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The Bunny Trail-Fiction by N.M. Bunting

Ed Platte, aged forty-two, recent hire to the actuary firm of Steele, Murphy & Fitz, or SMF—pronounced “smif” by long-time employees. A practical and efficient man, Ed is a firm believer that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Until today, that belief has gotten him through life unscathed. But until today, he never had to walk the Bunny Trail after dark.

Afraid of the Dark

Emily stared in the darkness, ears straining to pick out the sound that must have woke her. Behind her, Tony rolled to his side and draped his arm over her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist the contact, but she didn’t relax to his embrace, either. Something had pulled her from a deep sleep, and she doubted it was Tony trying to get closer. People had been talking in her dream. Speaking in a language she didn’t understand. The volume had increased until everybody was shouting at her in French, the unfamiliar words piercing her ears like pointed weapons. When she opened her eyes to the dark room, the words were still there. Moving in a steady stream through her mind, nonsensical sounds forming phrases that felt deliberate. That had the rhythm and cadence of an actual sentence with actual meaning.

Ask Aunt Roal

Let's say you know with 100% certainty that a girl likes you a lot, possibly more than anyone because she's had a crush on you for years. But due to your history, you know she'll want to play hard to get with you. That's because she wants to get back at you for things you did in the past. A long chase from you will give her more pleasure than anything. At the same time you know her heart is pounding at the mere sight of you.

So here is what I'm planning to do. I want to sit down with her and tell her how much I care about her. And make it romantic. If she tries to play even a little bit of hard to get, I will wrap her in my arms and tell her to just be my girl. I would think if she's really into me, then it's going to be hard for her to resist.

I can't imagine her pushing me away if she likes me more than anyone. By that time, the feeling she has for me should eclipse her desire to torture me right?

Hopeful Romantic

What's Below--Fiction by Stacia Kane

It was the absinthe that did it.

At least, that’s what Jacob says. I don’t believe him. My memories of that Halloween may be fuzzy, but they’re clear enough for truth, and if Jacob wants to blame the absinthe that’s fine with me. Let him. I know where the responsibility lies, but I won’t tell them. I don’t want to.

Sugar and Spice Yam Muffins

This was my favorite baked good that my mom made when I was growing up. The recipe is (apparently) from Marlene Sorosky's Holiday Cookbook.

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