Liz Darcy sat in her upstairs office, taking a break from pounding out the words to her next novel. She looked around the room, taking in the sight of the flowered wallpaper, decorative wood trim, and hardwood floors. Her house was more than one hundred years old, and she loved it. The ambiance of this room, especially, made writing historical romance much easier. With a smile, she turned back to the computer.
An indeterminate length of time later, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Though she ignored them in favor of the scene she was immersed in, some part of her brain registered her husband’s presence on the landing and then entering her office. Knowing he would not interrupt her flow, she kept typing until, finally, the words stopped as the scene ended. She scrolled up to reread. She could feel Will’s presence behind her, feel his breath stirring her hair as he leaned over her to read the words on the screen. At the bottom of the page, she leaned back.
“Great scene, Liz. I could feel the emotion there.”
“Is it enough emotion? Will it grip my readers?”
“Honey, if they don’t feel that right along with the character, they are not paying enough attention. That is one fabulous bit of writing, right there.”
Liz chuckled. “Thank you, but I fear you are a bit biased.”
Will looked down into her upturned face. “Biased I may be, but you are a darned good writer. Never let me hear you doubt it.” He lowered his face to kiss her lips, so close to his. “Are you done for the day?”
Liz reached her hand up and pulled his head down for another, longer, smooch. “Maybe. Did you have something you needed me for?”
After one more long, satisfyingly deep kiss, Will spoke again. “Oh, yes, you know I do.” He pulled her up by her hands into his arms. “Something incredibly important and decidedly urgent.”
Liz laughed as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out the door and into their bedroom.
Copyright 2016 Zoe Burton