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Crouching next to the bike, I touch the chrome finish on the new engine, and I can’t quite catch my breath.
My bike. My bike is a Freedom bike.
I look up at Luke, absolutely stunned. “How did you find my bike?”
He shrugs, smiles that faint, sexy smile. “I have my ways.”
“But it’s been . . . months.”
“Yeah. And you’ve been working on the Freedom account for months now.” His gaze holds mine, and he’s never looked more heroic. “I’ve gotten to know your team at Z Design really well. They coughed up all your secrets. Including Craigslist and Al.”
I nod, completely overwhelmed, because he doesn’t just get it, he gets me. He gets that I’m proud, fierce, loyal. A fighter. But he also understands that I have a tender side and a strong need to be wanted. “Thank you.” My voice cracks. “I love it.”
Luke extends a hand to me, tugs me to my feet. “Happy birthday, baby.” He drops a warm kiss on my lips. “You deserve it.”
Eva bursts into a cheer, and I laugh. Luke’s right.
I do deserve it.
But don’t we all?
About the Author
I never planned on being a single mom, and I’m one hundred percent certain my boys would not want me to be known as an odd mom, but even they will tell you I’m a bit different.
Personally, I like being different. Different and eccentric are compliments in my book. Which is probably how I ended up a novelist. Ever since I was little, I’ve made up stories and walked around with plots and characters running around my head. I do hear voices, and yet the fact that I get paid to write these voices down convinces me I’m not crazy, I’m just . . . special.
The writing life suits me. Some of the most obvious advantages to the writer’s life include: not getting dressed if I don’t want to; not leaving my house if I don’t feel like it; and being able to drink gallons of coffee and tea, since the bathroom is conveniently close.
But before you think I’m the luckiest woman alive, let me be honest: My kids don’t let me stay in my pajamas all day because they say it’s annoying to look at me dressed that way at four in the afternoon; I sometimes forget I haven’t left the house in days and that’s why I’m talking to myself (again); and lastly, I can’t color my hair properly or grow my own fruit and vegetables at home, so I do eventually leave the house to run errands and pretend I’m a normal mom.
Normal, though, is a state of mind and I encourage all women to embrace their quirks, enjoy their uniqueness, and be proud of any eccentricities. I firmly believe the more you are yourself, the less you have to worry about what other people think.
For more from this odd mom and Odd Mom Out come visit me at my Web site, www.janeporter.com.
Jane
5 WAYS YOU KNOW YOU’RE THE ODD MOM OUT
1. Every year the principal asks if you’re new to the school.
2. Your kids know the inside scoop weeks before you do.
3. You’ve never shopped nor even known when Nordstrom’s big semi-annual sale is (it is twice a year though, right?).
4. You don’t own a pair of designer jeans and couldn’t tell Prada from Gucci if you tried.
5. You make up your own rules as you go . . . and ignore real lists (like this one!).
