New Year’s is just around the corner, and like many, I couldn’t help but reflect on the year gone by. As I do so, I realize it hasn’t been that great of a year. Personally, it was a stressful year as we were building a house on top of all our other work. Anyone that has built a house knows the stress involved. I chuckled when a friend of my asked whether my husband and I were still together during the nerve-wracking ordeal. We lost six people very dear to us; God rest their souls. With our teenage son, there were a few grey-hair moments that we would have preferred not to experience. And even with my writing, I had missed a number of great opportunities that literally put me into tears.

The more I thought about all the things that were terrible about 2012, the more depressed I got. To get out of that depressive mode, I began to make a list of all the good things that happened, or things I learned from the things that did not go well, making me a better person.

 
• All the effort, time, and money that we put into our new house, produced a beautiful dream-home for us, and the stress our relationship as husband and wife endured made us closer as a couple.
• There is nothing nice about losing a loved one, but we cannot stop the circle of life. We have our cherished memories that enrich our lives, and  others are expecting new bundles of joy to help fill the gaps.
• Through the trying ordeal, that we endured with our son, in the end, it worked out and made our relationship with him stronger and better, something that could have easily taken a turn for the worse, causing us to lose him.
• As for my writing, my husband said, “Don’t cry over spilt milk.” And he is correct; there will be many more opportunities that come along. The time was obviously not right for me, and it gave me the opportunity to be better prepared to find those opportunities and be ready for them when they come my way.
• In the greater scheme of things, my problems seem miniscule and unimportant when I compare them to some of the catastrophic events that have taken place across the globe in 2012, shedding a new light on what I should be focusing on.

Trials and tribulations will always come along; it is, after all, a part of life. I guess what is important is not to dwell on hardships, but to learn from them, being better prepared for them, and maybe even avoiding some from happening with the wisdom that has been gained.

I look at the coming year of 2013 as being a new opportunity, allowing me to clear the slate and start a new year with optimism and hope. I need to remind myself that ‘viewing life as the glass half-full’ makes it a far better ride.

I wish all of you a happy and healthy New Year! May all your dreams and wishes come true in 2013.

He raced as fast as his legs carried him, down the steep mountain path, winding through the tight underbrush, and hurling himself over the golden-stoned boulders. Leaves and branches smacked against his face and limbs, but he ignored the stings. Magtor had discovered that the war had begun, and his family was in imminent danger. As king of Neval, he and his family were on top of the Tarconian army’s list of who to hunt, brutally torture, and then kill.

He jumped more rocks in his path and swung around the larger trees. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his back, soaking his shirt.

“Almost there!” he consoled himself, praying that he reached them on time.

Their hut sat near a tributary of the Talon River, at the base of the Cardell Mountains. Unable to transfer his thoughts in the valley below due to the dense stone, he had journeyed to the top of one of the highest snow-capped peaks to a small temple that rested there, to discover the latest news of the predicted attack.

During his communications, Lord Dalton, the neighboring King of Edoma, had informed him about the uprising of the Tarconian army and their pursuit to re-instate slavery amongst the people.

Magtor cringed, knowing the long dreaded Mover’s war had begun. And the Tarconian army was rounding up all the royal Movers of each country to either convert or kill them. And he, as one of the most powerful Movers who held a world-altering Arcanum that they coveted, was their most sought after target.

He ran faster. Cramps pained his thighs and his heart pounded heavily, aching, but he urged his body onward.

How often he had wished not to be privy to the unorthodox knowledge explaining the horrid reason for the Mover’s creation. The Arcanum was an unbearable weight that added to his already heavy burden as king and one that gave him doubts about his own beliefs and values.

Although Magtor had received Dalton’s horrific news during the nightspan, he had immediately fled the small temple, sprinting down the mountainside since then, to reach his family before the soldiers arrived at dawn. With the sunspan having now awoken, it left him little time to reach the hut and escape with his family before the army’s arrival.

Magtor glimpsed the hut in the distance and dragged in a breath of heartfelt relief when he sensed no Tarconians in the area. Dalton had encouraged him to flee directly to the Golden Cave, to find refuge, without losing valuable time to retrieve his family. For Magtor, that was not an option. He could not live with himself if he did not try to save his mate and two boys.

Sprinting the last stretch down the base of the mountain, he finally spotted his two sons, chopping wood at the side of the hut, and his wife, Onella, picking thorn berries along the wooden fence surrounding the garden. As Magtor neared, he shouted as loud as his aching lungs permitted, “They’re coming! We must flee!”

 NOVELETTE SOON TO BE RELEASED!

    This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, events, or places is entirely coincidental.  

The Masters’ Arcanum Copyright © 2012 by Alandra CL  

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce the book, or portions thereof. It is forbidden to sell or use this book in anyway for the purpose of monetary gain. Plagiarism of this book or any part thereof is prohibited.

Not too long ago, I finished a prequel to my Thoughtmover Series. Writing a story of my characters’ younger lives showed me new sides to their personalities and gave me a deeper understanding of why they behave the way they do.
Life experiences don’t necessarily change a personality, but it will move people into directions they may otherwise not take.
I have gained a greater affinity toward my characters through this process, allowing me to tell their stories better.

“It isn’t the things that happen to us in our lives that cause us to suffer, it’s how we relate to the things that happen to us that causes us to suffer. ” – Pema Chodron

“You’re joking, right?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “There’s no way, with your size, that they’ll pick you. Have you seen the size of the guys they choose?”

That was not what Jamie wanted to hear. He’d had such high hopes on making the team after training so hard. Doubt wedged its way into his thoughts.
He had grown several inches in the last year to reach five-foot-five, and his scrawny physique had filled out considerably with all the weight lifting he had done. But Sam was right, he was short compared to the five-ten-plus players that usually made the cut. Would talent be enough? Maybe at his height, it wasn’t enough to get him on the team. Maybe he should wait or pick another sport. If only he loved another sport as much as he loved football.

How often has someone said to you, “That’s impossible!” or “You can’t do that,” instilling doubt of success in your mind, perhaps even causing you to give up.
These statements are anything but uplifting and often hold us back from experiencing our true potential. Physically or mentally, we can all be so much more if we stop putting limits on ourselves.

Here are individuals who succeeded despite the odds against them:

Michael Jordan had been cut from his varsity basketball team during his sophomore year. At 5’11”, he was considered too short back then. He went on to become a legend in the sport.

Thomas Edison, the American inventor of the light bulb, was told by his teacher that he was too stupid to learn anything. He had in his lifetime 1,000 U.S patents to his name.

Ludwig Van Beethoven was deemed hopeless and told by his first music teacher that he would never succeed as a composer. He became one of the greatest composers.

J.K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter Series, had her first book rejected by numerous publishers. She became the first billionaire author.

One of the things I do besides writing my novels is writing magazine articles. Although not all topics are extraordinary, I do get opportunities to write about fascinating people with unbelievable feats. One such person is Chad Netherland, 10-time Guinness World Record holder in strength. Two years ago, I wrote an article about him for the Inside Kung Fu magazine (See article below). Then already, I thought his feats were miraculous- unbelievable even. Since that time, he has gone on to break his records and set many new ones. This type of dedication to success is commendable. If people used his level of dedication to achieve their goals, the sky would be reachable.

Think twice before you speak, because your words and influence will plant the seed of either success or failure in the mind of another. - Napoleon Hill

Click on pages to enlarge print.

How was she to get to work on time? And, she still had to drop her son off at daycare. As a single mom, she couldn’t afford to miss more work. As is, she often needed to ask for extra time off when her five year old son, Billy had emergencies.

“Mommy, what happened?” Billy shouted as he scooted out beside her, noticing the tree lying there. He rushed up to it with his backpack bouncing on his back. “Cool!” He hopped on top of the trunk and walked across with his arms spread out as if he were on a balance beam.

“Cool” is not the word that came to Melody’s mind. The word that she was thinking of was not appropriate to utter in front of her six year old. She walked up to the long trunk dejectedly. Who did one call to remove a fallen tree? And how long would it take?

Melody tossed her purse and keys onto the grass and then bent down to try and lift it. Although the trunk was not too large, the many branches made it heavier than it looked. The stump didn’t budge. “Great!” she replied sarcastically.

Just as she scooped up her purse to fetch her cellphone, Mike, her neighbor from across the street, stopped as he was jogging by.

“Hey, do you need help?” he asked, trotting up her driveway, surveying the problem.

“I’m not sure we can lift it,” she admitted.

Mike bent down to grab the trunk. He raised it slightly, but it was obviously too heavy for one man to carry away.

Melody realized, she’d have to call her boss after all and talk her way out of another late arrival.

“Wait with calling someone.” Mike signaled over. “I’ll get Greg, Bob, and Michael from up the street to come down here. I think they’re all still at home.”

Melody didn’t know what to say. She’d always been friendly with her neighbors, waved at them, brought flying garbage bins back to their doorstep and even shoveled snow from their sidewalk when she was doing her own, but she never had time to chat or socialize with any of them. As a single mom, she never had time. She felt guilty for putting them all out of their way, but before she could utter a word of refusal, Mike had already left. The only one that seemed happy about the fallen trunk was Billy who was busy jumping on and off it.

Melody couldn’t believe that within fifteen minutes, the tree trunk had been moved off to the side of her driveway by four of her neighbors. One of them even offered to remove the trunk later at no cost because he wanted firewood.

Now that is teamwork.

Just recently, through a social-network discussion group, a large group of us helped each other out. It was amazing how in a short time, through teamwork so much had been accomplished. It’s at times like these that you experience the power that comes together through group effort, and then you feel like anything is possible.

“Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success.” – Henry Ford

“Peter!” his wife called out from the kitchen. “Can you return this dish-set to the china store for me? Today is the last day it can be returned for a credit.”

Peter grumbled, not interested in the slightest to leave while his hockey game was on TV. “Does it have to be done now?”

“Yes,” his wife insisted. “The store is only open for another hour.”

“All right,” he said, grudgingly rising up from his comfortable chair. “Where is this place?”

She strode over to the doorway to face him. “You go to the end of the road, make a right. Then drive about five kilometers until you see the new town houses on the right side, make a left there. Then drive until you see the big bank on the left and a small pizzeria on the right. There, you make another left and then you take an immediate right. Go another block until you come to a white church, turn left and then just before you hit the four-way stop sign, it’s the red brick building on the left that says Traditional China.”

Peter furrowed his brow with utter confusion. “Never mind, I’ll put it into the navigation system.”

If you make things complicated, you run the risk of  being misunderstood. 

A writer’s blog that I follow talked about writing practices that worked for highly successful authors (Writing Secrets of Prolific Authors By David Masters - http://writetodone.com/2012/01/23/writing-secrets-of-prolific-authors/), and I realized how valid and true these suggested practices are.
David states in his blog that one practice of Isaac Asimov was to write clear and simple. How often have I heard that writing should be invisible and should flow and be uncomplicated?

Isaac Asimov (500 books)quoted, “I made up my mind long ago to follow one cardinal rule in all my writing—to be clear. I have given up all thought of writing poetically or symbolically or experimentally, or in any of the other modes that might (if I were good enough) get me a Pulitzer prize. I would write merely clearly and in this way establish a warm relationship between myself and my readers, and the professional critics—well, they can do whatever they wish.” -

Isaac made a good point; simple and clear writing probably won’t get you a Pulitzer prize but what it does do is make reading easy and enjoyable for your readers. And that is who we are writing for, our readers. Especially today, when lifestyles move faster than the wind, most people want things quick and easy.  I think all of us writers like to show off now and then, but in writing, it is something no writer can afford to do. Writing should be invisible. Invisible means that readers don’t notice the words they are reading but grasp only the idea the words relay.

Invisible writing is simple writing.

As I comb through my writing, I look for areas that have too much complex wordage, areas where I can say things in a simpler way that makes it effortless for the reader to comprehend.
As usual, editing my own work is a difficult task. I don’t always see my mistakes. To try to catch areas of my writing that are overdone, I go through the following steps:

• Remove ‘big’ words and replace them with simple ones – Try to remove unusual or uncommon words. If an unusual or uncommon word is used than limit one of those per sentence.
• Write for your audience – Write sentences so that whoever is reading it, they will understand it. I gear my writing to approximately a grade nine reading level to ensure almost every one’s understanding.
• Clarify unfamiliar words – In fiction writing, especially in fantasy, where some words are ‘made up’, the reader needs to know what those words mean – no dictionary will tell them. Through dialogue or added information, explain the meaning to the reader. Specialized terminology or abstruse words, I think are often better replaced.

By taking away complex wordage, it makes the writing more understandable and enhances the story.

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.” – Leonardo DaVinci

“You can hate me all you like, but you’re not leaving until your bedroom and bathroom are cleaned!” her mother yelled back at her for the third time, finally having lost her patience.

Why did parents have to be so unreasonable? What difference did it make if her room was tidy or not? “It’s my room!” she barked back.

“All the more reason to keep it in order.”

Becky rolled her eyes.

“How do you ever want to learn respect for your things if you treat them with disrespect?”

Becky shook her head.  “You just don’t want me to go!” Every time, she wanted to go away, her mother would have her do one chore or another before she could leave.

“Keep your room tidy and clean, and I won’t have to nag you to do it. It’s called taking responsibility for your things.”

“It’s called child slavery,” she mumbled as she marched up to her room, resigning to the fact that there was no way to talk her mom out of it.

I was sorting through an old file box in my office closet and found some prayers, ones that I had cut out from a newspaper column many years ago. Although dated, I still think they apply as much today as they did back then. The authors of these two wonderful pieces are sadly unknown.

A Prayer for Parents

Oh, God, make me a better parent. Help me to understand my children, to listen patiently to what they have to say and to respond to their questions kindly. Keep me from interrupting and contradicting them. Make me as courteous to them as I would have them be to me. Give me the courage to confess my sins against my children and to ask them for forgiveness when I know I have done wrong. May I not vainly hurt the feelings of my children. Forbid that I should laugh at their mistakes or resort to shame and ridicule for punishment. Reduce the meanness in me. May I cease to nag; and when I am out of sorts, help me Lord to hold my tongue. Bind me to the little errors of my children and help me to see the good things they do. Give me a ready word for honest praise. Help me treat my children as those of their own age. Let me not expect from them the judgment of adults. Allow me not to rob them of the opportunity to wait on themselves, to think, to choose, and to make their own decisions. Forbid that I should ever punish them for selfish satisfaction. May I gran them all their wishes and are reasonable and have the courage always to withhold a privilege that I know will do them harm. Make me fair and just, considerate and companionable, so they will have genuine esteem for me. Help me to be loved and imitated by my children, Oh, God. Give me calm, poise, and self-control.

A Prayer for Kids

God in heaven, I am young and don’t understand what it is like to be a parent, but it must be very hard because so many people are failing at it these days. I pray for mom and dad, God, that you will help them to be good parents, strong in the ways you want them to be, so I can look up to them with admiration and feel confident that their instruction is right. Help me, dear Lord, to understand my parents. Remind me that when I don’t get my way it is because they love me and not because they want to be mean or deprive me of anything. Help me, God, when I become stubborn and refuse to listen, to accept the fact that they have wisdom and experience because they were once teen-agers, but I have never been a parent. Put in my heart the respect and consideration they deserve for their years of hard work and sacrifice. They raised me the best way they knew how. Let me now repay them with no grief or shame, rather help me to give them obedience, respect, forgiveness, and love. Help me to appreciate my parents!

“We begin to learn wisely when we’re willing to see the world from other people’s perspective.”  - Toba Beta

“Yo, this sick horror movie just came out! Let’s do a movie before we go to Brandon’s,” his friend, Daniel suggested. His shorter and stouter friend was eager to get going before they wasted the entire evening thinking about what they should do before Brandon’s party.

“I’m exhausted bro,” Bobby replied, as if even moving would expend too much of his energy. He continued his texting.

In one motion, he suddenly flung up to a sitting position as if being injected with a shot of energy. “F#*@’in right!” he shouted.

“What’s up?” Daniel asked.

Bobby had a huge smile come to his face. “Taffy and her hot friend are hav’in a party tonight. We’re go’in!” He jumped to his feet.

Daniel looked up at him bewildered. “We can’t. We promised Brandon we’d help at his.”

“Whatever! He doesn’t give a f#*% if we show!”

“But Brandon needs us,” Daniel intoned.

“This might be my only shot at meeting her!” Bobby said, heading to the washroom to get ready.

“But we promised the guy!” Daniel rose and followed along.

“Well, we didn’t really promise,” Bobby said with a tone of mischief, waving off the argument.

Recently, I experienced a promise broken by someone. It’s irrelevant whether it was a big promise or a small promise, or what the outcome was from that broken promise.

What’s important is that ‘a promise is a promise’, and trust is lost in an individual when they break a promise, a trust that may never be regained regardless of the size of the promise or its effect.

One would think that with the astronomical value attached to a promise; specifically the issue of trust, people would be more determined to keep them.

“For every promise, there is a price to pay, and for every promise broken, the price is far greater.” Based on the quote by Jim Rohn.

Christi, her young daughter, sat slouched at the table with a dejected look on her round face.

Her downcast eyes finally lifted. “They said my picture was stupid.”

“What picture? And who said that?” Maggie asked her.

Her daughter usually bubbled over with happiness when she came home for lunch from her grade one class, eager to talk about her morning. Today, she was lucky to get a single smile from her.

Christi pulled out the folded construction paper from her backpack, then unfolded it, before laying it gently on the table in front of her.

Maggie couldn’t recognize the picture. She only saw vibrant colors, predominately purple, pink, and green hues splashed across the page.

“That’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, truly amazed at the colorful effect her daughter had achieved.

“Lilly and Sara didn’t think so. They laughed at it.”

“Did you do your best when you painted it?”

Christi bobbed her head up and down. “Yes.”

“Then that is all that matters. You can’t make everyone happy, Sweetie. There are always going to be people that don’t like what you do or don’t like what you wear, or say, or in this case, what you drew. As long as you are happy, you can’t expect more.”

Both their heads whipped toward the door, as it bolted open.

Jason, her oldest, trotted inside. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Sis!” he called out. Tall for his age and eight years older than his sister, he was coming home to get a pair of gym shorts he had forgotten for his basketball game.

“Nice picture!” he told Christi in passing as he strolled up the stairs before either got a ‘hello’ out.

Christi straightened, beaming with delight.

Maggie winked at her because she knew that Jason wouldn’t say he liked it if he didn’t, and she suspected Christi knew that too.

I was asked by someone recently how I handle critique on my writing.

I don’t!

I admit that I never read it, not the good or the bad critique. I don’t want to nor do I have the time.

The next question that follows is, “Don’t you want to know what is good and bad about your writing?”

No. Critique is only a matter of opinion.

Bad critique makes me insecure about my work probably because I haven’t developed that thick skin everyone says you need to have as a writer.

And good critique, it tends to inflate my ego, making me complacent. Both situations are unhealthy for my writing, so I don’t read any critique.

I’m of the opinion that the only critique I need to pay any attention to is from my professional editor, agent, and publisher. And even that critique occasionally needs to be viewed with skepticism.

“The artist doesn’t have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don’t have the time to read reviews.” - William Faulkner

My aunt used to tell me that special days like Valentine’s Day didn’t mean anything to her because she was of the opinion that you should show the people you love every day how much they mean to you.

She’s right. Showing our love and appreciation for another should not be boiled down to one day of the year.

Still, I find Valentine’s Day a good day to celebrate love.  Aside from it being a big business generator, I like to think of it as a reminder to acknowledge that special person in your life.

Life is busy and stressful for most of us. If any of you are like me, my days ‘fly by’, being deluged with work, responsibilities, family, and the list goes on. Even though we immensely care and appreciate our loved one, regrettably sometimes, we take them for granted. It happens and probably more often then we care to admit. Having a special day in the year is a good reminder to focus a little more quality attention on our special love that we may otherwise not find the time for.

For those of you that dread Valentine’s Day, use this day to step outside of the traditional Valentine’s definition by picking someone like a family member, neighbor, business associate etc. as your Valentine and show them with a kind deed or a gift how much you care for them. And if you have no one, then show your love by helping a stranger. It will keep you from feeling left out, and you will gain a sense of satisfaction by having done a good deed for another human being.

For those that dread the financial output, know there are other ways to show your Valentine that you love them; after all, true love is not based on expensive gifts.

Here are 10 ideas that also serve leaner budgets:

1. Make a special breakfast or dinner at home for your Valentine and serve it in another room like the living room or bedroom.

2. Create your own Valentine’s card and gifts.

3. Do a ‘personal renewing of your vows ceremony’, and if you’re not married, make up special vows for each other.

4. Make a Valentine dessert: heart shaped cake, cookies, or pie, to share together curled up on the couch with a special coffee.

5. Share a bath and be creative with scents, candles, music, and drinks.

6. Go for a long walk, hike, or do relaxing site seeing.

7. Treat your Valentine to a special foot or hand message ritual.

8. Watch movies together at home and serve homemade pizza, popcorn, drinks, and other treats all in the flare of Valentines.

9. Play card or board games, specifically ones that allow you to get to know your Valentine’s better.

10. Clear a small area in a room for slow dancing, using your own list of romantic music with candlelight.

Remember, it is the thought behind the giving that counts.

“The greatest gift that you can give to others is the gift of unconditional love . . .”  Brian Tracy

Have a Happy Valentine’s Day and for my followers, I have written a short Valentine’s story.

Valentines at the Movies

By Alandra CL

Nicole entered the dimly lit cinema about forty-five minutes before the movie was to start. She liked having a seat directly in the center of the room, about six rows down from the back for the best view possible, and she had to come early to get it. As usual, the theatre lay deserted and quiet at this supper hour, especially today, on Valentine’s Day. Everyone was out with his or her sweetheart for dinner except her. She exhaled depressingly. The man she wanted as her Valentine hadn’t even noticed her, had never spoken a word to her. Every day, she went to the coffee shop, and everyday, he sat there with his colleagues at the table next to hers, drinking coffee and chatting, but not once had he spoken a word to her.

Nothing played on the large white screen she passed. Commercials and previews only started twenty minutes before movie time.

Nicole trotted up the side stairs to row “L” and slid in toward the center chair. She plunked down, dropping her drink in the cup holder and her bag in the chair beside her until she got comfortable. She was eager for the entertainment to begin, to distract her from her pathetic situation of being alone.

As she grabbed her popcorn, a tall man walked in wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a dark leather jacket.

Few came in this early. He glanced quickly around before he made his way up the steps to find a seat. Something about him looked familiar.

Nicole put a few popcorn pieces into her mouth and started chewing on the buttery bits. She wondered if he was alone like her. This year, Valentine’s Day was very depressing.

When the man reached her row, he began to make his way inward, toward her. It was then she recognized him, the man from the coffee shop, the one all the women ogled when they walked by, including her, and the one she had just been thinking about. How often had she wanted to walk up to him and start a conversation but lacked the nerve, too intimidated by his popularity and good looks.

Nicole immediately regretted wearing her comfortable but old sweats and having her long dirty-blonde hair simply clipped up, with no makeup on her face.

As he approached, she swallowed down her embarrassment. Why did she need to meet him today, looking like this, and all alone?  She shouldn’t care what he thought but she did.

He walked up right next to her.

Nicole realized he looked taller standing.

He raked his fingers through his shiny dark hair. “You’re in my seat,” he said, frowning at her.

For a moment, she was speechless.

She finally found her voice. “What do you mean this is your seat? I was here first.”

“But I always sit in that chair.”

Nicole couldn’t believe his audacity. Over a hundred empty seats sat in the theatre room. Why did he need to have this one?

“I was here first,” she retorted. She came forty-five minutes early to get a seat, and she was not about to hand it over to someone else even if he was drop-dead-gorgeous and the man of her dreams.

“Then I will have to take the one beside you.” He grinned at her reaction and plunked down right next to her, unzipping his jacket. A whiff of leather followed by expensive cologne drifted over to her.

He had been joking, she realized. Nicole wasn’t sure how to react to that.

Thankfully, he hadn’t recognized her. She breathed a sigh of relief. She would still be able to walk into the coffee shop tomorrow with some dignity.

The large theatre suddenly felt very small with him beside her. It felt almost intimate having him this close. Nicole threw more popcorn into her mouth, trying not to let this man affect her. For months, her attraction to him had grown, hoping he would give her some sign that he felt the same way. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t exist.

“Do you know what the movie is about?” he asked her. His voice sounded deeper and huskier than usual.

When she looked at him, she noticed his eyes were a deep blue, his nose straight, and his two-day stubble emphasized the strong line of his square jaw. Up close, he looked even more sinful, if that was possible.

Nicole had to force out her answer, hopping she wouldn’t stutter. “Mainly, it’s about the end of the world coming and how various people spend the last hour of their life.”

“Sounds gloomy!” he indicated.

Nicole popped a few more pieces into her mouth, unsure of what to say or do. Self-consciously, she tucked a lose strand of her hair behind her ear.

Now what? Was there a reason he sat next to her?

Propriety demanded she offer him some of her popcorn since he had none. “Would you like some?” She inched the bag in his direction.

He smiled, showing his white teeth. “Sure!” He scooped out a handful, and one at a time, he flicked the pieces into his mouth.

“By the way, I’m Derek.”

“Nicole,” she replied.

“So Nicole, if you knew you only had one hour left to live, what would you do?”

He grabbed his next handful of popcorn and continued munching.

The question caught her by surprise. “I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it before.”

She hadn’t. One hour seemed so little time, yet for the life of her, she wouldn’t know what she would do with her last hour.

“There must be someone you would want to share it with.”

Nicole had no one. Her parents had both passed away when she was in her teens. Almost two years ago, she had split up with her boyfriend when she found him in her roommate’s bed. Only having moved to the big city four months ago, to start her new job, she barely knew anyone; the reason that she was here, alone.

“No, no one,” she said achingly.

He squinted, and she hoped it was not pity she saw in his eyes.

“How about you?” she asked, wanting a distraction from her pathetic situation. She had contemplated for weeks now if he was with someone.

“I would share that last hour with the woman I love.”

Her heart sank. Why were the good guys always taken. “I hope she knows how lucky she is,” Nicole said enviously.

His brow rose. “I’m not sure. I’ve never told her how I feel.”

“Why not?” she blurted out accidentally.

Derek shrugged his shoulder, seemingly unbothered by her personal question. “Not sure.”

“Hey, life is short, so make the most of it. You should tell her, especially today, being that it’s Valentines.” Nicole knew if she was together with him, she could not hear the words, I love you, uttered often enough by his lips and preferably in the throngs of passion.

“But what if she doesn’t love me in return?”

“Has she given you any reason to think otherwise?”

“No,” he shook his head, “but she hasn’t indicated that she does either.”

“If you’re asking for my advice, I think every woman would want to know that her man loves her.”

Derek stared at her reflectively for a moment before he grabbed another handful of her popcorn.

“What’s stopping you?” Nicole thought the conversation too personal, but hey, maybe the guy needed someone to talk to. How often had she wished for someone to share her troubles with?

“I just can’t seem to find the right words.” He looked away uncomfortably.

Nicole sympathized with him, realizing he was scared just as she had been when it came to confronting him all those weeks at the coffee shop. Although now, she was happy she had not, knowing he had someone else.

Yet what did he have to be scared about? He was good looking and in the short time she had talked to him, he seemed a genuinely nice man as she had always thought him to be. Hell, the woman had to be crazy not to love him back.

“There are no right words,” she replied. “Any words spoken in love will be the right ones. Go and tell her. It’s obvious that she’s important to you. Valentines is the perfect time for that sort of thing.” Nicole wondered why he wasn’t together with the woman.

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll do that,” he said turning his body in the chair to face her. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Nicole. I have seen you every day in that coffee shop for the last three months, and with each passing day, my feelings for you get stronger.”

Her hand flew to cover her gapping mouth.

“Please tell me that I won’t’ regret saying these words.”

A moment of silence passed before she nodded her head from side to side, choking out a reply, “Never!”

He smiled before leaning forward and whispering, “Happy Valentines.” And then, he placed a kiss on her lips.

The End