A TASTE OF MAGIC

By Tracy Madison
ISBN: 0-505-52810-x
March 2009

CHAPTER ONE

“You married a lemon, Elizabeth,” said Grandma Verda, as if that explained everything.

Interesting concept. I’d never compared my ex-husband to a piece of fruit before. Unless you counted the time I likened a certain appendage of his to a banana. “Assuming that’s true, even lemons can be satisfying. With a little water and sugar, you have lemonade.”

Grandma Verda wrinkled her nose. “You add sugar to a bad lemon and all you get is a nasty aftertaste. And Marc Stevens is about as rotten a lemon as any I’ve ever seen.”

We were sitting in my office at A Taste of Magic, the bakery I co-own with my best friend, Jon Winterson. When I’d arrived at the crack of dawn, I’d found Grandma Verda, hot pink sneakers and all, waiting for me.

I kept my voice light. “But Grandma, when I married Marc, you thought he was perfect for me.”

“That was ten years ago. I didn’t know. He was still ripening—he could have turned into an orange. Oranges make decent husbands.”

“I see.” Well, not really, but her train of thought was interesting. Maybe someone should write a guide on how to know you’re marrying a lemon. I mean, you get an instruction manual in three different languages when you buy a toaster, so why not when you’re committing your life to another person?

I liked that idea. It could be given out after the I dos and right before the kiss. Hmm. On second thought, it should happen before the I dos. That way, either party can hotfoot it out of the ceremony before it’s too late.

Even so, I don’t think it would have changed my mind. I’d been pretty set in my decision to become Elizabeth Stevens.

“You were too good for him. I knew that much.” Grandma Verda sipped her tea. “I don’t know why you agreed to do it.”

She wasn’t talking about my ill-fated marriage any longer. This subject was one I preferred not to discuss. “I’m fine. Really. It’s not that big of a deal.”

I’d just told my first lie for the day, and not even an acceptable one at that. While I tended to be an honest person, there were two things in life I figured all women had the right to lie about: chocolate and headaches. Neither of which was the case here. And I never lied to my grandmother. Well, hardly ever. It didn’t sit well with me that I just had.

She stared at me with her never-miss-anything blue eyes. You know how when the quiet stretches on too long you feel forced to talk? To fill in the gap, I said, “I’m sure I’m not the only woman in the same situation. Besides, I’m just baking a cake. It’s not like I don’t do that every day, anyway.” Crap. I was over explaining.

“Uh-huh.” She smacked her teacup down, a wave of Earl Grey sloshing over the side. “Let loose, Lizzie. You’ve been holding back for a year under a blanket of ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘I’m fine,’ and ‘It’s no big deal.’ Tell me how you really feel.”

Her words hit me dead center.

I sopped up the tea with a paper towel and ignored the pressure in my chest. “What do you want me to say? That I’m crushed Marc left me for his blond Barbie-doll receptionist? That my marriage fell into the worst stereotype ever? Okay, yeah—it sucked. But it was a year ago.”

Last year was supposed to be “our year.” Marc and I were finally going to start a family. I’d wanted a baby for a long time, but he’d kept giving me reasons to wait. Only, instead of having a child, he’d decided to marry one.

My eyes welled with tears. One blink and the charade would be up. “I’ll be right back, Grandma. There’s something in my eye.” Second lie for the day. My grandmother might be tough, but she was still eighty-five years old. She didn’t need to see her granddaughter cry.

In the restroom, after the tears subsided, I turned the cold water on full blast and splashed my face. I was pale. Too pale. And the dark circles spoke of too many sleepless nights. I put a little color back by pinching my cheeks. As I stared at the woman in the mirror—a stranger—I realized it was time to quit deluding myself. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been for twelve long months. And what I had to do today might make me ill.

Scratch that. What I had to do today could kill me. I could even see the headlines in the Chicago Tribune:

DEATH BY CAKE!

Highland Park Baker Chokes to Death Swallowing Every Last Vestige of Pride
While Baking Ex-Husband and Mistress’s Wedding Cake!

Yep, that’s right. My job today was to create a culinary work of art for the next soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. Marc and Tiffany. Otherwise known as my cheating ex and the young, beautiful woman he’d left me for exactly one year ago. And if that wasn’t hell enough, it also happened to be my thirty-fifth birthday. Now, for the second birthday in a row, Marc was front and center in my mind. Something just wasn’t right about that.

I pulled in a deep breath, pinched my cheeks again for good measure, and returned to my grandmother. “Sorry about that,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

Grandma Verda squeezed my wrist. “I want you to be happy.”

Blinking, I said, “I know. I’ll get there. Why are you here so early, anyway? Won’t you be at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow night?”

My family was celebrating my birthday the following night, since it was a Friday. It was easier for everyone to get together.

“Of course I will. I never miss a chance to see all my grandkids. But this is nice. A few minutes alone with my granddaughter on her actual birthday. We haven’t done that for years.”

This was a better subject. “I miss those lunches, but I’m glad you came by.”

A smile wreathed her face. She pulled two envelopes out of her purse, one purple and one white. Holding one in each hand, she looked at them. She looked at me. Finally, she tucked the white envelope away and handed me the purple card.

“Open it now.” She clapped in excitement, much as a child would.

Curious, I slid my nail under the flap and lifted the card out. Glitter flew up at me, and the heaviness in my chest disappeared. I laughed. “You’ve been putting glitter in my cards since I was little.”

“Birthdays are about magic. Magic is fun. So is glitter.”

She’d always said that. Always told me that on one of my birthdays, she’d have a very special gift for me. I glanced up and saw her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it was this birthday?

I turned the card face front and laughed again, this time at the picture of a bikini-clad woman wearing a birthday hat popping out of a cake. Maybe more apropos for a man, but after all, I did bake cakes for a living.

I opened the card, and a twenty-dollar bill swirled to the floor. Inside, my grandmother’s flowing handwriting said:

It’s time to believe in magic, Elizabeth.
Open your heart wide and be true to yourself so the gift can find you.
Happy Birthday, my darling girl.
Love, Grandma.
P.S. Have fun!

The writing seemed to shine brightly for a second. Bizarre. I blinked and rubbed my fingers along the ink strokes. Whatever I thought I’d seen was gone. Chalking it up to the early hour and my insufficiently caffeinated system, I knelt down to retrieve the twenty.

“This is great, Grandma. Thank you,” I said, tucking the money back into the card.

Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced from the card to me. “How do you feel?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Oh, just wondering. I’m your grandmother. It’s important to me that you’re happy.”

Hmm. Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. A glance at the clock told me I had no time to figure it out, either. “Come with me to the kitchen. I need to start work.”

“Oh, well, I should probably leave.”

Grandma Verda grabbed her coat. After I unlocked the door, she gave me another hug. “Sweetie, I want you to have fun. I want you to think about the things you really want, what you really wish for, and then—you never know—they might just come true.”

“Life doesn’t work that way,” I mumbled.

“You’re wrong. Life can work that way.” Amusement flitted over her features. “You’ll see. Your time is here, Lizzie-girl.”

And then she was gone.

My mind played over the conversation as I returned to my office, and it still didn’t make sense. Grandma Verda had her own way of doing things, not to mention her unique outlook on life. And, most peculiarly, the things she wanted always seemed to come true for her.

And, at times, for me.

I twisted my shoulder-length brown hair into a knot on top of my head and secured it with a band. Smiling, I remembered a summer I’d spent with her as a child. Even though I knew better now, I still considered that summer magical.

It began when I lost my favorite doll. I carried Molly everywhere with me—not so different than Cindy Brady and her Kitty Karry-All doll. Except I knew for sure I’d left her in the park. When we returned to the park, she was gone. I’d cried all night, and the next morning Grandma Verda gave me a card. Seeing as I was too young to read, she read it to me. She told me to close my eyes and wish really hard that I’d find Molly. Later that day, I’d discovered my doll squished behind a couch cushion. Grandma Verda said it was magic.

As an adult, I knew she’d just replaced it with a new one. But then? Yeah, I’d believed her tales of magic and wishes. That entire summer had been filled with unexplained things.

When I told my mother, she got really upset. She told me not to listen to my grandmother. That Grandma meant well, but I should know the only magic you got out of life was made from hard work. And yeah, that was pretty much the truth of it, wasn’t it?

Even so, my grandmother’s obsession with magic must have made some sort of an impact on me. When Jon and I had decided to open a bakery together, the only name we’d agreed on was A Taste of Magic.

Pouring a cup of coffee, I checked the time again. Marc’s cake could wait ten more minutes. I gulped the first sip too fast and burned my throat, but I didn’t care.

Grandma wanted me to let loose and quit holding back. That petrified me almost as much as baking the stupid cake. If I faced how I really felt, it would hurt too much. I was an expert at running away from my feelings. From confrontations. From anything that meant anything to me.

I didn’t want to hide anymore, but I didn’t want to feel, either. And, if I was honest with myself, I knew what I’d become: a woman filled with remorse, confusion, sadness, and yes—a huge amount of venom. I was the coiled-up snake waiting for the perfect millisecond to attack. I was also the timid house mouse that ran and hid at the first sign of trouble. Snakes normally ate mice, but in my case, the mouse won hands down, time after time.

If I could be the snake, just once, maybe I’d have a chance.

My ten minutes were up, so I grabbed the file on the Stevens wedding and focused on that. Marc and Tiffany’s order was for a standard three-tier with two additional sides. Any other day, I’d breeze right through. Today, I just wanted it over.

I took my coffee and the file to the kitchen. My business partner’s significant other, Andy, was an interior designer, and he’d created the most workable kitchen possible within our limited dimensions. With overhead bins and cupboards for storage, wide surfaces for mixing, kneading, and decorating, along with two ovens and a commercial refrigerator, it should feel cramped. Because Andy was exceptional at his job, the space seemed larger than it was.

Of course, that didn’t stop me and Jon from dreaming about the day we’d be able to upsize. Something that seemed more out of our reach now than ever before. We’d lost several high-profile jobs recently to competition, and because of that, we weren’t picking up new business as fast as we’d like.

Just one more thing to worry about—but not now. I had enough stress at the moment, so the fate of A Taste of Magic would need to wait until another day.

My gaze flipped through the room and, as pleasant as it was, all I wanted to do was run back home and watch the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer again. Mature? Probably not. But at least I had good taste. Plus, those men—even the bloodsucking ones—were about as hot as they got.

“Stop,” I whispered. I placed the ingredients for the cake-from-hell on the counter.

When everything was ready, I cracked and separated the eggs, measured in the milk, citrus oil, and vanilla into a large bowl. I swallowed. I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. And then—out of nowhere—a vision of my wedding cake slipped into my mind. It had been far too grandiose for our wedding, but it was beautiful. Jon’s gift to us, the sweetie.

I’d saved a slice, just like you’re supposed to, and Marc and I meant to eat it on our first year anniversary. For good luck. But he’d been away on business, and it just hadn’t happened. Ever.

Maybe that’s what went wrong: we ignored tradition.

Anyway, it never got tossed. And I knew if I’d left it at the house, Marc would have disposed of it without a second thought, so I’d dragged it with me to my apartment and gave it a home in my new freezer. Somehow, as silly as it sounds, I wasn’t ready to get rid of it yet. That stupid piece of frozen cake represented a life that didn’t happen. A life that part of me still yearned for, still mourned.

“You’re here early,” Jon said.

I jumped at the sound of his voice and then turned to face him. “And you’re not?”

He came closer, his jeans hugging his hips like they were painted on. “I wanted to be sure you were okay.” Simple statement, but it conveyed a lot. Just like Jon.

“Of course I am.”

He gave me a look with his baby blues that shone with pity. I hated that look.

“Stop it. I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not. You should have taken the day off. For crying out loud, it’s your birthday.”

“So? You’re taking me out tomorrow night to celebrate. This is work.”

“You shouldn’t have to be here. It’s my fault we even have the order.”

And it was. Jon had only noticed the consultant’s name and the date of the wedding when the order came in. By the time I discovered the identities of the bride and groom, it was too late to pass on the job. If we had, we may have jeopardized our future business from this wedding consultant. Business was business, and A Taste of Magic was too new to chance it. Besides, we’d lost out on enough jobs lately.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” And then, to change the subject, I said, “You cut your hair. It looks good.”

Jon grinned and ran his hand over his cropped, dark blond hair. “I found this great salon in the city. You should check it out.”

“Maybe.” For some reason, my stomach roiled, and I fought to quell the queasiness. Getting sick would be bad. Jon would send me home. While part of me wanted to run and hide, another part of me was committed to seeing this through. Possibly, it would give me closure.

Okay, closure was doubtful, but it was worth a shot.

Jon glanced at the counter, his gaze taking everything in. “Want some help?”

“I’m fine right now. But if you don’t mind, how about taking over the decorating portion? I won’t be in the mood for rosettes and fondant tomorrow any more than I am today. And then I can stay home tomorrow. Is that cool?”

“Absolutely.” Jon pulled me into his arms, squeezing tightly. “You know I love you, right?”

I closed my eyes and hugged him back. My cheek rested on his shoulder, and I could smell soap, shampoo, and his newest aftershave. This man, not just my business partner, but my friend, had been my rock for the past year. “I love you, too,” I mumbled.

We stood that way for a minute. Then, we both stepped away at the same time, disengaging ourselves. His eyes held worry, but he smiled at me. “You’re not going to wiggle out of tomorrow night, are you?” he asked, referring to our plan of karaoke and margaritas after my birthday celebration with my family.

“Nope. Maddie would kill me. She’s bringing her new man for our approval.” Maddie Sinclair was my other best friend. She lived in the apartment above mine. Actually, it was because of her I’d even found my apartment. And having her so close had made the move that much easier on me.

“Sounds good. I’m going to get started on the monthly accounting. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

After Jon left the kitchen, I returned my focus to finishing the damn cake, which—somehow—had become synonymous with moving on with my life. I turned on the mixer and added some egg whites, along with some milk. I tried to think of something else, tried to push back the sadness. “Snap out of it,” I muttered.

Grandma Verda asked me to think about what I wanted, so I decided to concentrate on that. If I could have anything I wanted for my birthday, what would it be?

A vacation in Maui would be sweet. Or maybe a new car, one with a functioning radio. My little Volkswagen bug wasn’t nearly as cute as it used to be.

But there had to be something better. Something bigger.

Something bigger.

I mentally thumbed through the possibilities, and suddenly, my mind latched onto the perfect one. I wanted retribution.

“Revenge is sweet; payback is a bitch,” I said. Yeah, I wanted both. Revenge and payback. Closure was nice and all, but the snake in me wanted to come out. Since I had to make the damn cake, it would be nice if I could inflict some sort of legacy to go along with it.

Oh, I didn’t want to poison the bride and groom. That wasn’t me; and besides, jail didn’t appeal in any way. So totally not worth it. If I could do anything, it would have to be something personal. Something subtle. But also, something that stuck.

As I added the remainder of the egg white mix, the perfect payback hit me. Mirth bubbled up inside, and I giggled. I couldn’t help it. Wedding nights meant sex. Honeymoons meant more sex. What if Marc’s body refused to cooperate? What if—on his wedding night with his new bride—he couldn’t get it up?

See, I knew Marc inside and out. He, like most men, was paranoid about his sexual performance. I’d never complained about it, but it’s not like I had anyone to compare him to. He’d been it for me, in more ways than one. But if this happened, he’d be mortified. Tiffany would be hysterical. And yet no one would be hurt—not really. And the situation would be temporary. It really was the perfect payback.

Yeah, I liked the idea. A lot. It didn’t even bother me that it was the bitchiest thought I’d had in a long, long time. Hell, if I could wish that upon him—if I had any power—I’d do it. In an instant. It was subtle, but in a big—or in this case, limp—sort of way.

I increased the speed of the mixer, my movements automatic. Gradually, I added the dry ingredients I’d measured earlier, the bowl rotating smoothly.

I didn’t feel queasy anymore. Without understanding why, I whispered, “See how you like this, Marc. No sex for you until after your honeymoon, because you won’t be able to get it up. No matter what you do, no matter what your wife tries. Soft and limp. Even if you have Viagra, it will do you no good.”

I laughed again, and curiously, felt a strange buzz around me, kind of like static electricity but stronger. It bounced through me, and off of me, and prickles coated my skin. A shiny glow moved from my hand to the mixer and then to the bowl. Then the entire thing lit up in faint pulsing shots of light.

“What the hell?” The lights kept bobbing around, getting stronger as the energy flowed through me. I dropped my hand and leapt back to unplug the mixer. I was pretty sure I’d been an instant away from electrocution, because nothing else made any sense.

A few seconds later the buzzing stopped, the tingling subsided, the glow faded. I examined the plug and the mixer. Both looked fine. I pulled on some thick rubber gloves and shoved the plug back in the outlet. The mixer just whirred away. No sparks, no sizzles.

“Weird,” I said.

All I wanted to do was finish up, so I got back to work. Once the batter was ready, I prepared the pans and filled them. After they were in the ovens and I set the timer, I cleaned up my area and then just stopped.

And breathed.

I looked at the mixer, anxiety churning in my gut. Jon was going to flip when I told him we needed a new one, but no way in hell was I using that one again.

As I left the kitchen, mug in hand—because I needed more caffeine—I realized something had shifted inside of me. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt stronger than I had in a year.

Weird.

CHAPTER TWO

“Lizzie, glad you’re here,” said my mother. Isobel Raymond stood in front of the fireplace, hands on her narrow hips, directing traffic. Her perfectly coiffed hair framed her face, and tiny gold earrings added a bit of sparkle. “Go sit next to your father.”

“Um, okay.” Obviously, something was up. I’d find out what soon enough, but for now, I was happy to be with my family. While I’d taken the day off, it had mostly been spent staring out my bedroom window in depression. Marc’s wedding was the next day, and I couldn’t seem to get my mind off it. Luckily, my mood brightened the moment I entered my parents’ house.

My dad, Marty, was sitting on the couch we’d had for a hundred years. The orange monstrosity was indestructible, and your skin stuck to it if you were wearing shorts. But my mother refused to replace anything, ever, no matter what. She figured a staple gun and hot glue could fix anything.

I grabbed the blanket from the floor and laid it on the cushion next to my dad before sitting down. Even though I was wearing jeans, the memories of raw legs were too strong to chance. Naugahyde scared me. Enough said.

“Hi, Dad.” I leaned over and gave him a smooch on his stubbly cheek.

Raising his gaze, he smiled briefly, blue eyes bright behind his glasses. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” His attention immediately returned to the sports page. That was fine by me; we never had much to talk about, but if I ever needed anything, my father would move heaven and earth to get it to me. To any of us kids.

“As soon as Scot gets here, we need to decide what we’re going to do about Grandma,” my mother announced.

My grandmother seemed to be dozing in the rocker, but with her, you never really knew. She played possum a lot.

“I already told you she can’t stay with me,” my sister Alice said.

“Wait a minute. What’s going on?” I asked. “Why does Grandma need a place to live?” As far as I knew, she was happy in her condo.

My mother crossed her arms. “If Scot would get here, I’d explain it to you.”

I glanced at Alice. She shook her head and made the crazy sign with her finger. I resisted the urge to giggle. Most people thought Alice and I were twins, as we shared the same shade of brown hair and eyes. That’s where the resemblance stopped, so those people were blind, nuts, or both. She was easily two inches taller than my 5’6”, thinner by at least ten pounds, and younger by almost three years. I loved her anyway.

My younger brother, Joe, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, was the only member of the family that resembled my father. Of course, my father’s hair had receded to the point that he was almost never without a hat.

“Why’s everyone so glum?” asked my older brother, Scot, finally making his entrance. He looked fit, healthy, and tanned. In February, that’s saying something.

“You’re late.” My mother pointed. “Go sit with Alice. We need to have a family conference.”

Scot knew enough not to argue, so he took his place as requested.

My mother strolled across the room, her navy house dress swishing around her legs. She sat down on the other side of my father and snatched his paper. “Pay attention, Marty. Everyone’s here now.”

“I’ve heard it already, Isobel. Tell them.” He retrieved the paper.

My mother stared at him. The rest of us watched. We’d seen this power play our entire lives, and the outcome could go one of two ways. After about a minute, my father released his hold on the paper. “Fine, I’m listening.”

One point for Mom.

“Thank you. You can go back to it in a minute.” Turning to us, she said, “Your grandmother needs a new place to live, and she refuses to move in here.” Her eye twitched. “She says I’ll cramp her style. That means it’s up to one of you to take her in.”

Alice pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t have room. Otherwise, I’d love to have her.”

I suspected Alice was more concerned about the man living with her, unbeknownst to our parents, than she was about finding room for Grandma Verda.

“Joe has plenty of space,” I interjected. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Grandma to live with me, but I really didn’t have the space. My tiny one-bedroom apartment was barely big enough for me and my unpacked boxes. Not to mention my half-finished latch-hook rugs and paint-by-number kits.

Plus, as much as I loved her, Grandma Verda had some oddities that, while endearing from a distance, probably wouldn’t be as cute up close on a consistent basis.

My mother scowled. “Joe?”

My younger brother shook his head and frowned at me. “Last time Grandma stayed with me, her cat stayed hidden the entire time. She wouldn’t agree to it.”

I’d forgotten about Shirley. Only my grandmother would name her cat after her deceased husband’s mistress—whom she hadn’t even known about until the day of the funeral. Twenty years ago. As she’d only had that cat for about two years, I’d say she was still carrying a grudge.

Scot stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why does she need somewhere else to go?”

Ha, smart man. Changing the topic before all fingers pointed to him.

“She fell asleep the other night while heating up soup. It wasn’t a huge problem . . . this time. But there’s more.” Fear resonated in my mother’s voice.

I didn’t have to hear more. Grandma could stay with me. I glanced at her, and I saw her squinting out through one eye. Yep, playing possum.

My father rustled the paper on his lap. “Tell them the rest, Isobel.”

“Your grandmother has been calling 911 nearly every night. Esther, from my bridge group, told me.” She crossed her legs, bobbed the top one up and down. “Esther’s daughter works in the call center and recognized the name.” Heaving a breath, she continued, “So I called around and found out about it. In the last month, she’s called asking about the weather, for synopses of her favorite shows, and twice to inquire if an officer could bring her beer.”

Just like that, everything I’d worried about that day vanished. Was my grandmother lonely? That’s what it sounded like to me, and I hated that. Hated thinking of her alone, late at night, reaching out to strangers instead of family.

The deal was cinched. “She can stay with me.”

“Did they bring her beer?” Joe asked.

My mother huffed. “I have no idea, Joe. What does that have to do with anything?”

I stole another look at Grandma, and she was sitting upright now, eyes wide open. She winked at me. I winked back.

“So I wanted a beer, who cares? And yes, those nice fellows brought me a six-pack and a bag of Cheetos.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips, just like Mom had earlier. “I don’t need to move in with anyone. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Mom, you can’t call 911 because you want a beer. When did you start drinking beer anyway?”

Grandma shrugged.

“I want you to stay here, with me and Marty. I’m worried about you,” my mother pushed.

Brushing at her purple sweatpants, Grandma Verda said, “Thank you, but no. It’s a nice offer, and I appreciate it.” She looked at me. “We’re here for Lizzie’s birthday, and I’m hungry.” Swiveling on her heel, she dashed for the dining room.

“We’ll talk about this later,” my mother whispered.

My grandmother had great ears. “No, we will not. The discussion is over.”

“Honey, don’t worry about it. We’ll start checking on her more,” my father said to my mother. “We can all do that.” He whipped his gaze to each of us. “Right?”

“I’m usually over by her place a couple times a week,” Joe said. He was a salesman and was on the road a lot. “I’ll start stopping in.”

The rest of us worked out a system so that someone would be calling or visiting every day. That would have to be enough for now.

After dinner and presents, I found my mother in the kitchen. She was drying a dish and to most people would probably appear calm. But her spine was a little too straight, her wiping at the plate a little too fast. “Mom, can I help?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your birthday, no dishes for you. Do you like your gift?” She’d purchased me a year membership at a fitness club, along with the services of a personal trainer.

“It’s very thoughtful.”

Snapping the dishtowel on the counter, she said, “I know what that means. If you don’t want it, give it to a friend.”

“Mom, no, that’s not it. I do like it.” I just wasn’t sure I’d use it. But, knowing my mom, it was probably a nudge to pretty up and find a man. She wanted grandbabies, and none of her kids had yet procreated. Seeing as we were all over thirty, her chances seemed to decrease each year.

Pushing that thought away, I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “You’re not going to let Grandma go home by herself tonight, are you? I think she should stay here, or with me, at least for a couple nights.”

“Let her? She’ll do what she wants. She always has. I can’t tie her up and force her to stay. Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

“I can try.” After a moment I added, “You know it’s not you she doesn’t want to live with, right? It’s giving up on her independence.”

My mother’s shoulders sagged, and I saw defeat in her eyes. “I’m just scared. She’s eighty-five years old, and I don’t know how to handle this portion of her life.”

I gave her a hug, and the scent of gardenia she wore reminded me of my childhood. In a flash, I was ten years old again, hugging her before going to bed. “Thanks for dinner and the present. Jon, Andy, and Maddie are taking me out tonight, so I need to run home and change.”

She squeezed again, tight, and then let go. “Have fun, but don’t drive if you drink.”

“I never do, Mom.”

She turned back to her dishes, and I went to find Grandma. Only she and my father remained in the living room. “Where did everyone else go?”

My father, who was now watching the television, said, “They had dates.”

“All of them?”

“That’s what they said.”

I tried to ignore the longing that hit me, despite the fact that I was going out with friends. I wanted a date. I wanted to feel attractive to a man again. I pushed the wish aside and focused on my grandmother. “Grandma, you look tired. Maybe you should stay here tonight and go home tomorrow.”

“No.” She didn’t look at me, just sat on the couch, watching out the window. “I’m waiting for Vinny.”

“Who’s Vinny?”

“My beau. He’s taking me to the movies.”

That caught my father’s attention. Briefly. He must have thought he’d heard wrong, because he quickly returned his gaze to the repeat of Magnum P.I.

“Beau? You have a boyfriend?” The question barely left my mouth when I heard a toot-toot from outside.

Grandma Verda stood and straightened her sparkly sweatshirt. Her eyes found me. “Remember what my card said?”

“Well, yeah. You gave it to me yesterday.”

“Good. Have fun, but be careful. That’s all I have to say on that.” With another wink, Grandma Verda sashayed off, leaving a dusting of glitter in her wake.

Me? I was speechless. Quickly, I jumped on the couch and pressed my nose to the window. Yep, it was definitely a man opening the passenger door of an older model car—don’t ask me what kind—for Grandma Verda. He was elderly but in a healthy sort of way. He settled her in and helped her with her seatbelt. I was still staring out the glass when they sped off to parts, or a movie, unknown.

Maybe she wasn’t as lonely as I thought. I needed to think about this. Each and every one of my siblings had a date on Friday night. Even my eighty-five year old grandmother did. But not me.

Somehow, karaoke and margaritas didn’t sound as appealing as they had earlier that day.

###

When had my ass gotten so big? Or maybe it was my hips. Oh, hell, maybe it was both.

Groaning, I shoved myself harder to no avail. Now I could barely breathe. And to make matters worse, every time I pushed forward, my skirt inched down. The damn thing was caught on something, and if I wasn’t careful, not only would I be stuck, I’d be stuck without a skirt.

Pleasant thought. Anyone passing by would see my pink-pantied rear hanging out the window. My stomach twisted at that image, and I swallowed to keep from retching.

Oh yeah, in addition, my bladder was so full that I thought it would burst. Why had I had one last margarita before taking the cab ride home? Rhetorical question. I knew why—the mix of relief, celebration, and hoping for a better future. But now I just felt stupid.

I held still for an instant, using the power of positive persuasion over my bladder. If I didn’t think I had to pee, I wouldn’t have to pee, right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

I shivered as a cold breeze rolled over me, and I realized suddenly that my previous concerns were short-sighted. If I didn’t get out of there, I might actually freeze to death. It was time to figure this out, and fast.

Maybe I could back out? Hell, it was worth a try. Slowly, I eased myself in reverse and felt the wood of the windowsill scrape against my belly, but I was still wedged tight. Come on, my bathroom window was small, but it wasn’t that small. I might seriously have to reconsider the personal trainer and the gym membership thing.

And of course, that would prove my mother was right once again.

Heaving my weight completely forward, I hoped the pull of gravity would send me tumbling into my bathroom. Instead, I heard the tearing sound of fabric.

Damn! I loved that skirt. It was one of the few articles in my wardrobe that made me feel sexy. Of course, why wouldn’t my birthday end like this?

In reality, the evening had been great until I’d misplaced my keys. Which left me locked outside, at one in the morning, in the cold February rain.

At least it wasn’t snow.

Normally, Maddie would have helped me out, but she’d gone home with her new boyfriend. I should have called one of my brothers, but no. I hadn’t done that because I’d “had an idea.”

This is a good place to mention that any ideas arrived upon after consuming multiple alcoholic beverages will tend to equal stupidity. The position I was currently in proved that point. I’d seriously believed I would be able to crawl into my ground-floor apartment through my bathroom window, which I’d left open by accident. I’d considered it a friendly twist of fate. Of course, that twist hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Things couldn’t get any worse.

“Stop right there.” A deep voice came from behind. So that meant, he (whoever he was) was pretty much at my behind. With a perfect view of any cellulite hanging around on my thighs. I’d been wrong about things not getting worse.

“I’m f-fine. You can go. This is a l-little embarrassing,” I said through chattering teeth. Immediately, I recognized my mistake. I needed help, no matter how humiliated I was. Hopefully, he wasn’t a burglar—or, God help me, a photographer. “Actually, I could use some help. But you don’t have a camera, do you?”

“Breaking and entering is a crime. Unfortunately for you, you chose the wrong window. Not only am I a cop, but I live in this building. So, what you’re going to do is come down from there so I can read you your rights and take you into the station.” He sounded annoyed. As if I had somehow ruined his night.

“Don’t you think I’d come down if I could? Or do you think I like having strange men look up my skirt? And I’m not breaking in, I live here.” Police officer, huh? I thought I knew every occupant in my building, and there weren’t any cops.

“Ma’am, you need to come down now. I don’t want to use force.”

“Please, use force.”

“I’m going to count to three. You have that long to get out of that window.”

“Wait! I can prove to you who I am if you can get me out of here. My ID is in my purse!” Did I sound desperate? Probably. I didn’t care.

He sighed. What sort of a man sighs? “Where’s your purse?”

“On the other side of this window. I dropped it in before I tried to climb through.”

“Why are you breaking into your own home?”

Was this guy an idiot? I mean, seriously. “Because I lost my keys.” I enunciated each word slowly.

I heard footsteps and then a click. His body brushed against mine as a bright light swooped into my field of vision, presumably from a flashlight. Maybe he was a cop? I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but couldn’t quite see that far behind me.

I really had to pee.

“I don’t see a purse. You’ll have to show me your ID when I get you out.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll need to see yours too, Officer.”

Another click, and all was dark again. I felt hard warm hands on my thighs. In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed such a feeling, but not these circumstances, despite the tingles traveling the length of my body. “Watch where you grab, fella.”

“You want out or not?”

“Yes, please.” No one would ever know about this. Ever.

He tugged and then he pulled and then he yanked, his grip tighter on my thighs with each attempt. Next, he stood right behind me and moved his grasp up to my hips and pulled harder. This was an entirely new form of humiliation. I just knew my face, and all my other body parts, were as red as a fire engine.

At least it was dark.

The cop abruptly let go. “This is a really small window. How did you think you’d get through it?”

Was that a joke about the size of my ass? “One too many margaritas,” I quipped, trying to cover my anxiety.

“Oh. You’ve been drinking.” He sounded disapproving.

“I was out for my birthday. People drink; it’s not a crime. Just get me out of here. It’s freezing, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not happening. I’m going to have to get some help, I think. We might have to remove the window bracing for enough give.”

“No! Don’t do that!” I think I whimpered. The thought of more people viewing this spectacle would make any red-blooded woman whimper. Trust me. Even though the rain had stopped, I didn’t need my neighbors running outside to see what the commotion was. If that happened, I’d have to move. To another state. “Just try again.”

“You’re not coming out this way. I’m going to radio in for assistance.”

“No! I have an idea.” Hopefully, I was sober enough to have a good one. “Will you try something first?” I begged.

The man hesitated. I could hear his intake of breath. I’m sure he wanted this over with. Well, guess what? So did I.

“You said you live in this building?” I prayed he hadn’t been lying.

“Yeah.”

“So you have a key to get into the building then, right?”

“That’s how it works when you live in a building.” Nice, not only could he see my panties, but he was sarcastic, too.

“I have an extra key to my apartment underneath the plant outside my door. Maybe if you let yourself into my apartment, you can pull me in from the other side.”

“You keep a key hidden outside your apartment? That’s not safe.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty darn happy it’s there now,” I growled. Oops, wrong tactic. No need to piss the guy off. “I mean, I know, and you’re right, and I promise I’ll move it if you’ll just get me down.”

“Whatever, lady. We’ll try it your way. If it doesn’t work, I’m calling for help.” As he walked away, the mutter “Why do I meet all the crazy ones?” met my ears.

Right back at you, buddy.

The wait seemed excruciatingly long, but that possibly had more to do with the intense discomfort I was in rather than the actual number of minutes the cop took to get to me. When the bathroom light blazed on, I winced. Because the window was above the bathtub, all I could see was the fifteen-dollar white shower liner I’d bought at Wal-Mart almost a year ago. I probably should replace it; it was kind of dingy.

“You there?” He really had a great voice. Deep and rumbly. I still had to pee.

“Where would I go?”

The curtain whipped back. I sucked in a deep breath—which wasn’t that easy due to my current predicament.

The stranger was in uniform, so it appeared he’d been honest with me and really was a police officer. Kudos for him. His black hair was in a military cut, and his eyes were a shade of green I hadn’t known existed. Not romance novel handsome, but I definitely wouldn’t toss him out of bed—if he managed to find his way there. With the way my year had gone, that wasn’t likely.

His gaze took in my appearance, and I couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he saw. I suspected it was better I didn’t know.

“Let’s get this over with. What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Hi, Elizabeth. I’m Nate Sutherland.” As he spoke, he grabbed my purse and flipped it open.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m ascertaining you are who you say you are.”

“Can’t you get me out first?”

“No.”

Jerk. Stupid, sexy jerk.

“I have to pee.”

“Shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

I watched as he opened my wallet and scanned my driver’s license and then raised his gaze to my face. “Sorry about that, Elizabeth.” He tossed my purse to the floor.

Stepping halfway into the tub, Nate grasped underneath my arms. Right at my armpits. I hoped my anti-perspirant hadn’t stopped working. Wow, he smelled really nice. Sort of woodsy and manly all at once. I’d have to ask him what cologne he was wearing.

“Ready?”

“God, yes.”

“I’m going to pull you out now.” Nate’s grip tightened and then he yanked. When I barely budged, he tugged again with far more force. I fell forward, and by reflex, I wrapped my arms around his neck. Moving his hands down to my waist, he pulled slower this time.

This cop was strong; even with the majority of my weight in his arms, he stayed upright. Gotta like that in a man.

“I’m just going to step backward and bring you the rest of the way—” Before he could finish the sentence, my skirt gave up its fight. The piece of fabric that had been caught let loose. I tumbled into Nate, he tumbled backward, and in no time at all I was free. Free!

I was also in the arms of, and on top of, a fairly sexy guy—a sexy guy who, naturally, didn’t appear very pleased. More’s the pity.

I stood up, fast, and tried to right my ruined skirt as much as possible. Its destruction saddened me, as it had been a long eight-hour day of shopping to find the dang thing to begin with. And I hated shopping.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I rubbed my arms in an effort to warm up. “Can you give me a minute?”

As he righted himself, Nate frowned. Fortunately, he didn’t argue—just backed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

I wasn’t fast, but after I completed the necessities, I checked the mirror. Horrid wouldn’t begin to describe my appearance. Washing my face helped. Brushing my hair only gave me a nest-like style, but at least it was no longer rain-plastered to my head.

After slipping off my totaled skirt, I grabbed my robe from the hook on the door and slid it on. Opening the door, I went to face the music.

Nate leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, his legs stretched out in front of him. Silently, he offered me my key.

“Thank you. For your help and everything. When did you move in?”

“Yesterday. I’m your next door neighbor.”

Oh, that was solid information. Maybe things were finally turning around.

He walked to the front door. “I don’t need to file a report. I found you hanging out the window after my shift ended.”

“Oh. Good,” I said. Nothing in writing to prove the night ever happened. Couldn’t argue with that.

The cop stopped in the hallway, the open door between us. “Don’t keep your key outside. It really isn’t safe.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry to—”

A small smile and a tip of his head cut me off. “Things happen. Be more careful in the future.”

Nodding again, I tightened the belt on my robe.

“Good night, Elizabeth. Happy birthday.”

Silly, but I stayed in the doorway for probably five minutes or so after he’d let himself in to his own apartment. Nate. I really wished I’d met him under better circumstances.