delicious but also surprising.
You might try blending them together like this:
Maybe . . . your heroine is experiencing infatuation that will mature into a deep love, while the object of her desire is filled with lust.
Maybe . . . your hero is infatuated with the woman in front of him, unaware of the woman standing in his shadow, harboring a deep love for him.
Maybe . . . the relationship between your characters begins with infatuation. For one it matures into love, while for the other it fades.
There is no end to the possible combinations and the emotional plot twists these three romantic feelings can create. They are waiting for us to put words to the page and give their fire life.
Have I missed a romantic feeling? What other types of attraction can characters feel for one another? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to write a scene where two characters experience some combination of the three romantic feelings—infatuation, lust, and love. As this is a site for writers of all ages, please keep your scenes rated PG.
When you're done, share your practice in the comments, and be sure to leave feedback for your fellow writers.
Noah convinced himself to follow the list. He was determined to get what he needed and get out. He went to the Meat Department and saw the ground turkey was almost gone. One package remained. As he approached, a young woman with slender hands grabbed it.
“I’m sorry, but I saw—”
The woman turned to Noah.
“Amy?”
His eyes sparkled. Amy was the new teacher at Hamilton High. The moment he laid eyes on her, he was hooked. Anytime he looked upon her with her ruby red lips and short copper hair, he went jittery. Out of all the teachers he encountered, it was refreshing to meet someone even more passionate than he was about teaching. Noah cleared his throat. He didn’t want to come off rude.
“Wow. I didn’t know you shopped here?”
“Yeah. It’s ten minutes away from where I live. What brings you here?”
Noah looked down at his basket, unaware that he was still missing the ground turkey that Amy slipped into her basket.
“Gathering supplies to make chili.”
Amy gasped. “You like chili, too?”
“It’s my favorite food. I could eat it every day.”
Noah stared deeply into her jade green eyes. It was nothing he’d ever seen before.
“Maybe you could come by the house and we have a chili party, just the two of us. We can trade recipes.”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
Great meet up. Nice work.
Elle settled herself at the foot of the bed and closed her eyes.
“So who is it this time? Another freshman?” she asked, teasing the boy above her.
Mark groaned and pulled himself to the edge of the bed to peer down at Elle. “God, no, not another freshman. I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out with her.”
“Oh I can tell you what you were thinking.” Elle snorted. “That girl was curvier than a bendy straw.”
“She was.” Mark blissfully agreed, and Elle leaned over and whacked him on the head.
“That’s disgusting.”
“But true.”
“Still, disgusting. But, seriously,” she continued, pushing him to the side so she had room on the bed, “who’s this new person?”
At this, Mark’s smile faded into a serious expression. His brow furrowed, creating tiny waves in his forehead. “Well, I’ve known them for awhile.”
Elle raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Mark sat himself up, averting his gaze. “And, uh, we’re pretty close. I mean I’ve never pictured them in any, uh, romantic light or anything before but…”
Elle’s heart began to race. With… fear? Not fear. Anxiety? No. Anticipation. “Have you known them for longer than five years?”
Mark nodded.
“Are they in the same grade as you?”
Another nod.
Elle remained quiet for awhile, glancing up every now and then to look at him. She hadn’t really looked at him before, but in the moment she noticed things. How his eyes were a vivid green, the way he bit the right corner of his lip when he was nervous, the slight curl in his bangs. She began to think out how to say what she was feeling, how to express that maybe they were a little closer than either of them thought –
“Elle?”
She looked at the boy who she was almost sure she loved, and saw that his serious expression had been replaced by one of incredible torment.
“It’s Riley.”
Her heart plummeted. “Riley James? Oh… yeah, she’s pretty cute.”
Mark shook his head. “No. Not Riley James.”
Elle shook her head. “There’s not another girl named Riley.” She ran through the list of people in her head, trying to think of another Riley. “Yeah, there’s no other girl…” The realization hit her.
“Riley Emmerson. The boy.” Mark said softly, and cradled his head in his hands.
Oh! What a reveal at the ending. Completely unexpected. Elle’s definitely got some feelings for Mark, but can she compete with a male? I’ve always heard it put that one cannot compete with a different gender interest, but maybe Mark only feels lust towards Riley, and therefore has yet for that flame to burn itself out.
This is my first time sharing any of my writing, so any feedback is super appreciated! I hope I did this right:
~
They waited up in the trees for what felt like hours, until finally it seemed that the danger had passed and they were alone once again. Kaleen flittered down to the ground and returned to her normal size as she signaled the all-clear.
“Don’t fall out of the tree this time, okay?” She stifled a laugh as she spoke.
Brendan’s face reddened as he clambered down the larger branches of the tree. “Slow and steady”, he whispered to himself, “don’t embarrass yourself in front of her again.”
“Almost there, almost there—and now, take my hand!” Brendan inched over onto the lowest branch, still hanging a great distance above the ground, and gently took Kaleen’s outstretched hand as she floated next to him. He could feel his heart beat faster as the warmth of her hand melded with his own, and he hoped that she couldn’t sense it. “You are scared of heights, yes?” He looked up from their clasped hands and saw that she had been staring at him. She could tell that his heart was racing, he realized, though it didn’t seem that she understood the real reason why. He nodded his head to avoid suspicion. Kaleen reached over and grabbed his other hand, pulling him close to her. “Then look into my eyes”
He nodded again and stared straight into her large hazel eyes. He could feel the back of his neck growing hot, and he prayed that he wasn’t blushing again. Next thing he knew, he was being lifted into the air and slowly began to drift down towards the ground. As soon as their feet were both firmly planted in the dirt, Kaleen began to gently remove her hands from his. Brendan hesitated for a moment, clinging to the last glimmers of warmth from her soft hands, but then quickly released her hands.
“Um thanks, Kaleen, for, well you-know.” He tripped over his words as he spoke.
“’Twas my pleasure, your highness,” She bowed graciously and turned away to start walking back, “Come, Prydari will be wondering where we have gone.”
“Yeah”, he thought to himself, “but you don’t know how much I wish we could stay”. The warmth from his hands faded, and he quickened his pace to catch up to her.
~
Great job sharing your work! And it’s good! I really enjoyed the piece. Thanks for sharing.
Sounds like there is some infatuation or something deeper there. Nice scene with the character doing all he could to hide his feelings.
I’m thinking you’ve forgotten a “big one” – that of disdain/dislike turning to desire. This is one that is used a lot in romantic fiction, esp. historical romance! I think this type of romantic feeling happens all around us.
~~~~~
Even though her heart did back flips every time she looked into his baby blues, Lois Lane was thoroughly disgusted with the twenty-something farmer standing in front of her, clad in red and blue. Didn’t he have anything to wear other than flannel? And why was he so evasive whenever she wanted to know anything?
The kitchen screen door opened.
“Anyone home?”
It totally sucked to see Clark Kent’s face turn a distinct shade of blush-red when Lana Lang was around. He’ done a one-eighty from closed off to totally engaged in a nano second.
“Come on in, Lana; you’re always welcome.”
Whenever Clark spoke to Lois, he was brief and to the point; a man of very few words. But with Lana? He was all smiles, white teeth, and ready to chat.
Lana glanced her way and Lois new she’d need another excuse to leave the two of them alone.
“No problem; cousin Chloe’s doing a column on damsels in distress and, though that’s not my strong suit,” Lois gave Lana a tight-lipped smile, havng put the emphasis on ‘my’, “I think I’ve had some experience with those kind of gals.”
The screen door slammed behind her, an apt punctuation to how she felt. If Sarcasm had a middle name, it would be Lois.
She turned the ignition, ready to punch the gas, when Clark appeared. Lois shot him a look that would’ve scorched anyone else, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Lois, you okay?”
She was pissed, disgusted, and totally “done” with fresh country air, Clark Kent, and those pesky butterflies in her stomach. She glanced up; he was all rugged good looks, strong jawline, and concern. The pit of despair – and desire – was a big one, and she was sliding in, fast.
“Sure thing, Clark. Later.”
Excellent point about the dislike-turned-desire! Excellent description as well 🙂
Beautifully written story. Didn’t think of dislike-turned-desire. Great addition!
“So, what do you think?” Jenna asked. Jenna, his sweet Jenna, who could be talking about what she wanted for dinner in one second and then decide jerk chicken and then look up the price for plane tickets to Jamaica because the seasoning packet she bought was the cheaper by 49 cents and wasn’t as good. Apparently nothing beat Jamaican jerk chicken from Jamaica. Even though Jenna had never been to Jamaica, Marc wisely didn’t argue with her.
Marc sometimes wanted to take her into his arms and remind her that an extra 49 cents was cheaper than a plane ticket to Jamaica, but Jenna-logic was not to be argued with. Her spontaneity left him dizzy sometimes, breathless others, and with a migraine on less fortunate occasions. In this instance, he could feel the migraine starting, creeping up the back of his head.
Jenna, still excited about whatever new venture she had decided upon, bounced up to him. “Markie!” Now she was pouting. Good Lord he could never resist that pout. He stared at her lips for a moment. She had put some shimmery stuff on them. It was probably sticky and would taste like candy hearts from first grade valentines but it looked fantastic. His reaction to the question that she had asked, the subject which he hadn’t even heard, would determine a lot of things tonight.
He held out his arms and gently took hold of her delicate wrists, pulling her closer. “Yes baby. I’m listening.”
Fortunately Jenna was in the mood to repeat her idea. Something about Rachel’s sister’s friend’s idea for a quilting show. And apparently she was really into it, because as she animatedly explained it, her eyes sparkled and she began flipping her hair. Soft, luscious lips and soft, silky hair. And that wicked sparkle. Marc again focused on her lips and then traced his eyes down her body to her long long legs. She was wearing a new dress. He didn’t usually notice clothes, but the dress, some pink frilly thing, showed off her legs. It was all very distracting.
“So, what do you think?” Jenna asked again. She had probably repeated the question more than once.
Marc grabbed at the curls at the nape of his neck. “Um I uh-“
Jenna’s face clouded over. “Marc!” she cried, a little stamp of her foot emphasizing her irritation. “Is it really so hard to listen?! I already told you three times! I know it is a lot of information, but I really tried to condense it all! What exactly were you thinking about that you couldn’t spare 4 minutes to listen to me?”
Marc squirmed in his seat. “Jenna, baby,” he tried.
She glared at him. Her look meant business. “Go on, spit it out!”
Marc lolled his head from side to side. He was going to have to make it good. “So why are you all dressed up?”
Jenna let out a shriek and ran out of the room. Oops. Wrong thing to say. Marc sighed. He was getting tired of sleeping on the couch.
Interesting and well imagined characters, and an engaging dynamic. I enjoyed reading your practice a lot!
Thanks:) I haven’t written for a couple years and I’m trying to get back into it.
I wasn’t expecting that ending! It’s interesting watching Marc lose focus even though he knows he should be paying attention. A lot of people can probably relate to this, too.
I’m more like Jenna, so I tried hard to put myself in Marc’s head. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
I’ll say this, I neither read, nor write, romance, but really most fiction does include a romantic element of some sort, so I still found this post extremely useful. Thanks!
I don’t read romantic books, but, I do love a good “Love Story.” I will reconsider.
Beautiful. Love,lust,infatuation .
Thanks for sharing such a beautiful and perfect writing. We can now decide what to put where.
Selections from chapter one of my WIP, the story of Akiko, a blind fifteen-year-old with a mysterious past. The Olsens are her foster parents. Thanks to an arrangement with the institute for the blind, Akiko attends a public school with the help of a personal aide, Mr. Treacher.
* * *
The Olsen Home
San Francisco, CA
She ate her breakfast quickly. She was anxious to get to school, not so much for the class work, but because of Sarah. The two girls shared several classes and had become friends. It was Sarah who had told Akiko that Tommy Porter liked her.
“He always eats lunch with you,” Sarah had pointed out. “And you should see the way he looks at you.”
Akiko had been skeptical. “Why would Tommy Porter be interested in a blind girl?” she had asked her friend.
“You are the new girl,” Sarah replied. “The new girls always attract the attention of a few guys, no matter who they are. And you are cute. Exotic-looking. I think Jenny McGivens is jealous of you.”
“Jenny McGivens the cheerleader?” Akiko had asked incredulously.
“Mmm hmm,” Sarah answered. “Besides, you haven’t seen what Tommy looks like.”
Akiko giggled. “Is he ugly? Deformed or something?”
“I’m not saying anything,” Sarah said smugly. “Just don’t sell yourself short.”
This particular day, Akiko was looking forward to seeing both Sarah and Tommy. Recently Tommy had made a habit of reading to Akiko in the library between lunch and their next class. She had been learning Braille with Mr. Treacher, but she had a long way to go until she was fluent. Besides, all of the books in the school library were either print books or ebooks.
Lowell High School
San Francisco, CA
After lunch, she and Tommy headed to the library as they had done for the past few weeks. She had put away her dark glasses after first period.
Tommy was reading Shoe Marks. It was a paranormal novel supposedly inspired by true events. As he read to her, Akiko wondered about him. It was hard for her to believe he had any interest in her, yet here he was, spending time with her when he could be doing literally anything else. She wondered if he could fall for a girl like her. Then she wondered if she weren’t falling for him. She reached out. Her hand found his shoulder, and she kept it there as he read to her.
He read right up until the bell rang, like he always did. They both stood. Akiko felt a strange warmth inside, and a giddy feeling in her stomach like water in a brook gurgling inexorably toward the sea, only warmer. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Thanks,” she said.
“I was wondering,” Tommy said quickly. There was a quaver in his voice and Akiko was suddenly and inexplicably acutely aware of her own heartbeat. “Maybe we could go out sometime.”
Akiko felt a smile break over her face much as the warm sun had done when she stepped off of the bus that morning. “I’d like that.”
* * *
Akiko had no memory of the rest of her school day. It wasn’t like the lost memories of her life before the fire. But she couldn’t focus on anything. Her teacher’s words were no more important than the drone of an air conditioner in her ears. She would suddenly find herself seated at her desk in class with no memory of having walked there. Mr. Treacher was there beside her, as always during classes, but he may as well have been far out at sea. All Akiko could think about was Tommy: his voice, his scent, the way his hand had felt on hers when she had given him her phone number.
She felt Mr. Treacher nudge her, trying to bring her focus back into the classroom. He wasn’t rough, but his elbow wasn’t exactly gentle. Not like Tommy’s hand. Mrs. Forsythe, her English Lit teacher, was reading Poe. Why did they have to study Poe? Edgar Allen was dead. Akiko had no doubt he had been creepy when he was alive. Annabel Lee made her shudder in disgust. Though Poe only mentioned “lying down by the side” of his beautiful Annabel Lee, Akiko was certain the poem was about necrophilia. She shuddered again, and Mr. Treacher put his hand on her shoulder. It was a touch that was supposed to remind Akiko to sit still.
Why would Poe write such a thing? Why would anyone want to focus on the death of a lover? Why not write about the joy of life with the someone you love? About the smiles and the laughter, about long walks hand-in-hand with Tommy. About how Tommy is such a pillar of strength; how he will be her shoulder to cry on when she feels she just can’t go on anymore.
“Akiko?”
Great, Mrs. Forsythe had called on her. She had probably asked a question, and since no one had offered an answer, she had called on Akiko. Why today? Why was this the one class she and Tommy didn’t share?
She fidgeted in her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, hoping she might at least get credit for her honesty, “could you repeat the question, please?
Spot-on depiction of young love. I remember sitting through classes in high school before going to see my girlfriend and not being able to focus. Very well done!
Thanks. That is so encouraging. I only had my own experiences to draw on. I don’t usually read romance novels (although as has been pointed out, most good stories have some romantic element to them). The one thing I could remember girls doing in school was drawing hearts on their notebooks with the name of their crush in the center. That was not an option for Akiko. I also tried to avoid the cliche of “butterflies in the stomach.” I hope my description of a warm brook worked.
These are all great, but #3 only scratches the surface of the type of “romantic” scenes that stick with me the longest: ones involving sacrifice. They’re not romantic in the strictest sense, but sacrifice is the ultimate (and undeniable) expression of love.
Agreed. And the characters involved don’t even have to be in a romantic relationships. Siblings, friends, parent and child, etc.
A scene from my WIP. Reviews are always appreciated!
INT. – LEIKO’S CABIN
There’s a KNOCK on the door.
SHANNON (BEHIND THE DOOR)
Leiko? Hey, you in there?
LEIKO (OFFSCREEN)
Yup.
SHANNON (BEHIND THE DOOR)
Can I come in?
LEIKO (OFFSCREEN)
Sure.
The door slides open to admit Shannon and then closes behind her. Leiko is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. One hand dangles down towards the floor, holding her flask. It’s open, and Leiko spins the cap slowly with one finger. Shannon crossed the room and stands by the bed.
SHANNON
Mind if I sit down?
Leiko shrugs. Shannon sits. She casts a concerned glance over her friend.
SHANNON
Just how drunk are you?
Leiko chuckles humorlessly.
LEIKO
Pretty damn drunk.
She sits up to take another drink. Shannon gently grabs her wrist.
SHANNON
Hey, stop that, stop that.
She pulls the flask out of Leiko’s grip and puts it on the dresser out of her reach.
SHANNON
So, what brought this on?
Leiko sighs and flops backwards onto the bed.
LEIKO
Well, if you must know – Kaya and I had sex.
Shannon opens her mouth, trying to think of something to say, trying not to let it show on her face that her heart’s just been broken.
SHANNON
Oh.
LEIKO
Yup. We had sex, and I was stupid enough to think that meant she gave a damn about me. But nooo. Soon as we finished (she gestures towards the door) she left. (imitating Kaya) “Acothley, you’re a good doctor and good lay, but that’s about it.”
SHANNON
Did she say that to you?
LEIKO
Oh yeah.
SHANNON
What the – That heartless son-of-a!
LEIKO
Shannon, it’s alright.
SHANNON
It is not alright! You don’t ever let anyone talk to you that way, you hear me?
LEIKO
I don’t care. Honest. I’m not in love with her. She’s just – clever, and brave, and arrogant in a really sexy way, and I thought – it’s just been so long alone. All we ever do is fight, but I liked her anyway, and I thought maybe she liked me, and I hoped…
SHANNON:
Hey, I understand. I know what it feels like to have feelings for someone –
She puts her hand on top of Leiko’s.
SHANNON
And to not have that someone feel the same way. But there’s plenty of stars in the sky.
LEIKO
You know I was engaged to be married once?
SHANNON
No, I didn’t.
LEIKO
He was a good man. Sweet, and funny. Not very bright though. Thought the sun rose and set on me. We were together for eleven years. But I went off to medical school and he stayed home in the village. I grew up, and he didn’t. I loved him but he wasn’t enough for me anymore.
SHANNON
So you broke it off?
LEIKO
Didn’t have to. He died.
SHANNON
Oh, God. I’m so sorry.
Leiko grips Shannon’s hand, suddenly looking very young and very scared.
LEIKO
Why does everyone I love always leave?
SHANNON
What? Don’t talk like that, it ain’t true.
LEIKO
It is. Everyone I’ve ever loved, they’re all gone. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to Anita. Or you.
She suddenly bursts into tears.
SHANNON
Oh Leiko…
Leiko sits up and buries her face in Shannon’s neck. Shannon holds her and rocks her as if she were a child.
SHANNON
(whispering) You’re breaking my heart, Doc. You’re breaking my heart.
This was so sweet and sad all at the same time. I want to know more about these characters! Am I right in guessing that Shannon has feelings for Leiko?
Right you are! I’m glad that was apparent, I was worried I made the clues too subtle.
Great post! As a budding YA romance writer myself, I made sure to take notes. This is a scene between my two protagonist (it’s dual POV) in my WIP, a YA fantasy romance. It’s their first kiss, so probably a mixture of love and infatuation:
“Mel. It’s me. It’s Lila. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”
Melody’s tears cut tracks in the dirt and blood caked on her face, revealing streaks of her usual fair skin. Eyelids crinkling as she squeezed them even tighter shut, a few more fat drops slipped down her face before she blinked and looked up at Lila. Her emerald irises, normally so bright and full of magic Lila couldn’t even conceive of, were dulled by the bloodshot whites around them.
“You—you came,” Melody gasped through the blood and tears, breaking into a coughing fit that shook her whole body.
Lila winced, as if she was the one who’d just been tortured. “Of course I came,” she said softly, brushing Melody’s brown hair, sticky from the sweat and blood, from her face. Even now, covered in dirt and scrapes Lila couldn’t heal, she was the most beautiful woman Lila had ever laid eyes on. “I told you, I’ll never leave you.”
“I—I didn’t think I’d m-make it out of there alive.” Melody’s voice was a mumble now, eyes slipping closed again, and Lila’s breath caught in her throat, gripping Melody tighter to her chest. “It’s a miracle . . .”
Lila gave a soft laugh, cupping Melody’s cheek, both to support her head in her lap, but also to reassure herself that Melody was still here. “I thought you didn’t believe in miracles.”
“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?” Melody teased, and she almost sounded like herself again, but her body was shaking more and more in Lila’s arms. The tear that landed on her forehead surprised Lila, but Melody didn’t even flinch. Vision blurred, Lila forced herself to stay steady for her.
“You seemed pretty sure of yourself the last time we talked about it.”
“Just enjoy this lesser miracle, Firecracker.”
Lila wasn’t sure who initiated it, or even whether either of them had started it. Maybe it was just one of those things that was meant to be, some other force of nature causing it to happen. But the next thing she knew, their lips had collided, Lila’s hand still tangled in Melody’s hair as she held her closer. It was salty from their combined tears, and even a little metallic from the blood still trickling down Melody’s face. But it was warm and it was pure and it was overwhelmingly Melody. The both of them so broken found comfort in each other’s arms, and Lila never wanted to let go. She would stay like this forever, on the side of a dusty road, until the last star died.
#
At some point, the need to breathe became stronger than the need to pull Lila closer, closer, closer. She broke away gasping, ribs aching, everything on fire, but she was numb to it all. In the split second before it happened, she expected it to be flaming, to be all consuming and everything romance novels described. This kiss was more than that; it was subtle.
It was dancing lips and tingling skin and warmth that spread from the tips of her ears to her toes and a single flickering candle in the depths of her soul that illuminated the darkness around them just enough to see each other’s faces and the stars, but nothing more. They couldn’t see three feet ahead of them, but that was okay. Melody didn’t need to see ahead, didn’t need the future. She could see Lila’s face above hers, smiling though her eyes held decades of guilt and worry, and that was enough.
This is great! It’s nice to see someone else on here writing LGBT romances. You’ve created two very distinct characters with a well-established relationship, and a very sweet romance. I hope we’ll see more of these two in other practices!
So, when do we get the book? 😀 Your writing is amazing as always, and I love the dynamic you have between these two. I agree with EndlessExposition, I hope we see these two again in the future!
Thank you both so much!! 🙂 And ha, you may actually get the book soon . . . I’m in the process of trying to fund my novel to get it published by Inkshares. https://www.inkshares.com/books/-til-the-last-star-dies
Not a timid pit-pat anymore, but pounding enthusiastic drops splatting and splashing on pavement, nature and me. A cool refreshment for the earth and my soul. My sight extends to just in front of me leaving my dance to chance. Bright flashes followed almost immediately by ominous shouts from the heavens that resound within my chest and make me feel small for just a moment. Licking my lips brings the smooth taste of water fresh from the realms high above my head. Satisfying splashes from jumping into puddles. The scent is unique to this weather, the unmistakeable stench from the lake as the clouds settle in has been chased away. The climax of the storm is the highlight of the party. But, as all things seem to be in life, this too must pass. The glory and energy is already moving on. Wish I could live in the chariot where the glory has been born. As it moves on I am left sopping and dripping, but happy and satisfied. My rain storm may come again any day.
A Window With No Glass
____________________
Alejandra found herself propped on her fist, onyx eyes staring at the conversing two. Her bloodshot whites harbored watered edges, and her pink lips trembled.
There she was. That girl. The beautiful girl. The one he talked so much about.
From behind the window, she couldn’t hear the conversation. Only see the stupor of Glen’s infatuation–she was sure it was that–and the bright blue gaze of this Amber
Amber… Alejandra breathed in deeply as she continued to watch.
Amber with the pretty blonde hair and the pretty pink lips. Amber with the perfect little smile and the perfect little life. Amber with the long, long legs and even longer hair.
Amber with him.
Alejandra snapped the shutters back into place, sighing in defeat. Can’t that idiot see she’s just using him?
She picked at her obsidian mane, murmuring about the injustice of love.
“You’re the only one I ever liked…” Alejandra curled her fingers around her heart, tone soft and patient, “And for that, I’ll always wait for you baby.”
.
.
.
“I promise.”
“Ren?” a soft voice called from beyond the circle of firelight. “Are you alright?”
Fion stepped into the glow carrying a sleeping Carin. I suddenly felt guilty for the exasperation which had begun to fill me. I knew she could not have known what I was thinking, but she seemed to choose just the right moment to appear.
“Yes, I am fine,” I lied. “Putting the little one down before you head back?”
“I am not heading back,” Fion answered, shifting Carin’s sleeping form to a more manageable position.
“No? Is there any way I can help? She looks heavy.”
“No, she is light enough. Besides, you should not aggravate those knees quite yet.”
“I can hobble along with you, at least,” I joked. “Maybe lift a curtain or throw back a latch?”
Fion giggled and smiled. “As you wish. I will try to restrain my pace.”
We walked slowly to her cart, the shadows deepening as we drew away from the fire. We moved silently so as to not wake Carin. True to my offer, I undid the gate latches and lifted one edge of the rear flap so Fion could lay Carin inside the bed of the cart. Fion climbed into the space, positioned Carin on a pile of furs, and kissed her daughter on the forehead. As she turned to climb out, I heard a metallic clang, and the small copper pot she had thrown at me earlier rolled out onto the ground.
“Rather feeble attempt at a second go,” I laughed softly.
Fion put her hands to her face in embarrassment. “That was an accident!” she whispered. “And I apologized.”
“I am just teasing you. Can I give you a hand?”
She took my hand in hers as she slid down from the cart. Her touch was soft, but firm, and her skin warm in spite of the evening coolness. My heart began to pound so hard I could barely breathe. As her fingers slipped from mine, I began to feel hollow, like a part of me had drained away. I stepped around her, lifted the gate and latched it in place. “There, all better,” I remarked clumsily.
Fion cocked her head to one side and gave me a wry smile. “Well done.”
We walked quietly back to the fire circle, trading glances and smiles. I tried to break the silence several times, but became flustered whenever Fion smiled at me. I was relieved when we reached the logs Bairn and I used for sitting, and finally gathered my wits enough to ask, “Care to sit for a while?”
We stared at the fire for a few moments before I asked, “Why are you not returning to the feast?”
“It would not be right for me to leave Carin alone out here. She might have nightmares about what happened this morning, and I want to be near if she does.”
“That is thoughtful.”
“All part of being a good mother.”
“I would not know,” I said clumsily.
“No, I suppose not,” Fion giggled.
“I meant I do not remember mine. But I like how you care for Carin.”
Fion turned her attention back to the fire and fussed with her skirt. I absently stroked my knees and looked over my shoulder toward the path to the steading. I knew Fion was waiting for me to guide the conversation, and I could find nothing to say. ‘ She must think I have lost my wits.’
“Besides,” Fion broke the silence. “I had hoped you wouldd be at the feast.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I took Carin to see the chickens while you and Bairn were talking to that old buzzard. You have to watch him, you know. He would sell his own mother and insist she was a maiden. Anyway, we were already at the longhouse before everyone else came up. I stayed for the meal only out of courtesy. I asked Bairn where you were when the dancing started and he said you never came. So, I waited, and watched Carin play with her friends until she got tired. I came back here hoping to find you.”
“Well, I am glad you did—find me, that is. I was getting lonely by myself, tossing logs on the fire and doing too much thinking.”
“Oh? How can you do too much thinking?”
“Believe me, it can be done.” I swallowed hard as I prepared to bare part of my soul. “Fion, when you asked if I was alright, I lied.”
I turned to face her, and she was staring at me, her head cocked to one side. At first I looked down at her feet, ashamed of the, albeit slight, deception. When I looked up, Fion’s eyes were fixed on my face, and she wore a questioning look.
“I am not alright,” I began. “I do not mean the injuries. Those will heal. It is my mind that is not healing. Instead of getting closer to knowing who I am, I just keep finding more questions unanswered.” I stood and began to pace in a tight circle. “Bairn thinks I should just forget about the past and start a new life with all of you. But every day, pieces of my past pop up unexpectedly. Every time it happens, I find myself in a daze, trying to understand where that piece came from; how it could point me to who I am.”
I stopped pacing, stepped over to Fion and looked down into her face. “I know I unburdened myself to you like this while we were riding together. The last thing I want is to become a sniveling bore. I just find it so easy to trust you with my feelings.”
Fion stiffened at my last statement, her eyes widening for a moment before she recovered herself and smiled. “I am glad to be here for you, Ren. I can only imagine what you are feeling, but do not give up hope. You are who you are, even without your memories. The important things will be there when you need them, I think. You have a sense of humor. You are an excellent rider. You are a loyal friend to Bairn. You can swim. You saved Carin’s life. And you are good with the children. Maybe all those memories would just get in the way of you being you.”
I thought silently for a few long moments, weighing her advice. Fion watched me, her hands folded in her lap. She showed no impatience, unlike my own reactions to Bairn’s deep-thinking episodes. And I saw genuine concern, something of which I felt I had little experience. I became aware then that I was no longer thinking about my situation, but how peaceful I felt when Fion was with me. I found it ironic that I became so flustered around her, yet she made me feel at ease. I must have grinned at the thought because Fion asked, “What is so funny?”
“Nothing, really,” I said, heat rising into my face.
Fion stood and pushed my shoulder. “Tell me. You were grinning. Did I say something silly?”
“No.” I stepped back to regain my balance. “I was just thinking how you make me feel.”
“And that is funny?” Fion pushed me again and stepped closer.
“Yes,” I stammered. “No. What I mean is….”
“Are you going to tell me, or not?” Fion stepped forward once more. She was so close to me now her breath brushed against my throat as she looked up at me. She put both of her hands on my chest, and the warmth of her body made me shiver. My legs lost all feeling when she touched me, but I knew they were trembling.
“I was just thinking that, uh, it is funny how, ah, rattled you make me feel, and, um, how at ease, uh, at the same time.”
“Funny, huh?” she purred, then kissed me.
This time it was not a kiss on the cheek, and this time I kissed her back. I wrapped my arms around Fion, holding her tight with her hands still on my chest, her lips pressed against mine. My mind was empty of all thought except how wonderful she felt, and I wanted this moment to last. I stroked her hair with one hand, and discovered she had braided ribbons into her waist-long tresses. We pulled apart reluctantly as we heard
running feet on the path from the steading.
Fion brushed at her skirt and checked her hair as she stepped away from me. In the firelight, she looked like something out of a dream, her eyes gleaming and her mouth
turned up in that lopsided smile. “I better check on Carin,” she whispered, gathering her
skirt and darting past me.
“Renwulf!” Bran yelled as he broke into the firelight. “Mum told me to bring you this.” He stopped in front of me, panting, and held out a platter covered by a linen cloth. I glanced over my shoulder, but Fion had already disappeared into the shadows. “Thank you, Bran. Just put it on that log.”
“Alright,” he puffed. “I’m going back now. The storytellers are next!”
The boy dashed into the darkness, and I stepped over to the edge of the firelight in the direction Fion had scurried. I stared into the darkness, hoping she would come back, wanting her to come back. I could still feel how her body had melted into mine, still
smell the fragrance of her hair, taste the sweetness of her mouth. My heart was pounding, making it hard for me to catch my breath. After a few moments, I realized she would not return; the moment had passed. With a heavy sigh, I limped over to the logs and sat with my platter of food. I took one last look into the night and started thinking again.
[R1]I think this carries the
sensual just far enough, and I will use whisper when she refers to checking on
carin.
[VLM2]Said is boring here. I would think she would
whisper here to maintain the mood.
[R3]I agree
[R4]Too dramatic??