Fairy Tale Flirts 2! 5 Romantic Short Stories Read online

  Fairy Tale Flirts 2!

  5 Romantic Short Stories

  by

  Lisa Scott

  “Sweet Talker”

  “Let Down Your Hair”

  “Wake Me With a Kiss”

  “Wet and Wild”

  “Say My Name”

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Lisa Scott Macdonough

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this short story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of contents

  Sweet Talker

  Let Down Your Hair

  Wake Me With a Kiss

  Wet and Wild

  Say My Name

  Sweet Talker

  Greta looked at Hans and trembled. “It’s so big.”

  One corner of his mouth curled into a wicked grin. “I know.” They were frozen, neither willing to make the first move. This was new to them both.

  “Don’t just sit there, come on!” Greta climbed out of the taxi in front of Neverland Pier and stood there like a dummy. Hans scrambled out of the cab and joined her.

  She’d seen the famous summer amusement park on TV before, but being there in person was a whole other thing. The smell of fried food and sweets filled her nostrils while music floated across the waterway. It was grander than she’d imagined.

  She’d been to the rinky-dink carnivals that set up shop in Goose Valley for the weekend, but they were nothing like this. She was thrilled Hans was there to share this with her. If only he was more than her neighbor. It would be wonderful to be in love at a place like this. Not that Greta wasn’t in love, it was just that Hans had never picked up on her feelings. Or, more likely, he’d chosen to ignore them.

  Hans whistled. “Wow.”

  She tightened her grip on the overnight bag. “Yeah.” The park wasn’t the only thing that had her heart pounding madly. They might be sharing a hotel room later. Was the timing right to change things between them? Once she got him alone in the room, she’d find out.

  A honk from the taxi interrupted her thoughts. They’d already paid the fare, so why was the driver still there? Maybe he was awed by the flashing lights and wonderful smells, too. Then she realized why he was hanging around. “A tip. Did you tip him, Hans?” she whispered, nudging Hans with her elbow.

  Hans shook himself out of his daze and reached for his wallet, fishing out a few dollars. “First time in a taxi,” he laughed, while handing the money to the driver.

  The driver rolled his eyes. “’Cause sticking your heads out the window the entire ride didn’t give that away.” He drove off.

  With Hans in his well-worn jeans and John Deere T-shirt, and she in her cut-off shorts and cowboy boots, they probably did seem like country bumpkins in the city for the first time. Which was exactly what they were. But there was no time to fret about wardrobe choices. They were here to find her mom and his dad before they made the biggest mistake of their lives.

  Greta hesitated before crossing the wide, wooden walkway that led from New Royalton to Neverland Island. She’d never been out of Goose Valley before. Neither had Hans. When she received her mother’s letter explaining that she and Hans’ father wouldn’t be returning from their annual shopping trip—and that they wouldn’t be signing the contract with Golden Egg foods—Greta knew there was only one thing to do. They had to find their parents so they could talk some sense into them. Fifteen minutes after she’d finished reading that note, she’d packed up and headed for the city.

  “Still think this was a bad idea?” Greta asked, taking her first steps across the pier toward the glittery entrance sign to Neverland. She read it out loud. “Where you’ll find your happy ending.”

  The giant letters sparkled in the sun, each one surrounded by colored bulbs. It must be dazzling lit up at night. Although she was nervous about tracking down their missing parents in time, a giddy wave of anticipation rushed through her as she entered this brilliant, bustling place, Hans at her side.

  She longed to slip her hand into his, but she felt sure he didn’t share the same desire that kept her up so many nights gazing out her window counting stars, wondering if the right one could make her wish come true—that Hans could be hers.

  Hans slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed. “I’m not convinced your mother and my father ran off to join the carnival circuit.”

  “The rest of our stock is gone from the cold cellar, which makes me think they intend to sell it. And they could make a killing at a place like this,” she said. “I don’t know where else they would be.”

  “They might decide to come home,” Hans suggested. “Maybe we should wait there.” Greta knew Hans only joined her because he refused to let her travel alone. Overprotective wasn’t a strong enough word. Hans frightened off any man who came within sniffing distance of her, and he was proud of it.

  She gritted her teeth. “We don’t have time to wait. There’s a week left to get them to sign those contracts, or else the deal with Golden Egg Foods is off. And then what happens to us, Hans? We starve.”

  “Now Greta, don’t exaggerate,” Hans said.

  “That deal meant we’ll never have to work again. It’s not every day a huge company comes knocking on your door with a multi-million dollar offer. We have to convince them to sign those papers.” That nervous feeling snuck back into her stomach. “What will we do if we can’t find them in time?”

  He stopped walking and gently wrapped his big hands around her arms. “We keep doing what we’ve been doing all these years, Greta. We’ll handle the canning ourselves. I’ve been working the fields alone for a long time.”

  “Hey, I help with the harvesting, too,” she argued.

  “Yes, you do, and I appreciate it.” He yanked on the end of her ponytail and she batted his hand away. “Greta, I’ll keep raising the crops and you keep canning and selling—and harvesting. We can hire someone to help, if need be.”

  Greta shook her head. “It won’t work. My mother has the recipes. There are several secret ingredients I don’t know about. I can’t do the canning without it. Our goods will taste like everyone else’s at the farmer’s market back in Goose Valley. We’re the only ones who have people from New Royalton flocking to their stand. We’ll lose customers without mother’s recipes.” One of those customers had been a manager from the Golden Egg Foods and fell in love with their pepper relishes and mustard pickles. Not that it mattered now. The deal was probably a bust.

  Hans gave her a one-armed hug; anyone passing by would know they were just friends. “I made a promise to take care of you when your father and brother were killed. I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

  Greta jerked away. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She trembled at his touch.

  “You’ll always be Felix’s little sister.”

  She sighed, but it was true. No matter what she said or did, Hans never saw her for the woman she’d become. At twenty-two, she operated the farm stand by herself—and negotiated the deal with Golden Egg. She wasn’t the skinny, gawky kid she’d been seven years ago when her brother and father died. If only Hans could see that.

  “Come on. We’re wasting time.” She marched ahead of him across the walkway and through the gates, hoping they might f
ind their parents in the sea of people.

  Heads turned as they walked past booths offering pizza and hot dogs, and more exotic options like Middle Eastern food and fancy European desserts. As people stared, she wondered if it was that obvious they weren’t from the city. Then she noticed most of the people staring were female, their eyes fixed on Hans and his tanned muscles, his big blue eyes and wavy blond hair. Greta felt her mouth morphing into a frown. These women weren’t subtle at all. Some were blushing and giggling. One took a picture with her phone, and a few of them whistled.

  Hans didn’t notice. He rubbed his hands together. “We’re going to take time to enjoy this while we’re here, right? I’d really like to go on that Ferris wheel. And I’m starving. We need food.” The smell of grease wafted from a stand, and Hans made a beeline for it. That man had a metabolism like a furnace—it always needed to be fed. She’d love to be the one cooking for him every night.

  Greta followed him and examined the menu board overhead.

  “Deep-fried Twinkies and candy bars?” Hans turned to her with an incredulous grin. “Look at that. Deep fried pickles! We should’ve thought of that.”

  After considering all the choices, Hans ordered them each fried dough. Her mouth was watering by the time he handed it to her. Wouldn’t some of our mustard pickles taste good slathered over a big hunk of this?

  Hot food in her belly loosened her scowl a bit, and they pushed their way through the crowds, checking out the long line of food vendors. Greta turned in a circle, taking in how huge Neverland Island really was. “We’ll probably get lost.”

  “We can follow the crumbs and retrace our steps,” he teased. “Remember we did that when we were looking for your beagle?” Hans broke off a few pieces of the dough and dropped them on the ground as they continued strolling along.

  “Of course I do,” Greta said. Hans was kind enough to leave out the part about Greta running to his house in tears at age fourteen because Digger had disappeared. At the time, she’d barely been able to get the words out.

  Hans and Felix had been playing video games, when she’d barged into the room sobbing with the news.

  Felix had tried to brush her off. “He’ll show up,” he said, never taking his eyes off his game.

  “He won’t. I set out his food this morning and it’s still there.” Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Hans set down his game controller. “You’re really worried, aren’t you? We’ll help you look for him. Come on, Felix.”

  Felix grumbled, but he grabbed his bag of chips and they’d tromped off into the woods. A few hours later, they finally found Digger. He’d fallen into in a deep hole someone had dug and covered with brush.

  Hans had carried Digger home in his arms.

  Greta shook away the bad memory and smiled up at Hans as they walked along, eating their fried dough. “It was Felix’s idea to drop the chips so we wouldn’t get lost.”

  “Well, it didn’t work. The birds ate our trail,” he said.

  Just then, seagulls swooped down and gobbled up the bits of dough from the hot pavement.

  Hans laughed, and Greta’s insides tingled at the sound. She’d dated a few boys in high school, but that’s what they always seemed like to her—goofy boys. Hans was a man. A wonderful man.

  She needed to focus on the more important goal here—finding their parents.

  Music filled the air at Neverland Island, along with bells and buzzers from the games off the midway. If only she could relax. Then maybe she could enjoy this trip and undo the knot of fear that had tangled up her insides ever since opening that letter from her mother. This was very unlike her mother, who kept a happy routine, like serving pot roast every Sunday. And woe to the person who suggested substituting yams for the usual baked potato. Her mother thrived on consistency. That was probably why their farm had been so successful.

  Hans and Greta stopped at the end of the food alley that joined with the midway. Rides lined the huge stretch of asphalt, with side streets jutting from the entire strip. They found a sign with a map of Neverland Island and stopped to examine it. The park featured dozens of rows of vendors selling food, crafts, and merchandise, along with sideshows, arcades and games, an amphitheater for a water show. On the tip of the island was a long stretch of beach dotted with homes and hotels.

  “It’s a big place.” She finished the last bite of dough and brushed off her hands. “Let’s start searching row by row.”

  The two of them walked on, and Hans asked, “What makes you so sure they’re here? We’re a few hours from home.”

  “It’s the biggest carnival around. And my mother always talked about the time her father brought her here as a child. It was one of her favorite memories. Of course, my dad had no interest in a place like this, so we never made the trip.” She stopped in front of a storefront window glittering with costume jewelry. For a brief moment, she imagined it was all hers. And what would you do with this stuff? she wondered. Wear it in the field while you’re picking crops? She was a simple girl. She frowned. Maybe too simple for Hans. Was that the problem?

  His last girlfriend always showed up with full makeup, her hair in perfect waves, and sprayed in place so that it never moved. Hans got his hand stuck in there once. That girl probably never even owned cut-off jeans.

  Greta poked her finger against the window. “Your dad would probably buy her that tiara if she asked.” Do people really wear those?

  Hans chuckled. “Very true. If she wanted to come here, then this is where they’ll be.”

  He walked away from the jewelry shop, and Greta hurried to catch up. “I don’t know why she won’t marry him.”

  Hans looked confused. “Why change things if they’re working? When they get into a fight she goes back to your house, and my dad stays at ours until he cools off.”

  “Things can’t stay the same forever. And clearly something wasn’t working, or they wouldn’t have run off.” Her voice came off angrier than she meant to sound.

  Hans didn’t notice. He probably wasn’t even listening. He was staring at a curious little storefront.

  “Fantasy Candy,” Greta read aloud.

  Hans bolted for the shop, and Greta tried to stop him. “Don’t!” Hans had an insatiable sweet tooth. When he and her brother became too old for trick-or-treating, they’d buy her Halloween haul off of her every year. Greta always went back twice to homes offering peanut butter cups since they were Hans’ favorite candy.

  Hans looked back at her. “It’s a candy shop. Don’t you know me by now?”

  “I’ve just got a bad feeling. Something’s not right.” The store looked like a gingerbread house covered with plastic candies and lights. Big fake suckers were stuck in planters in front of the entrance. Wooden candy cutouts lined the brick walkway to the shop, displaying different sayings: “Lick Me,” “Want a bite?” and “Do you like your candy hard?” Over the top of the entrance, Greta noticed a sign. “Adults only.” She pointed it out to Hans. “Why wouldn’t you let kids in a candy shop?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He ducked through the doorway and disappeared.

  Greta followed. The room was dark, and the walls were covered with glowing neon paintings illuminated by a black light. There were pictures of cartoon women sucking on lollipops and men and women in bed feeding each other candy. Gauzy fabric hung from the ceiling in one corner, and a big, red velvet couch was pushed up against a wall. Candles burned on a table next to it, and the place smelled sweet, sexy, and mysterious. She thought she might choke. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Hans wandered around the room, running his fingers along shelves and studying the displays. He knocked over a package and picked it up. “Candy hand-cuffs. Huh.” At another table, he squatted down for a closer look. “Edible underwear? I don’t understand this. Why would you want panties made out of sugar?” He examined the delicate pink undies. “You suppose it’s for some kind of emergency, so you’ve got something on you just in case y
ou want candy really bad?”

  “I have no idea.” Greta walked over to a display of jarred treats. There were lots that Greta recognized: blow pops, licorice whips, Sugar Daddies. “They’ve got these at the general store back home. They’re not X-rated.”

  “But these are.” Hans stepped back from a table filled with colorful candies.

  Greta went over and reached for a sucker. “A pickle?” She rolled the stick between her fingers, examining it.

  Hans grimaced. “Not exactly, but it does start with a P.”

  Greta dropped it with a shriek. It landed in a basket of suckers shaped like well-endowed breasts.

  A woman stepped out from behind a curtain. “Can I help you?” Her hair was jet black and grazed her bare shoulders. Her lips shone as red as the candy apples they’d seen for sale. She wore a black leather bikini top and mini-skirt, with red and white striped thigh-high socks, which reminded Greta of a candy cane.

  “Help? Oh, no thanks. We were just leaving,” Greta said, backing toward the door, but Hans stood in front of another table, smirking.

  “What?” Greta asked him.

  He held up a chocolate sucker.

  Greta squinted. “Is that a rooster with a…”

  “Cock-a-doodle doo!” the woman trilled. She strode over to Hans and held out her hand. “I’m Candy. Candy Lane. Anything I can get for you? Anything at all?”

  “Seriously? Candy Lane?” Greta asked.

  Candy ignored her, still beaming at Hans. He gripped her hand, grinning like an idiot. “Now I see why this place isn’t for kids,” he said.

  Candy pouted. “And that seems to be the only customers who come here.” She wrinkled her nose. “Kids—yuck. I hate children.” Candy pulled her hand away so she could poke Hans in the chest. “It’s nice to see a young couple looking to add some sugar to their world.”

  “Oh, we’re not a couple,” Hans said with a laugh.

  Candy perked up.

  But Greta’s heart fell. So much for changing their relationship status on this trip. The very idea was comical to him. “We have to be going.”

  Candy crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts. They could’ve been the models for those chocolate suckers. “That’s too bad. I’ve been looking to hire someone just like your handsome friend to hand out samples, lure the ladies in. That’s usually who shops for this stuff. And I’m sure he’d have them lined up out the door.”