Love is patient.
It can happen when you least expect it,
where you least expect it,
with whom you least expect it.
Love is kind.
But love may not grow out of kindness.
It can happen with the person who hates you most
because love knows no bounds.
And it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love doesn’t hold a grudge.
But when the healing of your heart
breaks the hearts of the ones you love …
it may seem impossible to
Excerpt : First Fight
I felt his body give a little in my arms, and he finally put his arms around me. We stood there with our arms wrapped around each other, saying nothing. The movement of the train gently listed us back and forth, but Adam’s feet remained firmly planted, holding us steady.
“We just had our first real fight,” I whispered.
It wasn’t entirely true. We had fought once before. It had been about the accident and had ended with me running out on him with the intention of never going back. It had been a turning point in our relationship. So it was hard to think of it as nothing more than a ‘fight.’ This was our first argument that wasn’t related to our past.
I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this monumental event, but the only other passenger was a woman with earbuds stuck in her ears at the other end of the car. She tapped her foot along to whatever she was listening to and read from a book she held in front of her face.
Adam’s hand wandered from around my waist to my backside. He squeezed it and buried his face in my hair. “You know, there’s only one thing to do after a fight,” he growled, just as we conveniently pulled into our stop.
“What’s that?” I asked coyly.
“Make-up sex. I need to get you home. Right. Fucking. Now. If you’re lucky, we’ll make it.”
“If I’m lucky, maybe we won’t,” I chided him.
“Oh, that’s it,” he said. Before I knew what was even happening, his hands were back around my waist, and he hoisted me over his shoulder. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d thrown me over his shoulder in a public place.
“Adam,” I said, smacking him on his butt as he strode purposefully through the open train door. “You’ve got to stop carrying me around like this. It’s not dignified.”
“I don’t give a shit about dignified.” Oblivious to everyone around us, he carried me through the tunnel and up the stairs to the street. Only after we were on Broadway did he put me down.
“Now keep up,” he said, dragging me toward our building. “Or I’ll be forced to carry you the whole way.”
I had to admit that I didn’t really mind the caveman show. In fact, there wasn’t much that I didn’t like about my occasionally cocky, subtly tattooed, movie-quoting, cat-whispering, t-shirt-wearing, Eminem-singing, muscle-car-loving, sweetheart of a man.
Jenni Moen lives in her hometown in Oklahoma with her husband and three crazy, exuberant kids that have the potential to burn the house down at any moment.
When she's not chauffeuring kids around town, performing her mom duties as a short order cook and maid, or vacuuming for her fastidious husband, she hammers away at her keyboard at her big girl job as a patent attorney. While vodka and exercise have provided some relief from the daily grind, it is reading ... and now writing ... that are her true escapes.
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