I Hope You Don't Mind
(originally posted March 26, 2009)

Brian Belden whistled cheerfully as he came down the stairs at Crabapple Farm with a lighthearted bounce to his step.  He had gotten home late last night and after telling his parents all about his six-week stint as a camp counselor—and apologizing repeatedly for his lack of correspondence while he was gone—he had hit the sack for the longest, soundest sleep he had had since summer began.

It had been a bittersweet summer—his last as a camp counselor, his last as a year-round resident of the quiet little town where he had been born and raised.  At seventeen, Brian was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.  He had graduated from Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School this past spring and in just a few short weeks would be heading off to college, the University of Texas in Austin.

The other Bob-Whites had been stunned by his decision, but the truth was he just couldn’t afford to go to Harvard.  With his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor and his excellent scholastic achievements, including being named valedictorian of his class, everybody assumed he’d choose an Ivy League college, within a few hours of home so he could visit on the weekends.  Moving halfway across the country wasn’t something that had occurred to any of them, and while Brian’s parents had been supportive, his younger siblings and his friends had a harder time grasping the concept of the Bob-Whites without their responsible elder.

But today, Brian wasn’t dwelling on those issues.  There’d be plenty of time for that later.  This morning, he was off to visit Honey.  On the long drive from Maine to Sleepyside, he had finally determined that he would tell her how he felt about her.  She was fifteen now, and while her parents would probably say that was too young to be having a long-distance relationship with a college man—Who was he kidding?  Mr. Wheeler would say it was too young to date.  Period.—he didn’t want to leave Sleepyside without telling her what was in his heart.  Or rather, who was in his heart.

His first two weeks at camp she had written faithfully, and he had received a letter every other day.  Then, either because he had been too busy to write back to her, or perhaps because his sister was finally rubbing off on her best friend, the frequency of the letters had trickled down to nothing the last two weeks of camp.  He wondered what mysterious adventure Trixie had dragged Honey off to this time that had kept her from writing.  This afternoon, there would be plenty of time for catching up.  He planned to surprise her with a picnic lunch up along the bluffs by the Hudson River.

As he came into the kitchen, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the refrigerator door open and his brother’s head stuck inside.  “Don’t touch that leftover chicken,” he warned.  “I’m taking it for my picnic with Honey this afternoon.”

Mart’s blond crew cut popped up over the door.  “What about the cherry pie?”

“You can have that,” he called over his shoulder as he ducked into the service porch to grab the picnic basket.  “We’ll probably stop at Wimpy’s for sundaes on the way home.”

“You and Honey are going on a picnic?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Brian asked with a chuckle as he pushed past Mart and started pulling food out of the fridge to add to the basket.

Mart stared silently at his older brother as he packed the leftover chicken, some fruit salad, potato chips, and sodas.  He’s acting weird, Brian thought.  Not that that was unusual, but the silence certainly was.  “What?”

“The Wheelers have houseguests this week,” Mart said simply.

“Oh, yeah?  Who?”  Brian asked as he reached up on top of the refrigerator for some paper plates and plastic utensils.

“The Kimballs.”

“That’s nice.  Pete, too?  How long have they been here?”

“All week.”

Brian turned to the picnic basket on the kitchen table, away from Mart, so that he could hide his wicked grin.  The Bob-Whites had met Peter Kimball last summer on Cobbett’s Island.  They all quickly made friends with the likable teenage boy, but Mart had felt more than one twinge of jealousy when Peter had taken the time to “appreciate” a certain raven-haired, violet-eyed beauty.

“What exactly is he doing that’s bothering you, Mart?” Brian asked in exasperation as he reached for another ear of corn from the stone fire pit.

“He’s—he’s looking at her!”  Mart jerked his head toward the trio his older brother had just left, conversing near the water’s edge.

Brian looked over to where Peter was listening to Di and Honey telling him a story.  As usual, both girls were very animated with their gestures and facial expressions.  How was Peter not supposed to be looking at Diana?  He was looking at Honey too, and Brian wasn’t getting all bent out of shape.

He rolled his dark eyes and shook his head.  “Give me a break, Mart.  Jim and Trixie have been shooting fond glances at each other for a year.  You see how far that’s gotten them.”

“Yeah,” Mart retorted.  “My tomboy sister is suddenly buying dresses and new bathing suits.  I saw her putting on mascara last week and...” he leaned closer and hissed, “...you saw what she looked like last night, right?  Did you see how Jim was staring at her?  His eyes were about to pop out of his head!  That’s where fond glances gets you, Bri!”

“Mart, Diana likes you.  She has since you guys were in elementary school.  How that compares to four days of knowing Peter Kimball, I have no idea.”

“He’s a blond, buff, tanned sailor,” Mart grumbled.  “He’ll probably join the Navy.  When Di sees him in a uniform, I’ll be history.  Haven’t you ever seen An Officer and a Gentleman?”

“Well, if you spent a little more time lifting weights and a little less time lifting burgers and fries to your mouth, you could be buff, too,” Brian pointed out, thumping his brother affectionately on his well-filled stomach.

Brian chuckled as he closed the picnic basket and turned back to his brother.  “So, the blond Richard Gere is back in town and you’re getting a little nervous?”

“Well ... no,” Mart answered frankly.  He hesitated, giving Brian another odd look before adding, “Brian, there’s something you should know.”

“Mart, I’m proud of you.”  He didn’t mean to be patronizing, but it occurred to him that his tone sounded somewhat superior.  “It’s nice to see you get over your ridiculous insecurities and grow up a little.  I’m sure Diana will appreciate your maturity more than your constant showing off and joking around.”

Mart’s blue eyes narrowed, but Brian didn’t notice.  He gave Mart a brotherly pat on the shoulder as he picked up the basket and turned to go.  “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” Mart answered flatly.  “Nothing at all.  Have a great time with Honey this afternoon.”

Brian waved cheerfully as he stepped outside into the glorious July morning.  He stowed the picnic basket in the backseat of the Queen and gently coaxed the old jalopy into starting up for him.

As he drove the short distance down Glen Road and up the long, sweeping driveway at the Manor House, he started to feel a not entirely unpleasant queasiness in his stomach, as if two dozen very large butterflies were flitting about in there.  Everybody knew he and Honey had feelings for each other—Good grief, the “special feelings” syndrome, he thought with a grimace—but other than a school dance, and a stolen kiss in that barn on Cobbett’s Island, nothing else of a more serious nature had occurred ... yet.  Brian refused to fall into the holding pattern Jim and Trixie were currently in.  Jim had all manner of reasonable arguments against going steady—her age, his past, the fact that he was heading off to college, blah, blah, blah.  The fact was they were crazy about each other, and waiting for Jim to do something more than fondly glance at her was making his sister even crazier.  If Jim failed to take action before he left for college ... well, Brian would be very glad to be halfway across the country and not living in the same house with Trixie.

He parked the car in front of the mansion’s sweeping veranda, went up to the front door and knocked politely.  The Wheelers’ maid, Celia, opened the door and greeted him with a bright smile.  “Hello, Brian.  Honey told us you got back from camp last night.  Glad to be home?”

Brian nodded and smiled, feeling suddenly like a shy schoolboy and momentarily speechless.

“Are you here to see Jim?”

He furrowed his brow.  “Um … no, I’m here for Honey.  I’m taking her on a picnic this afternoon.”

“Oh, dear.”  Celia looked apologetic.  “Honey’s not here.  She must have forgotten you were coming.”

Brian flashed her a quick grin.  “My fault.  I wanted to surprise her.  Where is she?”

“She and Peter Kimball have gone to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s for a visit.  Honey was telling me how much Peter likes old houses and gardens.  She thought he’d like Mrs. Vanderpoel’s since it’s the oldest house with the best garden she knows, other than Crabapple Farm, which isn’t quite as old, is more vegetables than flowers, and which Peter has already seen.  At least, I think that’s what she was getting at when she was chattering away at me this morning.”

Brian’s smile widened.  He had missed that Honey-speak while he was gone.  “Well, I guess I’ll catch up with them there, then,” he said, bidding the pretty maid good-bye.

As he got back into his car, he tried to work out his dilemma.  It would be rude not to invite Peter on the picnic, but three was a crowd, after all.  He didn’t think Mart would be too anxious to entertain Peter, though they could probably talk about Diana all afternoon and see what happened from there, he thought with a snicker.  Jim was out riding with Trixie, and Dan was up in Saratoga with Regan this week.  Well, once Peter saw the boats out on the Hudson, he’d probably take off on his own anyway, Brian thought.  One way or another, he’d have some alone time with Honey, and as was par for the course for a Belden picnic basket, there was plenty of food to share.

The drive to Mrs. V’s didn’t take long, and Brian thoroughly enjoyed the uncharacteristically temperate day.  He had the jalopy’s top down, and the warm July breeze swept through his dark hair, leaving it as unkept as Trixie’s tousled curls.  He needed a haircut, he mused as he ran his hand through the thick, wavy mop.  He was so busy imagining Honey running her long, slender fingers through his hair and gently scolding him for letting it get so ragged, that he almost missed the turnoff to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s driveway.

The cheerful, plump woman was puttering around with the flowers in front of her house and waved a hello to Brian as he got out of the car.  He strode briskly up to the trim white picket fence and greeted her warmly.  “Hello, Mrs. V.  How are you today?”

“Just fine, Brian.  I thought I’d take advantage of this relatively mild weather and get some weeding done before it gets brutally hot again.  Would you like some lemonade and cookies?”

“No, thank you.  I’m looking for Honey.  Is she here?”

“Oh, yes, dear.  She and that nice young man from the coast are in the back garden.  Heavens, I almost forgot about them, they’ve been back there so long.  Make sure she’s cutting some of those gladioli for her mother.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Thank you.”  And with a polite nod to the kindly old lady, Brian hurried around to the back of the cozy little stone cottage.  Mrs. Vanderpoel’s garden covered more square footage than her house.  Like the Beldens, she grew a lot of vegetables and did a great deal of canning, but her true joy was the flowers.  If there was a type, color, or variation of almost any flower you could name, she had it, and beyond the white fence that held them in, she let the wildflowers run amuck as well.  Butterflies and bees and even hummingbirds darted from flower to flower as if on sensory overload, unable to make up their mind which blooms were the most delicious.  Mart and Dan had helped Mrs. V build a koi pond earlier this summer and as Brian neared the end of the house, he could see the late morning sun reflecting off the clear water like a mirror.  A weathered gazebo, its white paint peeling in a charming, rather than neglected, fashion was tucked into the far corner of the yard.

He had just reached the corner of the house when he heard Honey’s girlish giggle from somewhere on the back porch.  His eyes brightened and his heart leapt within his chest, but a moment later the wide smile began sliding off his face as she spoke.

“Peter, you’re so romantic!”

Romantic?  Peter Kimball?  Honey thought so?  Why?  He vaguely heard the low murmur of Peter’s reply, but couldn’t make out exactly what he said over the roar of the questions shouting in his brain.

Honey giggled again, but this time the aching in his chest wasn’t quite so enjoyable.  What the hell was Peter Kimball saying—or heaven forbid, doing—to make her behave in such a silly schoolgirl fashion?

He took one step to his right and pressed his back against the side of the house.  He could feel the stones, heated from the morning sun shining directly on them, warm against his spine.  Cautiously, he poked his head around the corner just in time to see Honey throw her arms around Peter’s neck and kiss him directly on the lips.  His Honey!  She kissed him!  He jerked his head back, not wanting to see Peter putting his hands on her back or her—.  He shook his head in dismay, trying to shake the image from his brain.  He thought he heard a low moan and quickly backed up a few steps.  He didn’t want to see or hear what was happening on Mrs. Vanderpoel’s back porch.

Head down, he stalked back to his car, kicking a few unsuspecting stones harshly out of his way.

“Brian, dear, did you find them?” Mrs. Vanderpoel chirped.

“Yeah,” he mumbled as he got back behind the wheel.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay for lunch?  I’ve made plenty.”

“No, thanks, Mrs. Vanderpoel.  Three’s a crowd.”

He never suspected that he would end up as number three.

********************************************

At first he thought he’d drive aimlessly around the countryside and brood for a few hours.  Isn’t that what jilted lovers did?  But he wasn’t her lover.  He wasn’t her boyfriend.  He hadn’t even ever kissed her, not really.  What right did he have to feel like Honey had been stolen right out from under his nose?

The sun, which had seemed so pleasant just minutes ago, was now beating ruthlessly upon him, and he was building up a good head of steam that he thought he could use to flatten Peter Kimball next time he saw him.  He quickly cast that notion aside, however.  He wasn’t the hotheaded, jealous type.  He’d leave that kind of nonsense to Jim and Trixie and their notoriously short tempers.

He was so lost in his morose thoughts that he didn’t realize he had driven back home.  He couldn’t even remember turning into the driveway or pulling the jalopy up next to the garage.  But now he was sitting there scowling in the front seat, a man and his car.  “At least you’re loyal to me,” he mumbled, just before the Queen sullenly spit the bit and let her engine die.

Sighing in resignation, Brian leaned his head back against the seat and looked up at the bright blue sky.  Not a cloud in sight, not even a stormy black one hanging directly over his head, as he’d half expected to see.

He heard the screen door slam behind him and a minute later Mart was leaning against the passenger-side door.  “So, you found out, eh?”

Brian rolled his head to the side and glared darkly at his brother.  “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

Mart nodded, looking genuinely apologetic.  “Sorry I didn’t say anything before.  You kind of pissed me off with your sagacious elder sibling remarks.”

“Yeah, I guess I deserved that.  Sorry, bro.  I’ve been talking to elementary kids all summer.”

Mart nodded in understanding and after giving his brother a long steady look, as if to assure himself that he wasn’t going to be beaten up, he opened the door and slid into the front seat beside his older brother.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Brian asked.

“They’ve been here about a week.  As far as I know, that’s been it.”

“One lousy week and suddenly all my hopes are shattered.”

“Bull.”

Brian turned to look at his brother in surprise.  “What?”

Grinning in remembrance, Mart said, “Bri, Honey likes you.  She has since the day you guys met.  How that compares to seven days with Peter Kimball, I have no idea.”

“Touché,” Brian said with a chuckle.  After a long pause, he added, “I saw them kissing, Mart.”

Mart snorted and waved a hand dismissively.  “So what?  It ain’t over ‘til it’s over, Prince Charming.  I say you fight back.”

“How?”

“Well, the first day Pete was in town, I made up my mind that if he so much as attempted to offer one fond glance toward Diana, I was going to go rent a Navy uniform costume, sweep her into my arms and carry her off into the sunset with that cheesy song blaring in the background.”

Brian raised a wary eyebrow.  “You think I should carry Honey off to a song by Joe Cocker?  You don’t think that’s too much innuendo?  She’s only fifteen, Mart.  I don’t want Mr. Wheeler sending the police after me.”

“First of all, you couldn’t pull off the dress whites, at least not until you get your hair cut.  Get a nice tight crew like mine, and people might believe you’re a Navy man.  Secondly, I have something different in mind for you.”

“You mean you’ve been planning this all week?”

Mart lowered his chin and stared hard at his brother.  “Surely, you jest?  I’ve been plotting quixotic tokens of adoration for you and the redheaded knight for a year and a half now.  I surmised that one, or perhaps both of you, would be requiring my erudite abetment before long if you didn’t want to end up as disconsolate celibates.”

Brian chuckled under his breath.  “I’ve missed you, Mart, you big walking dictionary.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Brian drew a deep breath, wondering what he was about to get himself into.  But he had made himself a promise to tell Honey how he felt and by god, he was going to do just that.  If she wanted Peter Kimball then he’d bow out gracefully, but at least she would know.

Closing his eyes, not wanting to see the wicked gleam of anticipation in Mart’s eyes, he nodded his head.

********************************************

It was well after “riding off into the sunset” time when Brian snuck over to the Manor House that night.  He stopped on the front lawn and after carefully putting Mart’s oversized boom box at his feet, glanced up at the cheerfully lit front window on the second floor that was Honey’s bedroom.  The warm light seemed to beckon and encourage him.  Taking a deep breath, he leaned down and hit the “Play” button.  If this wasn’t romantic, he didn’t know what was.  Take that, Peter Kimball!  He wasn’t about to let that blond, buff, tanned pirate steal his girl without a fight!

The opening notes sounded deafening, but as high as the ceilings were at the Manor House, the second floor might as well have been the third.  At least her window was open.

He took a long, slow breath to steady his nerves and remember Mart’s advice.  Just sing the song.  Don’t try to imitate Elton John.  Listen to the words and feel them in your soul.  He rolled his eyes.  He just wasn’t the heart-on-his-sleeve romantic that his younger brother was.  He was logical, he was responsible, he was bor—.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement in the window above.  He opened his mouth to start singing, but the familiar face that peeped out the window wasn’t Honey’s.  He stood paralyzed, his mouth still hung open, as Diana smiled warily down at him.  Two more familiar faces appeared behind hers.  A sleepover?  He darted a hasty glance into the dark shadows at the corner of the mansion where Mart stood, presumably to offer him support.  The blond troublemaker grinned, then gestured impatiently to spur him on.

Brian glared at Mart and cleared his throat.  As Diana stepped aside and let Honey push the window open wide and stick her head out, the music looped back to the beginning of the number and he began to sing.

“It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside.
I'm not one of those who can easily hide.”

Honey offered him a small, bewildered smile.  He took courage from it and continued on, his voice a bit stronger now.

“I don't have much money but, boy, if I did,
I'd buy a big house where we both could live.”

He heard Diana giggle and felt his face grow warm as his voice cracked slightly.  She stepped back into the bedroom, pulling a protesting Trixie with her.  He focused on the hazel-eyed girl smiling down at him and pushed on, reminding himself to sing the correct “sculptor”, instead of the still-pressing-on-his-mind “sailor”.

“If I was a sculptor, but then again, no,
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show.
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do.
My gift is my song and this one's for you.

And you can tell everybody this is your song.
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind,
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.”

His heart was swelling with affection for the beautiful young woman and he discovered, to his horror, that he was singing with his eyes closed.  How sappy can you get? he thought in fleeting dismay.  With a grimace, he quickly opened his eyes, only to find the second-floor window empty.  His voice faltered and the music went on without him.

A duet of snickers from the vicinity of the front porch drew his attention and he saw his best friend, and the sailor, standing at the front door staring in disbelief at the midnight troubadour.  He thought he saw, mixed in with the teasing glint, a trace of admiration in Jim’s green eyes, and perhaps just a hint of grudging respect in Peter’s pale blue eyes.

The heat in his reddened face began rushing through his body until he thought he might spontaneously combust right there on the front lawn.  He lowered his chin to his chest, dropped his shoulders, and stuffed his hands self-consciously into the pockets of his crisply ironed khaki shorts.

And then she was there.

“Brian.”

She was standing in front of him in her bare feet, wearing only a pair of plaid sleep pants and a pale blue chemise top that left her tanned midriff bare.  He looked into her beautiful hazel eyes, noticing how the flecks of green sparkled in the dim light cast from the house.

She smiled shyly and reached out to lay a hand on his arm.  He could feel the short hairs stand up on end at her touch and he smiled tentatively back, turning one ear to the music still playing to try and figure out where he was in the song.  His smile grew broader and more confident as he sang softly.

“Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean,
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.”

He wanted to continue with the chorus, but he could still see a shock of pale blond hair past Honey’s shoulders.  Hoarsely, he mumbled, “I know I’m going away to college in a few weeks and you probably won’t see me until Thanksgiving or maybe Christmas.  And if you want to date Peter, I’ll understand, but I want you to know that—”

“Date Peter Kimball?” Honey interrupted, a look of confusion crinkling her pretty brow.

“Mart told me that he’s been ... well, courting you this week.”

Tightening her grip on his arm, she smiled up at him and said, “I don’t want to date Peter.  There’s only one man I’m interested in, and he has dark hair and dark eyes and, much to my surprise, a beautiful singing voice.”

“But I saw you—at Mrs. V’s today—I saw you kissing him.”

Her face flushed a deep crimson, which only made her more beautiful, he thought.

“That was impulsive.  Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but Brian, I didn’t kiss him the way I kiss … the way I want to kiss you.”  She must have seen doubt still in his eyes because she continued, “He was telling me about this rose his mother is trying to develop.  He wants her to name it the Carolina Sweetheart rose ... after his girlfriend.”

A look of astonishment and understanding swept across his face as Honey smiled up at him and added, “I thought that was very romantic and I guess I went a little overboard in expressing my appreciation.”

A wry, teasing grin slid across his face as he said, “The only thing I could maybe name after you is a disease.  That’s not romantic.”

She bit her lip to contain her laughter and said, “No, it’s not.  But this is.  And I’ll always remember to never forget it.”

He pulled his fingers gently through her honey-gold hair and murmured, “I missed the Honey-speak while I was gone.”

“But I don’t really want to speak right now,” she replied, her voice suddenly very breathy.

He glanced over her head to see the front porch was once again vacant.  He lifted his eyes slightly to see her bedroom window closed and the drapes drawn.  Even Mart had stealthily crept away from his post and back to the farm, leaving them all alone underneath the July moon while Sir Elton’s music softly repeated itself over and over behind him.

Cupping her face in one hand, and letting the other slide around to the bare skin at the small of her back, he pulled her close and tried to visualize just what the perfect first kiss would be like.  This wouldn’t be like the kiss he stole last summer on Cobbett’s Island.  That kiss was timid and swift, over before he could even think to enjoy it.  He fully intended to enjoy this one, and wanted her to do the same.

He leaned down and softly pressed his lips against hers, pulling her closer and offering his support as he felt her knees wobble.  Pulling back just slightly, he opened his mouth to take in more of her, more of the sweet taste and more of the soft wetness.  She responded with a whisper of a sigh, her breath warm on his lips.  Their tongues brushed against each other and the butterflies flitting in his stomach were once again welcome and pleasant.

It could have gone on forever but for that pesky need for oxygen.  He pulled back, his heart racing, and looked at her.  Her eyelids were still closed, but fluttering delicately in a way that was utterly feminine and utterly enthralling.  Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were tinged with the warm glow of passion.

If he had somehow fallen short of the perfect first kiss, he didn’t want to know.  He wasn’t sure he could imagine anything more powerful than what he had just experienced.

He whispered, “I’ll never forget to always remember this moment.”  And as her eyes opened to gaze into his, he sang softly,

“I hope you don't mind,
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.”

He brushed another kiss across her velvety soft lips and added, “Not wonderful ... perfectly perfect.”

 

Author’s Notes

Word Count: 4,799 (it’s not nice and even because Ruth made me delete a word *pouts*)

I’m happy to have Ruth join Annette and Heather as one of my editors.  She helped me out with my complicated, time-hopping mystery The Secret Sits, but I didn’t know she wanted to keep editing for me!  Sheesh, the whining, the crying, the begging…I had to let her join my team! *g*  Just kidding, Ruth.  I love you!

While there is actually no such thing as majoring in “pre-med”, I was mildly surprised to find that the University of Texas ranks among the top five nationwide in the number of graduates who apply to medical school.  Since one of my dearest friends in the world graduated from there, I thought it would be a nice nod to her.  Plus, I needed Brian to go far enough way to stop dilly-dallying and tell Honey how he felt about her.  Shoot, maybe I should have sent Jim to UCLA!

Mart’s comment about how Trixie looked “last night” is in reference to Jim and Trixie’s trip to Jimmy’s Place, the night before the beach clambake in The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island.

An Officer and A Gentleman, starring Richard Gere and Debra Winger is, apparently, every girl’s dream.  To be swept away from the drudgery of life by a handsome man in a uniform…okay, I see the appeal. *g*

The “cheesy song” Mart refers to is the theme from An Officer and A Gentleman, “Up Where We Belong”, by Joe Cocker.

I love Elton John.  This is “Your Song” and I think it’s very romantic (even though Phoebe Buffay thinks his most romantic song is the one he wrote for that guy on Who’s the Boss?  If you don’t get that Friends reference, feel free to ask. *g*)

To my knowledge (and my admittedly brief Google search), there is no variety of rose called the Carolina Sweetheart.  I don’t know if this refers to Peter’s girlfriend’s name or her location, but two of my editors are from the Carolinas, so that was nice.

Now…how did this story come about?  Well, like Mal, my “non-uni stories” page was a little lonely.  I had my chapter from last year’s Jixanny group story, and this year’s Jixanny group story soon to pop up, but I thought I’d try to fill it out a little.  Robert Frost's birthday is March 26, so I thought it might be nice to try and post a non-uni story on that day each year.  We'll see if that actually happens or not in 365 days. *G*

And “how” is also due to Mal (gee, she’s getting a lot of credit today).  During JixeWriMo, she posted a thread about prompts for writers and I decided to prompt myself to write a story.  Bad idea.  After flipping aimlessly through my The Poetry of Robert Frost, trying to latch onto something inspiring, I gave up.  Carrie Lynn was the victim, since she’d been asking me for some opinions on dresses (seriously, does the woman know me at all? *g*).  Pick a number between 1 and 307, I asked her, without giving her even a hint of why.  Then I asked her to pick another number (to get a line in a poem).  What I ended up with was, from Robert Frost's “The Star-Splitter”:  “Our thief, the one who does our stealing from us.”

Hmm…that’s cool.  Now, I need another prompt.  To my editors!  I asked Annette to pick any male character from anywhere in the series.  She picked Peter Kimball.  I asked Heather to pick any female character from anywhere in the series.  She picked Mrs. Vanderpoel.

And from that, the story was born.  It did help a little that Cobbett’s Island indicated that Peter liked old houses and gardens, to tie in Mrs. V to the story. *g*  And I imagined how Brian would react to the “thief” Peter trying to “steal” his girl.  That part of the poem is actually about forgiveness and not holding sins against people.  In my mind, that was something Brian would be the best at, even when it comes to his girl.  Peter is safe, Annette, don’t worry!

However, unlike Mal, this is not the start of a new uni!  Not, not, not!  I'm not nearly smart enough or talented enough or organized enough to pull of multi-unis like Mal (the queen of unis, as far as I'm concerned) or anyone else who effectively juggles multiple storylines.  This page is for "Non-Uni Stories" and will remain just that.  No sequels, no prequels, nada.  So don't ask...'kay? *G*