A Slice Of Chicago Romance Novels & Stories

I help Julian get snacks ready. We make bread pizzas, cheese sticks, mixed fruit slices, and smoothies. Then we sit down to watch a sci-fi fantasy film. Besides romcoms, I enjoy watching this genre. “So you don’t watch romantic comedies?” I ask while the movie’s opening credits are still playing. I then shove a cheese stick into my mouth. He takes a bite of the pizza before responding. “I’ve seen some romance films for music references.” I take a moment to admire his good looks. He’s dressed in loose cream-colored sweaters that expose his bare chest and white sleep bottoms. I still can’t get over how he made love to me over the piano, and now I’m turned on all over again. It’s exhilarating.

The knife was replaced in its scabbard. He offered his hand for his flask, uncorked it with a slow, slothlike motion — but never once looked away from Whitey. Here, everything was important: the way one of the stevedores moved too lightly, unencumbered by responsibilities; the way creaking crate after creaking crate failed to measure up to the bill of lading in his mind. Nothing was missed by Harrison. Then— Brrrt. The phone had rung on the charred table to his left. Screen light pierced the darkness.

Later That Night at Damien's Apartment Damien paced the room, his phone buzzing relentlessly with missed calls and unidentified numbers. Serena had gone silent for over a day. Then, a solitary message broke through: Meet me. Midnight. Brooklyn Bridge. Come alone. He stared at the message for a long moment, realizing she was in deeper than ever before, and finally, she was letting him step into her world. Midnight on the Brooklyn Bridge The city's lights shimmered in the distance as Serena stood at the bridge's center. She wrapped her coat tightly around her against the biting wind, her gaze unyielding.

Chapter 16: An Affair or An Alliance SARAH’S POV I stepped into La Belle Époque, the upscale Chicago restaurant’s opulent glow casting a golden hue over the polished tables, the clink of crystal glasses and the rich aroma of truffles filling the air. My black dress clung to my curves, a deliberate choice to maintain the façade of the high-class life I’d fabricated from the ashes of my impoverished past.

It was a very expensive ride. "Of course it is, this is a memory that I'll engrave in my head forever hehe." "Oh really? There were better moments than this though." I can't believe this guy is such a clichè. I guess he wanted to do some romantic stuff he saw on tv. "Better moments than this? I can't possibly think of anything better than riding the ferris wheel on the sunset with you, isn't that the most romantic?" Ugh, just like what I've thought! What a clichè.

“I bought them on purpose. As an apology for coming home late. I called and messaged you, but there was no response at all. Turns out, you were sleeping.” Velia's smile turned into laughter. Especially with Lucas's hand moving up and down her waist, adding an unnecessary tickle. Lucas's eyes sparkled. Astonishment radiated from them. “Are you hungry? I ordered spaghetti.” Velia glanced at the kitchen island. “I love spaghetti. It goes well with the roses.” “Sit down and wait for your rose companion to arrive.” Velia did not refuse. She immediately pulled a chair and sat calmly. The roses were placed on the side table as she observed Lucas busy with the plates and other tableware.

I leaned lightly against the counter watching him. “But we did.” “Barely.” “Still counts.” I added His mouth twitched slightly,then Sofia yawned dramatically against his shoulder. Julian looked deeply offended. “You’re exhausted? You contributed nothing.” I laughed softly,the sound filled the apartment warmly. God!! I sighed I loved this life. Later that afternoon, we bundled Sofia into enough winter layers to survive the apocalypse and walked downtown through falling snow Chicago during winter felt strangely romantic. Street musicians near train stations,steam rising from food carts,couples ducking into bookstores to escape the cold.

Chapter 1 Lila Hargrove’s heels clicked sharply against the polished hardwood floor of the apartment as she wheeled her suitcase inside. The Chicago skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but tonight the view felt cold and distant. She had cut her client meeting in Milwaukee short, hoping to surprise Ryan with an early return and maybe—finally—rekindle some of the spark that had been missing for months. Their eighth wedding anniversary was coming up. She wanted to believe they could still fight for it.

Yeah my dick definitely twitched. I cut her another piece. “Why are you cutting it so small?” she asks. “Because I’m taking the rest for dinner.” She laughs and keeps eating. I take a bite, then look at her. “There’s gotta be another reason you came to Chicago.” She chews slowly. “What makes you think that?” “I know there is.” She looks around. Pauly’s is getting crowded all of a sudden. “Okay,” she says. “I'll give you the very quick version.”

I put my hands on her waist, she looped her arms around my neck. "You know," I shouted over the bass, "my dad likes you. He called me yesterday and asked when I’m bringing 'the Chicago girl' to Sunday dinner." Sloane raised an eyebrow. "And what did you say?" "I said she carries three knives and hates Sunday dinner." Sloane laughed and pulled me closer, her body warm against mine. "I might go," she said. "If there's lasagna." "There's always lasagna." She kissed me then, right on the dance floor, It was possessive. She bit my lip and pulled back with a smirk.