Licensed For Love (Short Story) Read Online Free PDF

recommendations.
    With only half an hour to work, I had to move
fast.
    Ben’s favorite meal always got his attention,
so I’d start with that. Luckily, I was one of those
wives-in-the-making who always had extras on-hand, ready to defrost
and nuke.
    Pulling packages of bison meatloaf and fried
corn fritters out of the freezer with one hand, I grabbed a box of
instant mashed potatoes from the cabinet with the other.
    With the microwave on high and the stove’s
right front burner turning bright red, I hurried into the pantry to
grab tonight’s aphrodisiac treats.
    What the hell, I thought, grabbing a couple
avocados and a handful of asparagus too. You can never go wrong
with the fruit of the testicle tree, or the phallic-shaped bliss of
fresh steamed asparagus.
    And now that, in my retirement, I had
invested in Jules’ and her boyfriend Cody’s aphrodisiac produce
market, I always had plenty of these love veggies to rely on. As
the principle owner and financier of Weiss’ Produce and Penis
Foods, I was on it. Or as our slogan said: We’ve got a passion for
produce and a heads-up on the competition.
    Once I’d made the fresh guacamole and
prepared the asparagus for the microwave, I hurried into the
laundry room, which now doubled as my scrapbooking studio.
    Three sheets of cardstock, one pair of edging
scissors, a tube of puffy, metallic glow-in-the-dark fabric paint,
along with a couple of markers, and I was almost ready to roll with
part two of my plan.
    One last-minute trip to Ben’s shed in the
corner of the backyard, and I had everything I needed to make my
heart and nether regions Ben’s primary targets.
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
    Three bites into his meatloaf, and I had Ben
lined-up in the sights of my scope. My love scope, that is, and I
was ready for the kill.
    “Great dinner, honey.”
    He stuffed another corn fritter into his
mouth. Then he shoveled potatoes onto his spoon, followed soon by a
fork-severed spear of asparagus.
    “What’s the occasion?”
    “Well, since I’m about to become a hunting
widow, I thought it would be nice to have a last supper
together.”
    His head came up slowly, like a big buck
catching a hunter’s scent in the passing breeze, determining
whether to bolt back into the woods or carry-on.
    Steady girl, I coached myself. Be patient.
Wait till you get a clear shot.
    “That reminds me, I need to go to the store
and get my hunting license and tags tonight,” Ben announced with
his head back down, grazing from his plate.
    “Speaking of which, here you go. I picked
this up for you today.”
    I slid a plain manila envelope across the
table.
    “What’s this?”
    Judging by the clueless look on his face, if
I hadn’t shoved our anniversary in his face, I’d for sure have been
spending it alone.
    He slit open the envelope with his untouched
dinner knife and pulled out the contents.
    At first, he seemed to be a deer gazing into
blinding headlights. But as he browsed through the items, a wicked
smile formed across his lips.
    “Baby, I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary,”
he said, wearing that pathetic, but frustratingly endearing,
‘uh-oh, I blew it’ expression.
    And damn he wore the look well. It turned me
to mush every time.
    He held up one of the pieces of stock
paper.
    “Is this thing good all season?”
    As he admired the “License for Love” I’d
designed and the tags to go with it, I laughed and nodded my head.
I’d even found one of his old permits in his junk drawer and
precisely copied its format.
    “There is a three tag limit this year,
you know,” he said.
    “Hmm. I’ll have to check with the
conservation officer about that.”
    He opened his arms and motioned for me to
come sit on his lap.
    “Not so fast, Daniel Boone. I’m the outfitter
on this expedition. Give me five minutes and then meet me in the
bedroom.”
    Without so much as a wink, I left him to
finish his meatloaf and veggies.
    While I prepared our evening campsite with
the gear I’d dug out of the