Since my books are about LOVE, for Valentine’s Day I’m sharing a scene from my latest book. I admit I’m a hopeless romantic and offer no apology.

Maggie is being given a tour of Jack’s home:

Page 174: Jack was pleased at how she moved about his things, studying the house with genuine interest. His gaze followed her from room to room; his imaginization seeing her waiting when he came home at night. Steady, Jack, don’t get carried away.

At the back of the house, a rectangular-shaped window-filled room overlooked a large secluded garden. Two towering magnolia trees stood like sentinels at each back corner of the yard. Pink and white oleanders softened an enclosing brick fence. A seemingly abandoned guest cottage with a front porch sat intimately between the magnolias.

      “I think your house has great possibilities, Jack. It has charm and more than adequate space to work with. What more could you want?”

     They walked out onto a covered porch. Jack watched as Megan wandered into the yrd alone, observing the various azalea bushes, gardenias, and a bed of neglected amaryllis.

     She continued around to the side of the charming cottage, wondering what stories it held within its walls. Against the brick fence an overgrown passion vine crept up the wall and attached itself to the back of the cottage. She picked one of the colorful blossoms, remembering they lasted only three days, representing the three years of Christ’s ministry on earth.

     She looked back toward the porch and stopped dead in her tracks. Jack leaned against a column, his legs crossed at the ankles like he’s just stepped out of a romance novel. Black jeans and black polo shirt did nothing to conceal his marvelous physique. The only thing missing was a long, cool, mint julep in his hand.

     This near perfect man, a vision of contentment and masculinity removed what appeared to be a white meerschaum pipe from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Megan watched as he filled it with tobacco, tapped it down with his forefinger, brought forth a lighter and held it over the bowl while he took deep puffs until it was satisfactorily lit.

     “Jack, what are you doing?” A heart doctor smoking? So, he wasn’t perfect after all.

     “What do you mean? I’m standing here watching a very fetching wood nymph explore my garden.”

     “That pipe.”

     Jack laughed. “Do you mind? It’s my one vice. You women console yourselves with chocolates; I occasionally relax with my pipe.”

     Megan smelled the familiar sweet aroma as she drew closer. Grandfather smoked a pipe and he lived to be ninety-three.

     “Does it offend you?”

     “Not at all; I like it, in fact.” What was not to like.

     She joined him on the porch, breathed deeply of the fragrance, and told him about her grandfather. “I’m just surprised that you would smoke.”

     “Only occasionally.” He held the bowl in his nicely sculptured hand and studied it like an old friend. “I follow the same advice I give my patients - don’t smoke cigarettes.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I don’t inhale.”

     If smoking a pipe was his only vice, how could she object? Besides, it added one more aspect to his masculinity profile. Also, a pipe was a perfect prop for a writer. Good Lord - a physician, a pianist, a singer, unparalleled charm, as well as a would-be writer. Her heart didn’t stand a chance.

     “What have we here?” he asked as he took the red flower and placed it above her ear.

     “It’s called a passionflower,” she told him, with emphasis on passion. She knew she was flirting but couldn’t have cared less.

     “Really; and why is that?”

     She ignored his teasing, removed the flower from her hair and held it up to show why the flower was so named. “Seriously, the red symbolizes the blood of Christ shed on the cross. See, it has ten petals and sepals that represent the ten apostles present at the crucifixion; the five stamens represent the five wounds, and three styles represent the three nails. These tendrils represent the ropes and scourges; and three secondary leaf bracts - the holy trinity.”

     “That’s amazing. So you’re not only an artist, you’re also an horticulturist and a student of divinity?”

     Megan turned and looked out over the yard. “No, not really, but I do enjoy gardening and the study of flora and fauna. With a little attention, this yard could be lovely.”

     “You can dig in my garden anytime you wish.” He took the flower and gently placed it back in her hair.   Etc.

 Please leave a comment, ask a question, or otherwise inquire about my painting and writing. And, may love be good to you.

Marie