A Different Sort of Love Affair

By Shayne McClendon

Embrace the beauty created by two lost souls clutching to a shred of happiness in a world that doesn't understand them. You're going to love A Different Sort of Love Affair.

 

Portia Fitzsimmons is a talented writer with crippling anxiety that serves as a constant reminder of her troubled past. She's accepted living a quiet existence with a small circle of friends - her found family - utterly invisible to the rest of the world.

 

Edgar Schmidt is a brilliant neuroscientist who's retreated into solitude after the accident that changed his life - leaving him paralyzed from the waist down.

 

Their story begins as a fascinating conversation in a quiet library at a party neither of them wish to attend.  

 

Portia and Edgar aren't prepared for the feelings that develop as they get to know each other but realize they can't allow what might be their only chance at happiness slip away.

 

A dramatic romance with classical themes by Always the Good Girl, Shayne McClendon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shayne McClendon
• Release date: Jun 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215690468

Book preview

PROLOGUE

March 2014

Portia stood in the corner of her best friend’s house and tried to be invisible. Naturally, it wasn’t meant to be.

Her circle of friends were by and large extroverts. Portia was the odd one, the outlier, the one who wasn’t like the others.

On the other side of the great room, her best friend Samantha made out with her husband Ira - a man all her friends were convinced was a unicorn among the male gender - as they enjoyed a rare weekend without their little boy. They swayed gently to the music and occasionally stopped kissing to talk softly with smiles on their faces. They’d been the perfect couple from the start.

Portia watched vibrant Tika dance between two equally gorgeous men who looked about five years younger than the recent divorcee. One strap of her seductive party dress slipped off her shoulder and none of the trio moved to put it back.

The back patio was where Maria felt most comfortable. She could smoke without feeling weird, stretched out on one of the padded chaises in her punk-inspired clothes. Some of Sam’s single female friends - many possessing ambiguous sexuality - brought her drinks and snacks, drawn to her as so many had been over the years. Her laughter was warm and full, audible through the floor to ceiling windows that looked out on Sam’s sprawling backyard.

Even their only male friend excelled in a circle of Ira’s work colleagues, laughing and entertaining them as he played show tunes on the piano the couple had installed just for him. They were an eclectic tech crowd and embraced the vibe Daven brought to any gathering. His suit and hairstyle were straight out of the 1940s and he wore it better than anyone else could have.

Glancing around the torso of a man already smitten with the theater major who made good, Daven gestured Portia over with a wink. She shook her head softly and waved her hand.

Give the fans what they want, love.

Sneaking along the wall and down the hallway, she slipped quietly into the library that was always abandoned during the frequent get-togethers at the Schmidt home located an hour outside Manhattan. Walking to the first shelf, she smiled at the worn copy of Jane Eyre she’d revisited often over Sam’s twelve years of marriage.

With a sigh, she kicked off her heels and curled up in the chair she swore the couple purchased with Portia in mind. Dragging her hair into a messy bun with a scrunchy she’d snuck past Sam earlier, she felt herself again. Flipping through the pages, she smiled at the little strip of paper she’d left in the book during the last party.

Ah, Mr. Rochester...read the room, dear. Before long, she was enthralled in the gathering at Thornfield Hall and poor Jane’s humiliation at the hands of the more viable - but less interesting - female who desired wealthy Edward’s hand. You’re one catty bitch, Blanche.

A voice behind her commented, Unfair, I think. The poor darling was expected to marry for money. Portia looked over her shoulder and met the eyes of a man in a wheelchair. He held a copy of The Martian Chronicles. He had a lovely smile and shiny dark hair. With a dimple in his cheek, he continued, Based on her mother’s behavior, Blanche mimicked the example she was given. Let’s be glad the dastardly Rochester didn’t ruin her chances to marry well. What Jane went through was harsh, but she had no one to answer to and no family depending on an advantageous marriage.

What a keen observation. She smiled warmly. Hello. I’m Portia.

Edgar. He nodded at the book in her hand. I didn’t mean to interrupt. You entered the room like a cat burglar and I found myself fascinated.

How rude of me. I didn’t see you there.

How could you possibly? You were singularly focused on escape. He quirked a brow. Clearly, it’s a well thought out and often executed tactical plan. You went right to the book you wanted.

No one else is ever in here. Smoothing her hand over the cover, Portia nodded. I read a little each time I’m here for parties.

Hmm. How many times have you read it?

Clearing her throat, she said with a bit of a blush, Oh my. Dozens, I would think. I’ve been coming to Sam and Ira’s parties since they used to have them in our dorm. After graduation, they moved to a fifth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn. Even in that tiny space, they kept a few of my favorite books.

Perhaps they created this hideaway for you.

I’m difficult about social gatherings. Drives Sam insane. Turning more fully, she rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and put her chin in her hand. How do you know them?

I’m Ira’s cousin.

How lovely! Why have we never met? I’ve known them almost fourteen years! She smiled. I wouldn’t blame you if you avoided their friend group...we can be terrible.

I seriously doubt that, Portia. Folding his hands in his lap, he met her eyes. I’m a few years older than Ira. After Yale, I spent four years at Oxford. I married, had a car accident that paralyzed me from the waist down, and spent six years recovering. It took me a long time to come to terms with my new reality and the divorce that followed.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.

Don’t be sorry. It’s a valid question. Have you met any of our other family? She nodded with a smile and he returned it. Admittedly, we’re a strange and secretive bunch. I’ve only recently returned to the States. I’m crashing with Ira and Sam while my house is finished.

Are you having it built?

Equipping it for my wheelchair.

She covered her lips and murmured, "I’m full of inappropriate questions. Forgive me. This is why I don’t generally people."

He laughed and Portia thought it took him from attractive to stunning. "Please don’t worry. I think you people better than most. Tilting his head, he asked, I haven’t asked questions myself because I know just about everything there is to know about you."

You do? He nodded and she pulled her body around to face him more fully. I hope Sam and Ira didn’t bore you.

Not at all. It isn’t every day that a man finds himself in the presence of an international bestselling author.

Fuck. Blushing brightly, she whispered, They’re not...exactly Bradbury or Brontë.

Why should they be? The books that speak to readers don’t have to be intellectual quagmires to be important or relevant. Your stories are emotionally powerful.

The way he said it made her eyes widen. "You’ve read one of my books?"

All of them, in fact. He grinned. I have a lot of time on my hands. When something strikes my interest, I have a need to consume it, even overdose on it.

She blinked. "You’ve read all of my books?"

Even the ones you originally self-published. It’s incredible what you can bid for on eBay. He maneuvered his wheelchair around the front of her chair. I’m an avid reader and a solid fan.

Thank you. I-I don’t meet many of my readers.

You should. It would be good for you to hear the accolades.

Shyly, she asked, What do you do?

I’m independently wealthy. She chuckled softly. I’m kidding. I’m a neuroscientist. I won’t bore you with the details. Fortunately, the accident didn’t paralyze my brain.

That’s the most important part of a person, don’t you think? I don’t know what I’d do if my mind deteriorated. Portia looked at the rows of books her friends had lovingly collected over the years. Sometimes, I have this nightmare that I get early-onset dementia like my grandmother. I wake up and can’t go back to sleep.

You keep your mind active, he said softly. That makes it flexible and lowers your risk of neurodegenerative disease.

Inhaling deeply, she said, I hope you’re right.

If you have any doubt, you can visit my lab and I’ll run every possible test to put your mind at ease.

How kind of you to offer...

It’s not just kindness. It’s professional curiosity. I’d love to get a detailed scan of a writer’s brain - see how you differ from right-brained types.

In so many ways...

The library door opened and Sam poked her head inside. "There you are! Portia! You can’t mingle even when you’re the guest of honor?"

Daven and the girls are entertaining everyone.

Her best friend walked fully into the room and closed the door behind her. Crossing to Edgar, she bent to kiss his temple. You’re encouraging her.

Guilty.

Straightening, she said happily, I’m so glad the two of you finally met. You’re the smartest people I know.

Portia gasped. I’m telling Ira!

"Ah. My husband is brilliant but he isn’t clever like the two of you. Tattle all you like. He’d know exactly what I mean. Perching on the arm of the chair Portia sat in, Sam reached out to remove her scrunchy. As the length fell around Portia’s shoulders, Sam hissed, You can’t leave my work alone for one evening?"

No. Portia grabbed her scrunchy and put her hair back up. Your house is full of guests...

"Jane Eyre again, love?"

"It’s a classic, Sam."

Bending over until they were nose to nose, Sam growled. We’re celebrating your movie deal, Portia. You have to mingle.

The night is young. Let me get my balance. I’m not used to so many people. Where do you find all these invitees?

The university, Ira’s work, Jacob’s school, the grocery store...

"You make friends everywhere you go, Sam," Portia said lovingly.

"It’s how I ended up meeting you. How tragic if we hadn’t met. Planting a smacking kiss on Portia’s lips, her best friend stood. You have an hour to chat with one person in the library. Then you have to come out, endure many people, so we can toast you and cut that fucking ridiculous cake. Promise me, Portia."

I promise.

Hand on her hip, Sam sighed. You’re lying but I’ll send Ira to retrieve you because he’s no nonsense when I assign a task.

Don’t send Ira...send Daven.

"Absolutely not. Our beautiful darling will do anything you ask. Bending, she planted another kiss on Edgar’s temple and headed for the door. One hour and then Ira is coming for you."

Sounds ominous. A full hour, Sam.

Antisocial hermit.

Yes. Yes, I am, Portia answered stoically.

How I adore you.

Then the door closed and Portia exhaled slowly. Meeting Edgar’s eyes, she confessed. I-I don’t really enjoy parties.

I didn’t notice. She laughed. I imagine quiet solitude is critical to a writer. She wished for it every minute she was outside her writing cave. You still live in the city, don’t you?

I do...but I don’t know why. I don’t do any of the things that make New York desirable. I like my apartment but...to really focus, I rent a cabin Upstate a few times a year.

When my house is done, you should drive out to see it. I’m building a proper English conservatory. Fully insulated, heated, cooled, and all glass on the southern side that faces the forest. Perhaps you could stay there when you need to focus.

Breathlessly, she said, "A conservatory... She could barely contain her longing. That sounds lovely."

Consider this your open invitation to make use of it. The construction should be done in the next two months.

Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, Portia said the words she didn’t want to say, It wouldn’t be right to invade your privacy...

Nonsense. I’m building it as a guest house despite zero expectation of guests. I imagine it would provide endless inspiration.

I would love to see it...

Then plan to visit in a few weeks. We’ll tour it together. He smiled warmly. Now, tell me what you’re working on and everything else Ira and Sam haven’t shared.

For the next hour, they skipped rapidly from one topic to another. Each holding a book, they fired questions and answers back and forth amid occasional gasps and constant laughter.

Edgar was intelligent, charming, and attractive.

It seemed only a few minutes had passed when there was a tap on the door. Ira opened it with a grin. Portia. You know I hate to drag you out to the arena and the lions that await you but...I have my orders.

A little longer...?

Her best friend’s husband held up his hand. "I’ll help you escape again in half an hour but you know I can’t go out there empty-handed or Sam will consider me the worst kind of failure."

Laughing, Portia stood and hugged Ira tightly. Never in a million years would a single negative thought enter her pretty head about you. You are the Prince Charming to her Cinderella.

Holding her chin, he said, The scavenger hunt you designed for me as the only sober person in that bar was the stuff of legends. Led me to her but I had to work for it.

Anything worth having...

Is worth spending a thousand dollars bribing thirty people on campus to help me solve your riddles.

Cheater.

Whatever it takes to get the girl. He took her hand and twirled her. Go on, Portia. You know she counts how long it takes me and I’m not ruining my best time.

Oh, alright. It’s so nice in here. She replaced the book on the shelf, stepped into her heels, and took down her hair. Looking at Ira in question, he nodded with a smile. She turned to Edgar and took his outstretched hand. It’s nice to meet another introvert. Thank you for outstanding conversation, Edgar.

The feeling is mutual, Portia. He kissed the back of her hand and released it. Go celebrate a much-deserved success.

Blushing, she backed to the door. Edgar’s eyes remained on her until she walked through and closed it behind her.

For the first time in longer than she could really remember, she had goosebumps. Edgar’s mind was incredible. She’d never been so attracted to a man. He seemed to be a kindred spirit.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared to people her heart out and