But she promised

By Tim Smith

She promised me that we’d stay in touch after we both got home.

We met at a romance writers convention. She was new to the novel writing game, but I’d been churning them out for a few years. She had never been to one of these gatherings before and didn’t know anyone. I offered to show her around and introduce her to some of the players. She was alone and so was I. She was also drop dead gorgeous, slight of build with long brunette hair accented by blonde highlights, a cute upturned nose, and the sexiest voice I’d heard in a long time. She looked as though the first heavy gust of wind would whisk her away, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. When she flashed her light blue eyes in my direction, I knew I was in trouble.

She promised to meet me for dinner but she was late. The conversation we shared over prime rib was silly but stimulating, interesting and flirtatious at the same time. I listened while she told me her life story, and all about her hopes of making it big in the world of writing. She also shared a little about the ups and downs of her marriage, and that this weekend getaway was a sort of time-out for both of them. When dinner was over, I suggested a drink in the bar. She promised we’d get together after she spoke with a couple of publishers who had shown interest in her book proposal.

She kept me waiting for an hour, but I didn’t mind. It was worth the wait to share a glass of wine with her and hear that sexy voice massaging each word she spoke. I felt myself being drawn in deeper the longer we talked, like I was in a trance, a sweet, intoxicating spell that I couldn’t break. I didn’t want it to end.

Later that evening, before I left her room for the night, she promised we’d meet for breakfast the next morning. I slept soundly in my empty hotel room, feeling the glow of satisfaction. The only thing more satisfying would’ve been holding her close all night and waking up next to her. I hinted at that after we made love, but she said it wouldn’t look right, both of us leaving her room together at daybreak. Someone might see us and tell her husband. I didn’t argue with her.

The next morning, I waited at the breakfast buffet, but she didn’t show up. After check-out I saw her standing in front of the hotel, waiting for the shuttle that would take her to the airport and out of my life. We talked as long as we could until it was time to say goodbye. She promised she’d write to me after she got home, and I promised that I’d keep our weekend rendezvous a secret. I took my bags to my car and began to feel the ache of loneliness in my gut. As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked back at that same spot where I’d left her standing, hoping to get one last look, one that I could keep pressed in my mental memory book forever.

But she was gone.

And I never heard from her again.