Romance Starts Somewhere -

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I looked through some of my novels to look for a romantic scene. When I came across this one from my women’s fiction novel, Connect the Dot, I thought it would be fun to share it with you. I think all you need to know is that Dottie is working as a grocery store cashier and that her unlamented husband’s estate has been recently settled, though he died several years previously.

I smile and nod and scan items and ask “How are you today?” and call for a bagger a thousand times. I glance at the clock. It is nearly three. I can’t remember when time last flew this fast.

“Dorothea!” a deep male voice purrs.

Startled, I glance up. Everyone calls me Dottie except…right. Curt’s lawyer. “Good day, Mr. Campbell.”

“Youâ€™re looking well, Dorothea.”

I can’t imagine how he speaks so clearly with a smile that spreads from ear to ear. He’s classically tall, dark and handsome with a great nose. He’s always made me uncomfortable, partly because of his friendship with Curt, partly because of the will, and partly because he looks like a movie star. I scan his groceries and wish he had less of them.

He leans closer. “Are you busy Saturday evening?”

I forget to scan as I stare at him in shock.

His beaming smile gleams very white and I remember that I just ran through a box of dental white strips. Apparently they work.

“I’d like to take you out for dinner, Dorothea. May I pick you up at six?”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Um, Mr. Campbell. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please call me Gerald. And why wouldn’t it be?”

I scan the next few items without paying much attention while I try to figure out what to say. I hardly know this man. He was a friend of Curt’s. I remind myself that doesn’t automatically make him evil. Could he possibly have found me attractive all these years and just waited until I was free of Curt’s will?

The last item is a bouquet of spring flowers. I concentrate on wrapping them, aware that he watches my every move, waiting.

I ring through his credit card and would like to wish him a nice day like every other customer. Still he stands there and no one is behind him.

“Dorothea?” he says, knowing I will have to look at him now.

But the flowers are between us. I automatically pass them to him and meet his gaze. He presses them back into my hands and smiles. “For you. I’ll see you Saturday.”