I have three projects I’m working on for NaNo this year. I gave you a peek at Cruise Ship Mistress last week. This week, I have a brief bit from Purely Relative, which is a fun little novella I’m writing that falls chronologically between the next to last and last chapter of The P.U.R.E.  Remember this is first draft stuff so it’s gonna be a little rough. I’m fighting my urge to edit it already. Against NaNo rules.

I’ll let this scene speak for itself. It’s one of my favorites so far and is classic Gayle:

Jon finished first and stepped out to give me more space to condition my hair and shave my legs and other parts. When I pushed back the shower curtain, dripping wet like a bedraggled rat, because my towel had wandered off somehow, I found him equally naked, but dry. One knee kissed the floor, the other formed a right angle.

Oh my God! He’s down on one knee! He’s going to propose! My inner girly-girl ran around in a circle shrieking and waving her hands.

“Damn, slippery floor,” he said climbing to his feet.

“Oh! Are you okay?” My voice fell flat as the bottom dropped out and my inner girl tumbled into the chasm of ridiculous hopes that weren’t really hopes, but more like fantasies and not the least bit realistic and therefore not the type of thoughts a modern woman like me ought to be having. And yet, that girl had caught a branch sticking out of the side of the cliff and insisted on seeing how it might have played out. In my imagination it went something like…

“Gayle,” he would begin. His voice would probably be a little shaky. He was usually so confident. “I love you with every breath I take, every move you make… no, sorry, that’s a song…” He would swallow and his Adam’s apple would disappear into his jaw before falling back down, like one of those carnival games where you have to ring the bell by hitting a catapult hard enough with a hammer. “I’ve always known, always believed, always hoped, you would marry me. I told you that first night we made love. I meant it then. I mean it now. Please make me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to marry me. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to look for another job. We’ll buy a house. You can have a baby or two or three, make me dinner every night, something complicated with exotic ingredients, and when I come home yelling ‘honey, I’m home’ our pudgy kids that look just like you will come running out of their rooms covered in grime and fighting because you’ve gained two hundred pounds and live on the sofa watching bad reality television and are too tired to discipline them and thank goodness I’m getting some action on the side from Thalia because a man like me has needs and…”

“Earth to Gayle!”

I snapped out of my nightmare.