I've been in a romantic kind of mood lately, thus I have succumbed to the charms of "Kissing Day" and it's attendant blogfest.
Here's a scene from the middle of EVANGELINE since I've rewritten it in third person. It's one of my favorites. Enjoy!
****
The neighborhood had changed. Last time she was here, there’d been fields and a few planters’ homes. Now it was one house after another, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder. Evie drove by the four shotgun houses that sat on the property, colorfully painted and in great condition compared to some of their neighbors. Though she zipped past without stopping, she could see the small porches were covered in plants and none of the windows were broken.
Only a few more blocks and Evie arrived at Aristide Dulac’s house, a cheery yellow shotgun. Though he owned the building and the record said he lived here, it was a double. She didn’t know which door to knock on, but she hadn’t come here just to turn around and go home. She parked her bike and knocked on the closest door. Reggae music wafted out of one of the apartments. No one answered, and she knocked again for good measure.
As she took a step away from the first door, the second door opened, spilling the strains of a Bob Marley song into the air. Evie pulled off her helmet and glasses, ready to introduce her self when she froze.
Aristide Dulac-- for this had to be him-- was a dead ringer for his however many greats grandfather, just as tall, lean and gorgeous. His hair was a bit longer, and he had a trim beard, but the resemblance was uncanny.
Her feet wouldn’t move. “Mr. Dulac?” she said at last. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Evie expected him to go inside, or ask what she wanted, but he only stood there staring. She stared back. Her heart hurt looking at him. She wondered if he liked books the same as Jude, or if he loved his mother as much.
When he spoke, Evie felt the vibration of his voice clear down to her toes.
“Evangeline.”
He crossed the distance of the concrete porch between them without his eyes breaking their hold on hers and grabbed her free hand, his rough thumb scouring her knuckles.
“No burns,” Evie murmured, lips already pursed when he pulled her close, a strong hand on her back. In one smooth motion, he gently cradled her neck and crushed his mouth on hers. Her lips parted and she sighed.
Just as abruptly, his embrace ended, and his gaze darted up and down the street. He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her inside.
Though the apartment was Spartan, there were a few pieces she remembered from the old house. He shut the door. Evie turned to see him pressed up against it.
“How did you find me?” Though his head was lowered, he maintained eye contact, as if he still couldn’t believe she was here.
But she was right where she belonged. He was supposed to be dead, not posing as his own descendant. Had he time-traveled, too? What was going on here?
Only a few more blocks and Evie arrived at Aristide Dulac’s house, a cheery yellow shotgun. Though he owned the building and the record said he lived here, it was a double. She didn’t know which door to knock on, but she hadn’t come here just to turn around and go home. She parked her bike and knocked on the closest door. Reggae music wafted out of one of the apartments. No one answered, and she knocked again for good measure.
As she took a step away from the first door, the second door opened, spilling the strains of a Bob Marley song into the air. Evie pulled off her helmet and glasses, ready to introduce her self when she froze.
Aristide Dulac-- for this had to be him-- was a dead ringer for his however many greats grandfather, just as tall, lean and gorgeous. His hair was a bit longer, and he had a trim beard, but the resemblance was uncanny.
Her feet wouldn’t move. “Mr. Dulac?” she said at last. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Evie expected him to go inside, or ask what she wanted, but he only stood there staring. She stared back. Her heart hurt looking at him. She wondered if he liked books the same as Jude, or if he loved his mother as much.
When he spoke, Evie felt the vibration of his voice clear down to her toes.
“Evangeline.”
He crossed the distance of the concrete porch between them without his eyes breaking their hold on hers and grabbed her free hand, his rough thumb scouring her knuckles.
“No burns,” Evie murmured, lips already pursed when he pulled her close, a strong hand on her back. In one smooth motion, he gently cradled her neck and crushed his mouth on hers. Her lips parted and she sighed.
Just as abruptly, his embrace ended, and his gaze darted up and down the street. He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her inside.
Though the apartment was Spartan, there were a few pieces she remembered from the old house. He shut the door. Evie turned to see him pressed up against it.
“How did you find me?” Though his head was lowered, he maintained eye contact, as if he still couldn’t believe she was here.
But she was right where she belonged. He was supposed to be dead, not posing as his own descendant. Had he time-traveled, too? What was going on here?
****
Here are some links to the other Kissing Blogfest participants. I'll be updating as I find more by my blogging buddies! Dig out your lip-gloss, folks, it's going to be a long day!
Karen Denise
Tamika
Sherrinda
Katie G.
Jennifer S.
Wendy Sparrow
T. Anne
Stephanie T.
Elana J.
Jade
Renée C.
Stephanie
Have a loverly day, y'all!
Karen Denise
Tamika
Sherrinda
Katie G.
Jennifer S.
Wendy Sparrow
T. Anne
Stephanie T.
Elana J.
Jade
Renée C.
Stephanie
Have a loverly day, y'all!
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