Page 27 of Romancing A Wallflower
Bright stars in the sky, they twinkled above,
When we danced and kissed, and our hearts found love.
They sent you from my life,
My future, my love, it was spurned,
My lips and my heart,
Oh, the misery, it burned.
Until the day that I found you,
When our wounds were so deep,
I fought to ignore you,
The price—my heart, was too steep.
Stars and moonlight lit up the sky,
I found you, broken of body,
A small dog by your side.
A stalwart defender he was,
My admiration it grew,
Two hearts led the way, we finally knew,
My life, my love,
Maggie, so true, forever my bride.
Harlow remained silent for a long moment. “Your wife will love it, Max.”
“Thank you. Nonetheless, I had better still come home with a trinket for her,” he joked. “She will expect that.” He folded the paper and placed the poem in his pocket. “I can deny her nothing.”
“Your poem tells your story. Maggie disappeared with nary a word and broke your heart. You found her when she needed a hero,” Harlow added, hoping he sounded consoling.
Max smiled. The two men urged their mounts to go a little faster, but stayed at a reasonable pace, allowing conversation.
“It has been nearly a year,” Harlow remarked, “yet it still baffles the mind that you found each other again.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I cannot mock your poem. I wish I had someone who would beg me for one.” His throat squeezed. He wanted to wish for love, but fear of scaring a ladylove stayed his heart.
“I believe that anything is possible, Harlow,” Max whispered. “I think being leg-shackled to the right person could help heal your soul. It would seem your heart has already decided, so your mind may have to become accustomed to the notion.”
“I am still not certain. My nightmares have increased.” Harlow tried to keep his tone light. Inside, he wondered if Max could be right. “Marriage had not entered my mind until you showed me that bet at White’s.”
“You are saying the bet was a good thing?” Max nudged, taunting.
“I would not go quite as far as that. I will draw someone’s cork if I find out who owns that bet,” Harlow replied.
“You would hit the widow? Are your feathers that ruffled?” Max arched a brow, giving a cynical laugh.
“No, of course I would not. When I find the man who wrote it, however, he will be in the suds.” He urged his horse forward. A large flock of geese suddenly flew from the thick woodland beside them. Max’s talent had fogged his senses. “We were not paying attention, and I fear we are being followed.”
“The birds?” Max whispered.
