Daryl Devore’s latest is a sweet whimsical romance with a touch of mystery.
Do you believe
in magic? I am beginning to think I do. It can be the only possible explanation
for my story?
~***~
"When was
the last time you were offered the gift of a red tulip?"
I turned to see
who spoke while I wondered if he was addressing me. A man sat on a park bench,
dressed in a dark suit, with a bowler hat, holding a cane and his head bowed. I
shifted to continue along the path, and
when his face lifted I found myself gaping at two glowing green eyes.
"When was
the last time you were offered the gift of a red tulip?"
I blinked,
trying to look away from those mesmerizing orbs. A mixture of fear and intrigue
fluttered in my belly. "Uh, never. I mean, no one has ever offered me a
tulip."
"A red
tulip."
"Okay, no
one has ever offered me a red tulip." Uneasiness slithered through me.
"Nice chatting with you."
Smiling, I
scurried down the path leading away from the park bench and towards the
gardener's shed. With Jacobs being sick today, I had to hurry to get the last
of the flower beds cleaned and prepared for spring plantings. The past winter
had been bitter. It seemed tree branches and mouse damage wreaked havoc on
every one of the one hundred and sixteen different flowerbeds.
I slipped my key
into the lock, opened the shed door, stepped inside and shut it behind me. The
fragrance of old wood, potting soil and gas fumes brought a tickle to the back
of my throat. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself a moment to indulge in the
beauty of his eyes. Emerald green. As brilliant as the gems locked among the
diamonds at Tiffany's. Not that I shop there. Couldn't possibly afford anything
on a junior gardener's salary, but I do fantasize when wandering the aisles.
What would it be
like to be with a man like that? For those few moments in his presence, I was
unable to think. My breath caught in my lungs. My palms were slick with beads
of sweat. I shook my head, opened my eyes, and tugged the ever-present hair tie
off my wrist. "Get over yourself, Darcy. A man like that wants a
supermodel who can slink around on eight-inch heels. Not someone who digs in
the dirt all day."
About the Author:
The Gift is my latest
re-release. It‘s an whimsical episodic novella that was the final result of a
flash fiction period I went through. I can be a bit long winded. I needed to
learn to cut my word count. I joined a group that wrote a weekly story that was
based on a limited number of 1,000 words and had to include some of the offered
prompts. Some were words – extinct, a piece of paper with a single line on it,
or the twelfth of never. Others were pictures – a red tulip, blue DNA or a
kiss.
I realized this story was written similarly to stories that were
printed weekly in the newspapers of old. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle presented
Hounds of the Baskervilles this way – with weekly installments. Brilliant idea.
The newspaper sales that would generate as people got into the story. So
instead of adjusting to fit the story to more modern thinking, I left it in the
episodic form.
There are
elements of mystery, playfulness and romance which tie up at the very end. But
I did leave a deliberate hole for the readers to fill. If you read the story
and wish to discuss with me what you think was on the ground – daryl.devore@yhoo.ca
or @daryldevore.
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