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First Edition Design Publishing - Ruth Kipnis

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114 pages

English

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Description

Can an attraction develop into anything more given a twenty year age difference, religious conflicts, and family objections?A well to do widowed business man nearing retirement meets a French widow twenty years his junior. Their business arrangement becomes something more than casual. The differences in age, religion and family present many ups and downs to a developing romance. A trip to Paris to meet her family sets them on a rocky road to marriage. Will it ever happen with all the twists and turns in their relationship? Will they live happily ever after or part because of unresolved differences?

Sujets

Romance

Informations

Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	01 novembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781622879984
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A French Connection
A Novel By
Ruth Kipnis
A French Connection
Copyright ©2015 Ruth Kipnis

ISBN 978-1622-879-97-7 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-879-98-24EBOOK

LCCN 2015948326

August 2015

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .
There is never a time
or place for true love.
It happens accidently,
in a heartbeat, in a
single flashing,
throbbing moment.

Sarah Dessen
The Truth About Forever
Dedication

I was fortunate enough to fall in love and marry a wonderful man who, throughout our lives together, encouraged me to pursue any over-the-top dream I had. Which is how we ended up raising thoroughbred racehorses in our backyard and how I started writing. His only demand was if I was going to pursue a dream, I had to put my heart and soul into it. Even though my husband is gone now, I still filter my endeavors through his prism and hope this story would have pleased him.
Acknowledgement

Anyone, like myself, who thinks they can write a novel without the help of an editor, is kidding themselves. I may be able to create the story, but the corrections to content, punctuation, and flow are the art of the editor; therefore my heartfelt thanks to Sue Clark, a joy to work with and a good friend.

If commas were dollars Sue would be a millionaire by now.
A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it - A song's not a song 'til you sing it - Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay - Love isn't love 'til you give it away!

Oscar Hammerstein II
Sound of Music
Chapter 1

I awoke to the sound of thunder. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand it read 6:30. Somehow my brain hadn’t received the, I’ve Retired, message.
I got up, headed for the bedroom windows and pulled back the drapes. The rain was coming down in sheets. No surprise for the end of January.
I stared out at the rain and wondered what I was going to do today. My Saturday golf foursome and the two days I’d committed to my office were not going to be enough to fill my days. I’d retired at the end of December knowing I had more than the financial means to support myself. I thought the time had come to explore the things I’d missed out on all those years -- the so-called bucket list. The only problem was, I hadn’t figured out what those things were, as yet.
I thought a shower would feel good. I looked around the bathroom thanking God the cleaning lady was coming in a few hours. I let the hot water run down my body until I’d steamed up the entire bathroom, something I’d get hell for if my wife were still alive.
Wiping the steam off the mirror with a towel, I looked at my reflection. Was this grey-haired guy really me? Where had all the years gone. I smiled, a wide grin. Yes, they were all my own teeth and I’d avoided the middle-age spread. Thursday afternoon racquetball and Saturday’s 18 holes of golf could take some credit for my fit appearance. Not bad for 65 next October. I sure looked better than most of my peers. I ran the comb through my wet hair happy to still have a full head of iron-grey hair.
I started to shave when the phone rang. Who the hell would be calling this time of the morning? I wiped off the shaving cream with a towel and picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end said, “Mr. Feinberg?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Maria, Mr. Feinberg. I’m sorry, but I can’t come to clean your house today. My baby is sick and I got nobody to take care of him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Maria. Will you be here tomorrow?”
“No. I have another house to clean tomorrow. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“Two weeks. The house is a mess.”
“Sorry, Mr. Feinberg.”
I heard the click as the phone went dead. Shit. What do I do now? I replaced the receiver noticing the accumulation of dust on the nightstand.
I finished shaving, dressed and went downstairs. I needed a cup of coffee. Turning on the lights in the kitchen, I grabbed the coffee pot, and took it to the sink to fill with water when I saw the dishes and the mess I’d left from last night’s dinner for Maria to clean up. Putting down the coffee pot, I opened the dishwasher. Full. I slammed it shut, grabbed my rain slicker off the hook by the back door, and with the car keys and my wallet in hand, decided to have breakfast at my golf club. The damn dishes would have to wait.
Today was the last straw. I’d had enough. I didn’t need this big house. I sure didn’t need the upkeep. Time to make a change.
Chapter 2

The rain hadn’t stopped when I reached the parking lot of the club house. Finding a spot to park was easy for once. No one was going to be playing golf in this weather.
I hurried to the covered portico, shook the rain off my slicker and entered the front door. The hardwood floors, wood paneled walls, golf memorabilia, and large trophy case dedicated to club championships greeted me. I felt at home.
To the right, as I entered, was the pro shop. To the left was the nineteenth hole. I walked past the long oak bar, nodded at the few members seated on bar stools and headed for the dining area. The room was decorated with dark green walls and white baseboards. Chairs had been upholstered in a bright-red scotch plaid. Autographed pictures of famous golfers like Sammy Sneed, Ben Hogan, Jack Nicklaus, Bobby Jones, and Tiger Woods covered the walls.
I heard my name called from one of the tables in the back. Looking up, I saw one of my old friends waving at me.
“Hey, Norm,” he shouted. “Over here. Pull up a chair and join us.”
“Hi, Dolph. No golf today I see.”
“Yeah, Norm, we got washed out. I’m sure you know the rest of these guys.”
“You bet. Sam, how goes it? Rich, haven’t seen you in ages.”
Having been a member of the club for over twenty-five years and treasurer for four years, I knew most of the members.
“How’s retirement going, Norm? You keeping busy?”
“Well, Dolph, its only semi-retirement so far. My partner, Ed, is working Tuesday through Thursday and I’m holding down the fort on Monday and Friday until our junior partners completely buy us out.”
“You should join us for breakfast. We meet and eat here every weekday morning,” Sam said. “My wife tells me she married me for better or worse but not for lunch. So I’m required to be out of the house until mid-afternoon.”
“Yeah, we play golf after breakfast, that is if it isn’t raining. But what are you doing here, Norm? Don’t remember seeing you at the club except for Saturday tee off.”
“Christ, Rich, the cleaning lady didn’t show up, the house is a mess, and I’ve just about had enough. I figured if I didn’t get out of the house I’d blow my stack.”
Rich turned to me and said, “Can’t understand what you’re doing in that big house all by yourself, anyway.”
“I can’t either, Rich, but I think I’m about to make some changes.”
The waitress arrived to take my order.
“Number three,” I said, handing her the menu. “Over easy with bacon.”
The conversation continued with a lot of “did you know” and “did you hear.” Whoever said men don’t gossip don’t know their ass from a hot rock.
I finished breakfast and decided I’d better go home and make the best of a bad situation. I told the guys goodbye. “See ya on the course.”
Chapter 3

I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom in a haphazard manner and thought about my breakfast encounter as I threw bath towels in the washing machine. Eating breakfast with the same guys every morning was not how I wanted to spend my so-called golden years. That’s when I decided to call my partner and friend, Ed Ryan.
Dorothy, the receptionist answered. “F and R Accounting. May I help you?”
“Hi, Dorothy, is Ed in?”
“Yes, Mr. Feinberg. I’ll connect you.”
I waited for Ed to come on the line. We’d been best friends and business partners for over twenty years.
I heard a click and Ed saying, “Hi, Norm. What’s up?”
“I’m going to look into selling the house, Ed. You have any real estate connections? I can’t think of anyone I know at the club who’s a realtor.”
“The only guys I know, Norm, are in the commercial field. Let me ask around and see which firm has the best record in home sales around here. It seems strange not seeing you around the office, old buddy. I hope you’re enjoying the free time. See you for golf on Saturday if it doesn’t rain. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything about an agent. But I agree. It’s about time you stopped rattling around by yourself in that big house.”
Two weeks went by before Ed got back to me with the name of Merit Real Estate Company. I called them once Ed hung up and told the receptionist I was interested in selling my house and wanted to speak to an agent.
“How soon are you considering selling, Sir?”
“Now.”
“I see. Let me arrange an appointment to have one of our agents familiar with your neighborhood meet you at your home. When would it be convenient?”
I gave her the address and set up an appointment for 10:00 the following Wednesday morning.
I heard the doorbell ring at ten on the dot. I opened the door and did a double take. Standing before me was one of the most attractive women I’d ever laid eyes on. Dark, shoulder length hair, deep blue eyes, high cheek bones, and a flawless complexion. She must have been about five foot three or four and rail thin. I stood there staring at her.
“Mr. Feinberg, I’m Nicole Johnson. I’m an agent with Merit Real Estate. You called for an appointment.”
“Sure, of course. I’m sorry. I gues