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Who Named It Love? Part 1
by D. Savannah George

He had a very unremarkable face, capped by a thatch of common brown hair, which rested atop an equally ordinary body. Despite his plainness, many women found him incredibly handsome, and there always seemed to be one or two swooning at his feet.

What made him handsome was his smile -- the way wrinkles and dimples formed on his normally smooth face, and the way each smile made his eyes light up. He had a smile that turned stone statues to dust.

Charles Layton Crafton, despite the many swooning women, lived alone in a modest house he rarely cleaned, situated in a pretty neighborhood on the outskirts of Leesville. He was the quintessential bachelor.

For Mr. Crafton's main fault (if we may call it that) lay in his horrible luck with women.

His mother had long since given up on grandchildren, resigned that her son would never marry.

And not that it was Charles' fault, completely; he had brought home to his mother many a fine young female of suitable age and family, only to have his mother turn up her fine, aristocratic nose. There was always something wrong with the girl; from hair that was too short to a career that was too low on the social scale.

So while she despaired of her son ever finding the perfect girl, Charles was convinced that he would eventually find her, yet his mother would still not approve.

One fine spring day he lay in bed, contemplating playing hooky from his job as a lawyer. The sun was just that right color of yellow-gold to inspire him to stay a-bed until noon, then get up, dress leisurely and have a picnic in the park. He dilly-dallied around until it struck him that he had scheduled a meeting with a client; by then he had only minutes to shower, dress and breakfast before he absolutely had to leave. With a sinking heart he realized that unless he left immediately he would be dreadfully, dreadfully late.

So it was that he simply ran wet fingers through his hair, splashed on a little cologne, and put on the first suit he saw hanging in his closet. (Never mind that the tie he grabbed didn't match.)

He ran out to his car, forgetting his attache in his haste, then leaving his keys on the counter after picking up his attache. By the time he had everything he needed, got in his car and had it started properly, he was so flustered he threw it in reverse and flew out of the driveway without bothering to look behind him.

A screeching noise, and he was dead-stopped.

"Oh, dear," he said.

He stepped out of his car, and looked at its rear-end, crumpled like an accordion. Then he looked at the bright green car embedded in his own, then his eyes found the lady inside, just sitting there.

"Oh, dear," he said again, and went to help her out.

Part 2 >


Copyright © D. Savannah George. All rights reserved. Please do not steal my work. If you would like to reprint, please ask permission.