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kindergartens?
    This time I was ready for his kisses. He was in my big reclining chair by the fireplace when he pulled me into his lap and  kissed me with all warmth and passion he’d been saving up. I think he was surprised at the fires he’d kindled deep in me. His hands were in my hair and his lips covered my face. I returned his kisses and then some. We must have stayed in that chair for an hour.
    My sister was matron of honor at our garden wedding that spring, and Shauna was the flower girl. Even though it was a small wedding, it was very merry.
    We have a good life, the best, in our small town. I found my niche in the community, first by teaching that first year and getting to know people on my own. And guess what? I became famous for my Chinese dinners. Of course it helped that there was no Chinese restaurant around to compete with me. When I quit teaching to have our first child, I was known on my own in town as the Number One kindergarten teacher and not just as Steve’s wife. Steve’s business is flourishing, and allows us to travel around too, showing his latest designs for furniture.
    Of course, my sister takes full credit for my getting married. She says it was only because she dragged me out that day to the shopping center that I met Steve at all, and I guess she’s right. Susan, too, thinks she’s the one who’s responsible for getting us together. We let them both think so, if it makes them happy. But no one is as happy as we are.      
     
    THE END

 
     
     
    Here are some full-length romance novels by Carol Grace you might like.
     
     
    Welcome to Paradise
        The day was hot, the trail was long and her suitcase was so heavy she almost regretted packing her portable espresso machine. But a summer without good coffee? Unthinkable. Especially a summer where the days are warm but the nights are cool. Chloe rested her fanny against a pine tree to catch her breath and unfolded a piece of tattered, yellowed paper that she took from her pocket.
     
Paradise Hot Springs, where the Ute Indians once wintered near warm thermal waters, invites tourists to enjoy warm days and cool nights in the mountains of Colorado. Mineral waters known to cure gout, obesity, broken hearts and old gunshot wounds. Guests will be met by stagecoach. El. 7500 ft. Your genial host and proprietor: Horatio W. Hudson. Est. April 1912.
 
    "Where is the stagecoach?" she muttered. "And where is the genial host?" She knew the answer to that one. Great-Grandpa Horatio Hudson was dead at age ninety-seven. And Paradise Springs was hers now. If she could find it. There had been one hand-carved wooden sign that pointed the way, and then nothing. Just a narrow trail overgrown with blackberry thorns and nettles.
    Nobody told her she'd have to leave her car at the entrance. Nobody told her she'd be walking miles uphill in suede chukka boots.
    "Buy boots," they'd said. They didn't say what kind.
    "Take your camera." It was hanging around her neck like an albatross.
    "Have a great vacation." She sighed. Maybe once she got there.
    After another two hours of wading through a shallow creek, spanning fallen trees and climbing at least another thousand feet in altitude, Chloe was dripping with perspiration and gasping for breath. For two cents she would have thrown her suitcase over a cliff, coffeemaker and all.
    But then she saw it in the distance. Steam rising in the clear blue sky. With one last burst of energy she dragged herself forward to the end of the trail. And there it was: Paradise Hot Springs in all its glory.
    A group of dilapidated log cabins at the edge of a clearing.
    A huge, empty pool, cracked and stained with orange.
    An abandoned wooden bathhouse.
    The pungent smell of minerals in the air.
    She set her suitcase in the clearing, left her camera on top of it, and walked to the bathhouse. From the looks of the place, this was the end of the road. And the end of her dream.
    She pushed and the door swung open on rusty hinges.