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JAMIE

“You’ve gotta be fluffin’ me!”

Jamie screeched and heard laughter around her at her words.

“ What?! I’m trying to clean up my potty mouth, and you would not have appreciated what is flying through my brain right now. I cannot – cannot – believe this,” she seethed as she stared down at her blouse that was covered in mocha latte, complete with whipped cream and those little crunchy, chocolatey coffee bits she loved so much.

But she loved them inside of her cup.

Not on her chest.

Not on her last linen blouse that made her look like a million bucks, whereas her bank account said, ‘ Nah, gurl… move that decimal – a lot’ . She might look like a million bucks, but she was as broke as broke could get. Her boss was a royal ‘ dillweed’ and a complete ‘ astronaut’ making her life a living ‘ haybale’ at work… so much so that she quit.

Yeah, see, when you lost your temper at work and told him what he was in front of the executive team followed with a universal gesture that was unmistakable to discern – you had two options: Quit – or get fired.

She quit and raised her other hand in mirror of the first one.

Yeah, she was mad. Hostile. Recklessly angry. But when you start messing with a girl’s money for clothes, it was like cranking up the oven’s temperature. You ‘re-evaluate’ a person’s pay plan – again , mind you – to the point where you cannot afford clothing for work or groceries, then you tend to get a little more upset.

Jamie was ‘hangry’ when both finger guns flew today.

And now she had regret.

Heck, she was wearing said regret all over her last nice blouse. She didn’t have the money for Starbucks, but she sincerely needed the sugar, caffeine, and honestly? She needed something in her life to feel normal before it crumbled. Her car was going to get repoed, and she needed to decide which utility to turn off so she could pay her rent on the condo – and eat.

Without another word at the man who was glaring at her like it was her fault that she spilled her drink, she shoved past him and heard his muttered words. She froze, felt her eyeball spasm, and knew if she turned around to confront him, she was looking at twenty years behind bars.

No, she was temperamental… but smart.

“You are too pretty for jail,” she whispered aloud and walked off toward the parking garage in a huff, ignoring the looks following her. In her mind, she pictured a murderous thundercloud over her head and imagined that her eyebrows were smashed down in a ‘V,’ complete with a stress crease that would never disappear.

She was almost at the garage when her entire body lurched sideways to the left, nearly ringing her skull against the lamppost like a gong. Thank goodness it was there, or she might have fallen into the street!

Today was not her day.

Looking down, her Coach pumps that she bought at Goodwill and colored black with shoe polish where they were scuffed had officially broken. The heel was lying there in a mangled, ripped mess and barely clinging to the sole of her shoe.

“That’s it,” she whispered, closing her eyes and letting her shoulders sag. “It’s official. I give up. I give all the way up – to the point that there is no more give to be given . You hear me? The ‘ giveth ’ has ‘ gone-th ’ and left nothing in its place.”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Not really,” she snarled, feeling slightly rabid, and looked at her blouse again. No, dry cleaning was out of the question. Forget the pumps, she thought, yanking the other one off. Pantyhose, you are taking one for the team, she thought, walking barefoot down the sidewalk and pitching her shoes in the nearest trashcan.

Shirt ruined.

Hose ruined.

Life… ruined.

“Why meeee,” she whined the moment she sat in the car and glanced at her watch. Maybe she could pawn it? No, go home. Don’t panic. Keep calm – and start looking at the job ads immediately, she thought glumly.

“Karma, that pendulum can swing the other direction any day now…”

* * *

S ixty-five minutes later, because, you know , traffic… Jamie was racing up to the building feeling lower than she ever had and her bladder was spasming. She charged up the stairs, not caring if her footsteps pounded like a herd of cattle in the breezeway of the building. Her bladder was pressing her like a seller on the streets of New York holding his coat open and asking her if she wanted a watch.

Want any T.P., lady…?

Slamming her door shut, she flung her purse onto the floor, wiggled frantically as she pressed her thighs together to keep from losing it, managing to salvage what was left of her pride and hobbling the rest of the way to the toilet. She plopped down, heard a snap… and something broke within her – just like the clip on the plastic toilet seat as it slid out from under her cheek sideways.

That was it.

That was the straw.

She was laughing wretchedly, sobbing, and looking at herself with horror. She flipped off her boss and quit a job she couldn’t afford to leave; her shirt was a disgraceful mess, her toes were sticking out of her torn pantyhose, she nearly messed herself in a rush to get to the bathroom… and she broke the toilet seat on the commode.

It was officially a bad day.

And then, it was like Karma said, ‘But wait! There’s more!’… as she heard a knock on the front door.

“Seriously?” she said flatly to the air before hollering, “COMING! JUST A SECOND…”

Yanking her clothing into place, mustering any dignity she had in the condition she was in already, Jamie smoothed her shirt, plucked a chocolate-coffee-chip-thingie off her blouse, and opened the front door – bracing herself.

Okay, hot-model-next-door was not on her bingo card.

“Oh dang…” the man gaped, staring at her – and the little boy in his arms shrieked ‘Whoa!’ before slapping his hands on his cheeks. It would have been cute. It would have been comical. It would have been a moment straight outta Hallmark where the cute post office worker meets the bedraggled woman who has sworn off dating.

That’s me, by the way.

The bedraggled female?

Yup.

Yours truly… and in my finest form.

Ha!

“Can I help you?” she practically snarled as a bubble of panicked laughter threatened to escape as her eyes watered precariously. She was not going to cry in front of his Royal Hotness.

No way.

No how.

“ Crayon , lady… can I help you ?”

“Did you just say ‘ crayon’ ?”

“I’m trying to clean up my language… kids, you know.”

“I get it. I’m doing the same… and no. I don’t know.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

“Not really,” she muttered and looked away. He was too pretty, to aggressively savage in some hot way. Oh yeah, she was getting all sorts of Gucci underwear ads flashing in her mind – you know, the one where the man is leaning on his side in some black and white image with every muscle highlighted and shadowed in sublime masculinity.

“I’m Kenneth, your neighbor,” he began, and she put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Of course, he was a Ken doll. “What?”

“Your name is Ken?”

“Kenneth,” he stressed, frowning. “I hate the name Ken, Kenny, any other version. Kenneth – and for heavens sake do not refer to me as the male Barbie.”

Sore spot much?

“Oh?” she began innocently. “I didn’t even put the two together.”

Liar.

“Riiiight,” he drew out and frowned. “Look, can I come in? It’s kind of an emergency – unless your husband or boyfriend is home?”

“I’m not seeing anyone – and sure not married. I’m kind of a mess in my own life right now. Why would I drag down someone else?”

“Oh,” he uttered and did a weird doubletake, looking at his son.

Ah ha… got ya.

“Do you need me to babysit your kid or something? He’s adorable and looks like a sweetheart,” she began easily tossing him a nervous smile before holding out her hands to the little boy, regardless of her shirt… and he dove toward her, chewing on his finger. He was so sweet, so cuddly, that she melted.

“C’mon, little fella,” she crooned easily like it was natural. “You just come with me,” she began and turned away, leaving Kenneth at the door, still talking. “I had a horrible day and could use a cookie. Do you want a cookie too?”

The boy’s eyes widened as he nodded, smiling at her and still chewing on his index finger – and her heart just melted.

“Um, can we talk?” Kenneth said behind her, seeming uncomfortable – and that probably should have sent up a red flag in her mind, but she was a woman and cuddling Kryptonite in her arms after having a good emotional cry.

“Sure,” she said distractedly, yanking a box of Toll House cookies out of the cabinet with one hand as she smiled at the boy. “Do you like these? These are my favorites…” and handed him a chocolate chip cookie and then took a bite of one herself before addressing Kenneth. “Go ahead. You can talk over my buddy Keebler, who is speaking loudly right now – What’s the frequency, Kenneth?”

And he grunted, half-chuckle and half-something else… surprise, maybe?

“R.E.M. fan, huh?”

“Music fan,” she replied simply, taking another bite as he walked inside her apartment finally and closed the door behind him. “I’m getting stuff all over your kid’s clothes, shoveling cookies in my mouth for comfort, and not in a great mood as my piggy toe is sticking out of my pantyhose. When I mentioned it was bad, I meant horrific. So, if you could do me a huge favor and just say whatever it is so I can get this day over and start job hunting all over again, that’d be great,” she finished in a droll voice.

“You’re looking for a job?”

“That’s what usually what happens when you quit or get fired.”

“You don’t put up with much, do you?”

“My tolerance level for biscuits is pretty low, but my magnitude for everything else is epic. Again, whatcha need?” she asked, taking another bite of cookie.

“I need you to marry me.”

No preamble.

No warm-up.

Just toss the bomb and watch the detonation happen… and it did. Her cookie stuck in her throat. Lodged firmly. Her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief, and a few crumbs flew out at her attempt to cough.

Graceful, I know.

She couldn’t breathe, and ‘Death from Keebler’ wasn’t on her list of things to do in this world before passing.

“Did you hear me?” Kenneth said curiously. “I need you to marry me - tomorrow.”

Oh my gosh, he wasn’t joking… and I’m choking?

Yep.

She was choking all right, pointing at her throat, and she put the little boy down on the counter, frantically moving for a cup to get some water. Anything to push this dough-ball-of-chocolatey-sweetness past the point of no return. This was a ‘Romeo and Juliet’ moment – she loved her cookies, and they were going to put her six feet under .

Toll House was her poison.

“Are you okay?” Kenneth asked as it suddenly clicked, moving to her side as Jamie looked at him frantically, clawing at her throat, shaking her head. And to her absolute horror ( completely with a feminine awakening within her that was just as startling ), Kenneth grabbed her by the waist, and he turned her around at the counter, taking a stance behind her, and she grabbed the counter to keep from faceplanting into the sink because she was unbalanced. His arms encircled her, her backside firmly lodged against his pelvis in a way that made her guardian angel do a somersaults as Kenneth put his fists together just under her bra line, in the middle of her ‘Frappuccino shower’ from earlier in the afternoon, and practically rammed her in the gut moving his fists in an upward motion, pulling her back against him, against his jeans.

*Cue the trumpets*

Hallelujah!

“You can’t die…”

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

I know, right?! she thought, panicking, but maybe THIS is the way to go? Doing a full-clothed Heimlich maneuver against the hottest man in creation with your backside getting all cuddly with his front side. Dang, I wish we were both naked right now – except his kid is here – and that would be awkward, but then again – you know what? … So is choking!

“I need your help…”

Keep helping me! Keep helping me!

“Gimme…a… chance…” he grunted with each thrust under her abdomen, and she wasn’t sure what was more impressive – the way the cookie shot out of her, making an arc across the breakfast bar, the feeling of those hands being so aggressive, or the way he felt standing behind her.

Hallelujah!

That first drag of breath in her lungs said it all as she audibly sucked in wind hard enough to hear an audible whoosh, and then heard his chuckle behind her.

“Wow,” he began.

“Wow,” she repeated, but for more than one reason.

“Wowie! Wow!” the little boy sitting on the counter beside her with rinkside seats to everything clapped his hands in excitement and joy, not knowing what just happened.

“Oh yeah, Zachary?” Kenneth began, rubbing her upper back with one hand as the other filled the glass with water, handing it to her as she drew in gulping breaths, everything hitting her at once.

She could have died .

She could have choked to death here in her kitchen, and that would have been the end-all, be-all of crappy days. Her horrified eyes met Kenneth’s soft, dark, gentle ones as he nodded slowly.

“You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. I promise…” he said quietly, as if he knew she was on the edge of breaking down all over again. That was scary for anyone, much less someone who already had a traumatic day followed by a bomb lobbed across the bow by this gorgeous man who’d saved her life.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking at him, simply grateful to have a second chance at whatever life tossed her way. His eyes widened for a moment before he hesitated and then seemed to let his shoulders slump as if the stress was leaving him at that simple word.

“I really need this, and I know we’re strangers, but…”

“You helped me. I will help you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know, but I also know we’ve both lived here for three years and haven’t said two words to each other in passing… so if it’s urgent for you like oxygen was for me – then I’ve got your back because you just had mine,” she said hoarsely, trying not to think of all the details floating in her mind of just how much her back was enjoying what just happened while her body struggled to continue existing in this world.

“We should talk,” he hesitated, “so you know the details of why.”

“Sure.”

“How about you come over so I can give Zachary his dinner – and you can eat with us.”

“I’m not keen on swallowing anything right now in solid form.”

“Do you like soup?” he smirked, giving her a lop-sided smile.

“I am a soup-fiend,” she replied, meeting his smile warily, realizing that if she agreed to do something as crazy as marry a stranger, her neighbor, then maybe she really did need to know the details… because marrying him made her a stepmom to this boy.

Whoa boy.

“Soup and talking sounds perfect,” she added, feeling nervous and grateful.