Happily Ever After Collection Read online

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for selecting my collection of Happily Ever Afters. You may recognize a few of these titles as they were featured in a charity anthologies. Although donating my words to raise funds for these worthy causes, I am sad to see my characters gone after a short time.

  These short stories have all been expanded to contain new content from their original published version.

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  xoxo,

  Melanie

  Happily Ever After Collection by Melanie Moreland

  The Taste of You Copyright © #1159265

  Stitches Copyright © #1172039

  Love Under Construction Copyright © #1172037

  House Arrest Copyright © #1159265

  ISBN Ebook 978-1-988610-41-2

  Paperback 978-1-988610-40-5

  All rights reserved

  Edited by

  Lisa Hollett—Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Copyediting by Deb Beck

  Cover design by Karen Hulseman

  Feed Your Dreams Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

  means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information

  storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are

  products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any

  similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedication

  For my readers

  Summer and love—what better combination?

  But given that this is 2020, and summer has effectively been cancelled,

  here are some short stories to keep you entertained and safe.

  Because no matter what is happening out there, we all need love.

  So—enjoy.

  Matthew - always and forever.

  Contents

  The Taste of You

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Stitches

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Love Under Construction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  House Arrest

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Melanie Moreland

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Julia

  I set down my utensils, pushing away my plate. I patted my mouth with my napkin, laying it on the table.

  “Julia, is that all you’re going to eat?” Melinda scolded. “You hardly touched your meal.”

  I looked down at my plate and shrugged sheepishly. “It’s not really my kind of food. It’s rather…stuffy.”

  I heard a muffled gasp, and turning my head, saw our waiter hovering behind us. “Is the meal not to your satisfaction, Madame?”

  I shook my head and forced a smile to my face. “Oh no, it was…um…passable. I mean, tasty. I’m just…ah…full. Yes, that’s it. I’m full.”

  His expression told me he knew I was lying through my teeth. “I shall arrange for it to be packaged up for you.”

  “Oh no, I don’t want it. I won’t eat it.”

  His hand froze, leaving the plate hanging in midair. “Are you sure I can’t offer you something else? I will bring you the menu to peruse.”

  “No thank you.”

  He turned to Melinda, who informed him the dinner had been spectacular and that, yes, we wanted two of the special amaretto crème brûlées and coffee. His smile was warm, then he left the table—looking happier than he had been dealing with me.

  Melinda regarded me with amusement. “I can’t believe Mark got called out of town and I had to bring you here, of all places, on my anniversary.”

  I frowned. “I still don’t understand why you just didn’t cancel?”

  “Julia, Julia, Julia. Don’t you read the paper? Keep up with the local news?”

  I sipped my water. “Rather busy here, Melinda. Between school, midterms, and two jobs, I barely have time to sleep, never mind read the paper. What does that have to do with this place anyway?”

  She sighed. “This place, as you so charmingly call it, is booked solid for the next six months. Mark had to call in a personal favor to get us in here tonight. Creations is the hottest restaurant in town and so unique. The head chef and owner is brilliant. Mark went to school with him years ago, and they’re still friends. He arranged this for us.”

  “Oh.”

  I looked around. I had to admit, as far as fancy restaurants went, it was lovely. The rooms were warm and inviting without being pretentious. And the menu had been different. There were only four set items to choose from, and the rest changed daily. Whatever was local and fresh was what was featured that day. Our meals weren’t even listed on the menu—they were created especially for us, Gerard, our waiter, had informed us.

  “The entire meal has been prepared only for you.” He poured us some wine. “I assure you, you will enjoy it.”

  The food was lost on me. All of it was. Admittedly, this was the kind of place I never went to. My idea of dinner out usually consisted of something that came in a box or a plastic container that I could eat while running from one of my jobs, to school, or the library. It was rare when I actually sat down for a meal.

  I took in all the people enjoying their dinners and the warm ambiance. I looked across at Melinda, noticing how comfortable she was in this gracious setting, and once again, I glanced down at my simple yellow dress and sighed. I didn’t belong in a place like this—it was apparent now more than ever.

  “Excuse me.”

  I started at the sudden appearance of a tall, dark-haired man in an immaculate white chef’s coat standing beside our table. He didn’t look happy.

  “Byron!” Melinda smiled and held out her hand. I watched as his long fingers encompassed her tiny ones, and he bent down and brushed a light kiss on her cheek.

  “Melinda,” he murmured. “Lovely to see you again. Happy anniversary.” He glanced my way, confused. “Where is Mark?”

  “This is my friend, Julia Nichols. Mark was called away this afternoon on an emergency, and she agreed to have dinner with me tonight in his place. I didn’t want to give up the chance to come here after all the trouble you went to for us.”

  He held out his hand to me. “Julia.”

  Wordlessly, I placed my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his fingers as they squeezed mine. He seemed to freeze for a moment before his grip tightened around my fingers again, and then he withdrew his hand.

  He turned to Melinda. “Perhaps it was a good night for him not to dine here. I understand your meal was not satisfactory?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No, Byron, it was divine.”

  His brow furrowed. “
Your plate came back virtually untouched.”

  “Um, that was mine,” I advised him.

  His eyes snapped back to me, his bright-blue gaze holding my own. “You didn’t enjoy your dinner, Julia?”

  “No, it was, ah, fine. Really.”

  He arched one eyebrow, turning to face me fully, his vivid gaze piercing. His voice was low when he spoke. I felt myself shrink into my seat under his stare.

  “Fine? I believe Gerard said you described it as passable. I will not accept that any dish which came from my kitchen was simply passable. Allow me to make something else for you.”

  I could feel Melinda’s glare across the table, and I scrambled to assure him. “I used the wrong word. Really, it was great. Really…really…great.”

  His expression turned to utter disbelief, and he leaned down closer to me. “So great you didn’t even want to take it home with you?”

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I don’t have a fridge to keep it fresh,” I whispered, feeling sheepish.

  He stood straight, his eyes locked on me. “Let me prepare you something else. I insist.” He drew in a deep breath. “Please, allow me to do that.”

  I shook my head. “I had a late lunch. Really, I’m fine.”

  “Byron.”

  He turned to Melinda.

  “She never eats very much,” she assured him quietly. “She meant no disrespect. The meals were amazing. Truly.”

  He stood silently for a minute, his hands clenched at his sides, his brow furrowed. With a sharp dip of his chin, he spoke. “As you wish. Enjoy your dessert, ladies. I hope it proves to be more than passable.” Abruptly, he turned and strode toward the kitchen. I watched as he stopped and said something to our waiter, before disappearing through the kitchen door.

  I turned to Melinda. “Wow. He’s intense. He and Mark are friends?” I found that hard to believe. Mark was the most laid-back person I had ever met.

  She nodded. “They went to high school and university together. When Byron left to go to culinary school, they stayed in touch. Mark was thrilled when he decided to move back to Toronto and open this restaurant.”

  We were quiet as Gerard placed our dessert and coffee in front of us. When he left, I leaned forward. “I didn’t mean to insult him or his food, Melinda. Really, I didn’t.”

  She smiled. “I know that. Byron is very intense. He has very high standards and is incredibly picky about his restaurant. Which is why it has been such a success, I think.” She chuckled. “I doubt many plates get sent back uneaten.” She mock-glared at me. “Did you eat at McDonald’s again today?”

  I nodded. “I had just ordered when you called.”

  She gaped. “And you still ate it? Knowing we were coming here?”

  I shrugged. “I know what I’m getting at McDonald’s, Melinda. I wasn’t sure about this place.”

  She chuckled as she stirred the cream into her coffee and added some chocolate shavings and whipped cream that came with it. It was a lovely touch.

  “Good thing Byron didn’t know that piece of information. The fact that you would eat at Rotten Ronnie’s and barely touch his cuisine might send him over the edge. I pity the chefs in the kitchen if that happened.”

  I made a horrified face at her, then grinned. “Our little secret.”

  She indicated my plate. “Eat your dessert please, Julia. I don’t think I could take another visit from the kitchen.”

  I agreed. The way Byron Lord looked at me? I didn’t want another visit either.

  I watched Melinda drive away and sighed, grateful dinner was over. I shook my head as I made my way to my car where I had parked at the edge of the lot. My car was older and run-down, but all I could afford. It had been as out of place in the parking lot as I was in the restaurant.

  No bill had been offered at the end of our meal, and Gerard refused any sort of tip, saying the meal in its entirety had been looked after by Chef Lord, with his compliments. No doubt he was just anxious to get the troublemaker out of his restaurant. I hoped I hadn’t caused a problem for Mark with his friend.

  “So, you find my cuisine stuffy, do you, Julia?”

  Startled, I spun around to find Byron Lord leaning against the hood of a car, looking irate. His chef’s jacket hung loosely from his shoulders, and he was smoking a cigar in short, angry puffs. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. Melinda and I had one of the last reservations of the night and we had lingered over dessert, so the lot was now almost vacant and I was alone with Byron.

  “Do you wait for all your customers in the parking lot?” I managed to gasp out.

  He shook his head. “Only the dissatisfied ones. So, you would be the first.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Lord. Obviously, I’ve insulted you, and that was not my intention.”

  “Chef.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “At my restaurant, I am addressed as Chef Lord.”

  I bit my lip. He was angry. He was a friend of Mark’s, who was very dear to me, so I needed to fix this.

  I drew in a deep breath and used the politest tone I could muster. “Chef Lord, I apologize.” I offered contritely. “I’m a simple girl. Your food is wonderful, I’m sure, but it’s just lost on someone like me.”

  He pushed off the car and stepped toward me. “Someone like you? I don’t understand.”

  I shrugged and waved my hand toward the restaurant. “I never went out to dinner as a child or even as a teenager. Meals in my house came from a can or a box.” I chuckled. “I never learned to cook, so they still do. Food is just a necessity for me.” I looked at him, the strangest feeling welling up inside me. I wanted him to know I wasn’t insulting him. I didn’t want him upset. “I know for someone like you, food is your life. No doubt you live it twenty-four hours a day.” I shrugged again. “If it weren’t for the fact that I had to eat to keep going, I wouldn’t bother. It’s just fuel for me.”

  His eyes widened. “You don’t like to eat?”

  I thought about it. “It’s not that I don’t like to eat. I just don’t really get any enjoyment out of it. I don’t think I have very good taste buds. Everything basically tastes the same to me.”

  For a minute, he was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was softer and without the trace of anger it had held previously.

  “That is a shame. You’re missing so much.”

  I shook my head. “I think that, like someone born without one of their senses, I never know to miss it. It’s just the way of it for me.”

  He edged closer. “Food is a vital part of life, yes. But it is meant to be savored. Enjoyed. I love spending time, selecting the right ingredients, blending them together so they are perfect. Mixing, measuring, tasting as I create a dish is critical. The experience is incredible. I spend hours perfecting a recipe, making it flawless. One ingredient can change the flavor, the composition of an entire dish.” He paused his fervent speech and sighed quietly. “Watching people eat a meal I have cooked and seeing their reaction is…almost orgasmic at times.”

  I blinked at him. He was mesmerizing in his passion. His face came alive, his hands gestured in the air, and his voice was rich and vibrant.

  “I wish I could feel that way about it, but I don’t. I can’t understand your passion,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I feel that way about anything in life, to be perfectly honest.”

  He studied me intently. “What did you have for lunch today?” he demanded suddenly.

  My eyes widened. I shook my head, remembering Melinda’s words.

  “What? Tell me.”

  I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t have to defend myself to this man. “A cheeseburger.”

  “From a box or a package?”

  “Um, McDonald’s.”

  His expression was filled with revulsion. “McDonald’s? And that filled you up so much you couldn’t eat the entree I made for you?”

  I shook my head. “I-I didn’t know you had made it yourself.”

  He nodded. “I made your dinner. I tho
ught it was for Mark and Melinda, so I made sure I looked after that ticket. I wanted it to be perfect for them. It was perfect. But you barely touched it…because your cheeseburger had filled you up and left you so satisfied you couldn’t eat my cuisine.”

  I felt my face flush. “I had fries, too…” I mumbled. “And I like the food at McDonald’s,” I added.

  The look on his face was pure horror. “That is not food. It is overprocessed, unknown ingredients, kept warm on the heating rack for a couple of hours, garbage! You shouldn’t be eating that!”

  I snorted. Didn’t he watch TV? All their commercials gave you the information. “It’s 100% beef, Byron. And I order it with extra pickles, so they make it fresh,” I huffed at him.

  His head fell forward, and I was sure I heard a whimper escape his throat. “Oh my God,” he muttered.

  He stepped closer and thrust out his hand. “Julia, I need you to come with me.”

  I stared at his hand. “What?”

  He moved his hand impatiently. “I need you to come with me. Now.” His face gentled as he saw my confusion. “Please, I won’t bite. I just want to hold your hand.”

  Tentatively, I placed my hand in his, finding an odd sense of comfort as his fingers closed around mine, his large palm encompassing mine easily. Wordlessly, he tugged me beside him, and I followed him into the back door of the restaurant. The kitchen was being cleaned, and Byron continued to lead me through the building, up the stairs, and into a private office.