The Mother Road

  Upon closer inspection, the present isn’t wrapped well at all and it makes me laugh to see that he just smashed everything together, not bothering to pinch the corners.

  “Nice wrapping job,” I say sarcastically.

  A shy, yet adorable smile pushes past his beard as he grabs the back of his neck. “Haven’t had much practice in giving people things.”

  And just like that, my heart dissolves into pieces and all I want to do is hug him.

  “Open it,” he says nervously.

  I undo the paper and open the slim box. Under tissue paper is a picture frame, so I pull it out and flip it over. It’s a simple black frame, but what’s inside has me wanting to cry all over again. It’s a selfie of Porter at Cadillac Ranch, and behind him, written in his handwriting are the words, “I’m hers.”

  Tears blur my vision as I look at him. His hand comes to my cheek and softly he says, “I’m sorry, Marley for making you think what we had the last week was nothing but a fling. I was scared, nervous to give my heart over to you when I was unsure of my own future. A fling was the farthest thing from what we shared, at least to me it was.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “Growing up, I always knew there was something special about you. It wasn’t until your mom left me this letter,” he pulls a letter out from his back pocket and places it on my lap, more tears stream down my face, “That I realized what was so special about you.” He grabs my hands and brings them to his lips for a brief kiss. “These hands, they were made to protect my heart, to guide me through life, and to take care of me like your mom used to.”

  I can feel my heart beat inside my throat as he speaks, his soul bleeding out in front of me. Uncertainty from the unknown and courage from my mom’s letter flow through him as he continues to talk to me, stealing my heart one word at a time.

  “This picture says it all. When I spoke to you at The Cadillac Ranch, do you remember what I told you? That you should take the opportunity to make a statement of that moment in time in your life, to make a proclamation to travelers around the world.”

  I nod my head, unable to speak.

  “Writing that wasn’t just a moment in time for me; that’s how I’ve felt since the day I met you. You’re everything to me, Marley. From the pig-tailed girl who used to follow us around, to the woman you are today, you’ve owned me.” He touches his forehead with mine and speaks softly. “I’m madly in love with you, Marley. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I’m here now, hoping you will forgive me for being a massive dick and not telling you how I feel.”

  Placing the photo down on the nightstand, I take a deep breath and jump, just like my mom told me to. I grab his cheeks, marvel in the way his beard feels against my palms, and bring his lips to mine. Gently, I kiss him, loving the way he relaxes under me and breathes a sigh of relief.

  Before I let the kiss go too deep, I pull away and kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you, Porter Smith. Always have, always will.”

  “Fuck, I’m relieved to hear that,” he nervously laughs. “Because I’m going to need a place to stay. Despite what this girl once said to me, my Man Soap was picked up by the Pederson Group.”

  I scream and hug Porter, knocking him down so he’s laying across my bed. “Seriously?”

  He smiles brightly and nods. “Yeah, they loved it. I guess some beauty blogger raved about how she would marry a guy who used the soap.”

  I give him a skeptical eye. “I don’t think I used the word marry.”

  “Well, I have time to change that,” he winks.

  I throw my body at him once again, kissing him endlessly while his hands work under the multiple layers of clothing I’m wearing.

  “Is this real right now?” I ask. “Are you really here?”

  “I am, baby.” He runs his lips down my throat. “You never answered me, can I move in?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What?” he pulls away, looking hurt.

  I run my finger over his jaw as I speak. “You see, I plan on spending many hours in bed with you, and having a roommate kind of puts a damper on that. How about we find our own place?”

  “I don’t know, can you handle my beard clippings?”

  “Can you handle my red dot specials?”

  Laughing, he kisses me again. “I think it’s an even trade.”

  EPILOGUE

  **MARLEY**

  “Why is it so hot in here?” Paul complains, waving one of my magazines in front of his face.

  “Maybe because you decided to eat half a turkey, an entire pie, mashed potatoes, and a can of cranberries,” I point out, staring at his little beer belly.

  Paul pats his stomach and says, “Got to keep up with the wifey.”

  “Oh, so you’re growing a baby in your belly as well?”

  “A food one, yeah.”

  “So, in three months when Savannah gives birth to your child, what do you plan on doing?”

  Paul doesn’t even hesitate as he says, “Grab some colon cleanse and take the biggest shit of my life.”

  “Why did I even ask?” I roll my eyes.

  Porter leans in and kisses my ear before whispering, “Talked yourself into that one, baby.”

  We’ve been living in California together for over a year now, making soap and blogging about it. Man Soap has taken off, despite my earlier idiotic predictions. Since we live in Los Angeles, it’s really been well-received by male celebrities. They love the organic ingredients, the non-residue feel of it, and the way it smells—I can’t blame them there. Every time Porter steps out of the shower, I have to remind myself that he is not a penis machine handing out orgasms; he is in fact a man with a healthy libido that needs at least ten minutes to recover before getting back in the lady zone.

  Dad started a Pumpkin Patch on the farm last year with his best friend Thomas and it was a huge success. This year, they added a corn maze and a pumpkin canon. When he’s not running the farm, he’s managing his hired hands, who spend every morning milking the goats for Porter’s Man Soap. The farm is doing better than ever.

  Then there’s Paul. He proved to everyone that he in fact has a nut sac and impregnated his wife. He’s taken baby weight to a new level, eating for five. Porter can’t help but poke him in the belly every chance he gets.

  We decided to host Thanksgiving out in California this year, inviting the family out to visit for the first time since we moved in together. Paul still has a problem seeing Porter kiss me, but he will get over it. There is no way I will be missing out on his kisses just because Paul’s uncomfortable.

  “Do you have any Funyuns? I need something salty.” Paul gets up and starts looking around the kitchen.

  “He’s adorable,” Savannah smiles and holds onto her belly.

  I glance over at Paul, who has found our Funyun stockpile and is now sitting on our counter, eating away, crumbs falling all over his shirt and sticking in his beard. Savannah has some kind of rose colored glasses on because there is no way anyone in their right mind would find that adorable.

  “The place really looks good,” Dad compliments. “I like what you’ve done with the mantel.”

  I walk over to where he’s standing and wrap my arm around him. Above the mantel, we hung the letters mom wrote to Porter and myself in matted frames, and then underneath them we added Porter’s picture at Cadillac Ranch, the picture my mom gave me, and a picture of the day Porter proposed to me on the beach. It’s a little ode to our relationship…where we came from and who we are now.

  “She would be so proud of you, Buttons. So damn proud of you.” He kisses my head five times and then squeezes me tight before letting Porter take his place.

  Taking my hand in his, he kisses my engagement ring and looks in my eyes. “When are you going to let me make you a Smith?”

  “You tell me,” I wrap my hands around his waist, loving the way his muscles feel under my touch. Unlike Paul, Porter has embraced the LA lifestyle, getting lost in long runs on the beach, shi
rtless of course, and learning to ride the waves. His brown hair has some sun streaks in it now, making him that much hotter and the bronze to his skin only defines his muscles even more. He’s a force to be reckoned with when we walk along the boardwalk, and guess what, ladies? He’s all mine!

  Growing up, I would never have imagined being engaged to Porter Smith, let alone sharing an apartment with him in California, but here we are. All it took was some encouragement from up above and for Porter to finally stop trying to save me and to actually save himself.

  “Let’s go to the courthouse right now, baby. I’m ready.”

  I giggle into his shoulder as he pulls me in for a hug. “I can’t do that; you know that. How about a spring wedding on the farm, under Oakey? That way Mom can be with us.”

  Porter lifts my chin and kisses my lips lightly. “I think that’s a perfect idea.”

  A large belch breaks Porter and me apart as Funyuns fly at us. Paul is standing inches away from our embrace, staring us down, and eating Funyuns out of the bag.

  “What’s a perfect idea?” he asks, looking between us, onion breath rolling off his tongue.

  “Dude, way to ruin the moment.” Porter pushes him in the arm.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Paul turns to my dad and tosses him the bag, while he wipes his fingers off on his pants. “Let’s get our Would you Funyun? on.”

  Savannah, Paul, and my dad circle around the table, preparing for an epic battle, while I pull Porter into my chest for one last kiss.

  “Kiss me,” I say, my lips right next to his.

  “Gladly, baby.”

  He grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger and kisses me deeply, working his lips along mine, casually slipping in his tongue.

  “Gross, come on, Marley. I just ate a turkey, spare a guy.”

  Laughing, I pull away and whisper, “I hope you savored that kiss because whatever happens after this is fair game. Prepare to go down, Smith.”

  “Love isn’t going to save me in this game?”

  “This is the only time my love can’t help you. You’re on your own, handsome. I hope you’re prepared.”

  “Ruthless,” he smiles, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me in for one more kiss.

  It might have taken us a long journey to get to where we are today, but I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Like my dad said, the decisions I made in my life molded me into the person I am today. I am stronger, more confident, and happier than ever. Porter has enriched my life and taught me how love isn’t just about living your life with another person. Like my mom said, it’s about fusing your soul with another.

  THE END

  Keep clicking through for a sneak peek at chapter one from The Virgin Romance Novelist!

  If you enjoyed The Mother Road, check out some of my other romantic comedies…

  The Virgin Romance Novelist

  Newly Exposed

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  The Virgin Romance Novelist

  Meghan Quinn

  Chapter One

  The Briar Patch

  Her bosom heaved at an alarming rate as his rough hand found its way down to her soft, yet wiry briar patch…

  “Briar patch? What the hell are you writing?”

  “Jesus!” I screamed, as I slammed my computer screen of my laptop shut. “Henry, you can’t just walk up on me and start reading my stories.”

  “Stories?” he asked, while creasing his brow. “Bosom, briar patch? Are you writing a sex scene?”

  “Why, yes. In fact, I am,” I said, while sticking my chin up in the air.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What the hell are you referring to as a briar patch?”

  Feeling the heat of his question start to show on my face, I turned from him in my chair and stacked up my notes so they were neatly put together. Briar patch was a well-respected term to use to refer to a lady’s’ private area, at least that’s what my mother taught me.

  “Rosie, what were you referring to?”

  Clearing my throat and with my chest puffed out, I looked him in the eyes and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was referring to a lady’s peaceful pleasure garden.”

  I watched as Henry carefully studied me with those blue green eyes of his that have spent the last six years studying me and my eccentricities. He was my first ever true friend, and he accepted me for who I was the first day we met: a homeschooled, sheltered, naïve girl being thrown into her first day of college.

  Finally, he threw his head back and laughed, causing me to tense immediately; even though we were best friends, I still felt self-conscious about my lack of “modern verbiage.”

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, while holding my notebook close to my chest.

  “Rosie, please tell me you don’t call a lady’s vagina her pleasure garden.”

  “Henry,” I hushed him.

  That garnered another laugh from him as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and walked me out of my room of the apartment we shared together with our other roommate, Delaney.

  “Rosie, if you can’t say vaginay out loud, then there is no way you will be able to write about throbbing penises and aroused nipples.”

  Heat washed through me at the mention of a throbbing penis, something I’ve never experienced firsthand. The only penises I’ve seen were courtesy of Tumblr and some careful Googling. I would rather study one in person, because from what I could see from the Internet and what I’ve read in other romance novels, they had a mind of their own…twitching and rising when aroused. I was fascinated to see an actual boner take place. What would happen if I touched it? That was a question that was constantly on my mind.

  Growing up, I was very much sheltered by my parents. I was homeschooled and spent many days on the beach or in my room reading. Anything written by Jane Austen was my go-to book, until I found one of my mother’s dirty novels in her night stand. We didn’t talk about sex, ever, so it fascinated me to read a book about heaving breasts and thick bulges. I couldn’t help it; I was hooked.

  Ever since then, I’ve been reading romance novels. When I was young, I would only read in the library, so I was never caught by my mom, and I got away with it. During college, I focused on my school work, so it wasn’t until I graduated that I started reading again, feeding the passion for romance inside of me.

  “Hey, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Delaney, my best friend and roommate asked as she looked at me with her hand on her robe-covered hip and her hair tucked up into a towel.

  “Umm, no,” I said with an innocent smile. When did Delaney even show up? “What were you saying?”

  Rolling her eyes, Delaney repeated herself, “Have you started writing your romance novel again?”

  The way Delaney said romance novel in her haughty voice was a little frustrating. I had known Henry and Delaney since my freshman year in college, where we met at freshman orientation and found out we were all majoring in English. For those four years, we had the same classes, same schedules and same housing. We moved off campus after our freshman year and lived in a small three bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, where we currently still live.

  Unluckily for me, the walls are thin, the space is tight, and I unfortunately get to know every single person my roommates bring home on an intimate level. Henry was a ladies’ man, no surprise there, given his tanned skin, blue-green eyes and brown hair that was styled just right. Delaney, on the other hand
, had a couple of relationships throughout college, but was now serious with her latest boo, Derk. Yes, Derk. Hideous name, especially when it’s screamed at the top of Delaney’s lungs as her headboard slams against my wall.

  Now that we’ve graduated, we’re still living together, but going our separate ways in the work force. Henry got a job with one of the top marketing firms, Bentley Marketing, editing ads, and Delaney is working as a freelance writer for Cosmopolitan. She started writing articles about anything from haircuts for the summer to how to maximize your orgasm count in a night. I had that article saved in my notebook, as research.

  Me, well, I wasn’t as lucky when it came to the job force and was unfortunately offered a job at Friendly Felines, where I write about the new and upcoming clumping formulas in cat litter. Our offices are located in Manhattan, but in the smallest of buildings, where my boss insists upon having a gaggle of unneutered and randy cats, who seem to be in heat every day. Have you ever listened to a cat whine from needing a little attention when in heat? Yeah, sounds like its dying. Try writing in an environment like that. I’m a walking fur ball when I leave work.

  To keep myself from ending up as a crazy cat lady who doesn’t mind when she eats thirty percent cat hair with each meal, I decided to write a romance novel. I’m the girl who lives in fantasies where love always prevails and a hero is just waiting around the corner to swoop in on his white horse to save you. Given my love for love and my ability to get lost in my writing, I didn’t think it would be so hard to write my first romance, given the fact that it’s my favorite genre, but I forgot about one little speed bump in that plan. I was still a virgin.