Denise GORE Long
Eugene coughed, waving a hand to disperse the purple smoke that always accompanied his escape. He found himself in a parlor, a woman asleep on a settee. Her head and arm splayed onto the table beside her, a book precariously perched off the edge. His teapot lay on the floor, lid askew.
Startled, the woman sat up, grabbed the book, and heaved it at his head. Fortunately, it missed its mark. “Who…who are you and why are you in my house?”
He proffered a bow. “Eugene Collinsworth, second son to the Viscount of Pembroke, at your service. Apparently, I was released from that accursed teapot when it fell from the table.” He nodded to the silver-plated vessel. “And you are?”
“Calling 911.”
Eugene sighed. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It has never ended well.”
“Well, you’re not me. But you must be a figment of my imagination, so I won’t.” She eyed him with understandable suspicion. “Never should’ve had that gas station sushi.”
“Miss… I’m sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage. Since there’s no one about to make a proper introduction, might I have your name?”
“Mina.” She glanced at the toppled teapot and bit her lip. Her shoulders began to shake, and an inelegant snort accelerated into raucous laughter. Eventually, she gasped and wiped her eyes. “Let me guess, you’re Eugene the Genie. Please tell me I get three wishes.”
“Regrettably, I’m not that sort of genie. My curse isn’t about how I may assist you, but rather how you may assist me.”
“Bummer, but I’ll play. What do you need me to do?”
“Kiss me as if you mean it.”
“Come again?
Sigh. “The gypsy woman who cursed me believed me to be toying with her granddaughter’s affections. Consequently, I can only regain my humanity if I’m kissed with romantic intent.”
“And were you? Toying with her affections?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He smirked.
“I see. So, you’re a rake.” She frowned at his scoff. “What? I read historical romances.”
“I’m simply misunderstood, madam.”
“How many times have you…”
“Been released? Twice before. The curse allows three chances to become human before I fade away. Hopefully, the third time’s the charm.” He winked.
She rolled her eyes. “What happened the first two times?”
“She was a grandmotherly sort and I reminded her of her son. Not conducive to romantic feelings, I’m afraid.”
Another snort. “Next?”
He shrugged. “We didn’t suit.”
“Wasn’t drawn to the whole Victorian vibe you’ve got going on? Hard to believe.”
He frowned and tugged a sleeve. “I assure you, my valet dressed me at the height of fashion.”
She narrowed her eyes and considered him carefully. “If all you need is a kiss, I’m game. Especially if it gets you out of my house. Historical romances come in handy, you know. I can swoon with the best of them. That should convince the powers that be of romantic intent.”
Eugene noted the loose brunette curls falling about her shoulders. Her head tilt showcased her swan-like neck rising above her close-fitting bodice. And even while sitting, she wore her trousers well. Such an improvement over the women’s voluminous apparel of his time. It would be no hardship to experience Miss Mina’s kiss. Curse or no curse.
She stood and tucked her hair behind one ear. She regarded him from beneath her thick lashes. Green eyes. Beautiful, intelligent eyes. Something inside him quickened, stronger than he’d ever experienced before. This was beyond simple attraction.
“Let me ask you, Eugene. Do you, yourself, have romantic intent? Perhaps only a two-way street will satisfy this curse. You do know that’s different from rakish intent, right?”
He tipped her chin, rubbing a thumb along her cheek. “As of this moment, I do.”
His breath caught, and not just because the touch of her skin made his thumb tingle. He could see her freckle beneath his fingertip as if it were an apparition. Time was running out.
“But what of you, Miss Mina? Could you ever consider aligning yourself with a man such as I?”
He noted a hint of vulnerability before she said, “You aren’t the only one having trouble finding a match. Dating in the 21st century is no picnic either. My last date brought his mother along. The one before that scolded me for not eating my broccoli.” She wrinkled her nose. “He was concerned I wouldn’t get enough roughage.”
Mina stepped towards him and placed her palms flat against his chest. His body shimmered where she touched. She raised her chin and met his gaze, then closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Could I take a chance on a chivalrous, handsome man from the past? I’m not sure. Maybe this kiss will tell us what we both need to know.”
Outside his teapot, time had never before stood still.
She raised an eyebrow, daring him to close the distance between their lips. Anticipation gripped his heart and uncertainty stole his breath. He could feel the life force seep from his body. He barely summoned the strength to take her in his arms. Could this work? Even if it didn’t, he liked that kissing Mina would be his swan song.
As his mouth brushed then pressed against hers, a warmth spread from their lips. The curse that bound him to his teapot began to unravel. He could feel the transformation as if he were shedding an old skin. Their heartbeats synced, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.
And then, with a burst of light and energy, power surged through his body. The curse was broken.
As he gazed into Mina’s eyes, a swell of gratitude filled his soul. The kiss had not only rid him of the curse but had also opened his heart to the promise of love. And in that moment, as he held Mina in his arms with wonder in her gaze, he knew the future was bright.
It was only natural that I would evolve into a romance author. I handwrote my first book at the age of 15, sequestered for the summer in our home’s finished basement. I had turned it into a veritable writer’s nest and hunkered down to unleash my muse. I have often wondered where that first effort wound up, but I remember it reflected all my teenage angst and a theoretical view of true love.
Now, many, many, so many years and life experiences later, I’ve returned to my love of writing. While my writing process has evolved from using pen and paper to a keyboard, I still harbor the love of romance and the hope it brings to our hearts.
Spark Flash Fiction 