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I looked up to see a little old lady standing by my desk holding a kettle with pot holders. Very odd, and somehow, today, not surprising.
“Where might I find Nalinda Michaels?”
Her warm, sweet voice conjured up a memory of my grandma pulling fresh baked cinnamon rolls from the oven. My mouth watered at the thought and my empty stomach growled, but the lady in front of me was still waiting for an answer. I directed her toward Nalinda’s office just as Mr. Walker stormed through the reception area and past my desk.
“Kelsie. My office. Now.”
I should make him call me Ms. Brooks. I mean, I don’t get to call him Eunice, now do I? Although, to be honest, I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face if I did. Who names their son Eunice? Even now, I found myself grinning through the nervousness churning my stomach as I dug through the piles on my desk for my pen and notebook.
Had he found out I was late? Would he make good on his promise and kick my butt out the door? How would I pay my rent? Buy groceries? I knew I should’ve updated my resume last night instead of watching that romantic comedy on cable.
Nalinda’s visitor glanced back with a concerned frown, but I sent her what I hoped was a reassuring smile on my way to answer my summons to the gallows.
I quickly discovered Mr. Walker’s meeting did not go well, and luck has nodded its fickle head in my direction once more. I swear it’s toying with me today, but since I haven’t lost my job yet, I’ll ride the waves as best I can for the time being.
In the middle of Mr. Walker’s tirade about corrupt politicians—which I’d heard so many times I could recite the diatribe in my sleep—I began to fantasize about being rescued from my mundane existence by Robin Hood. With a medieval cloak tied about his throat, he’d burst through the doors, sweep me into his arms, and carry me down in an express elevator to the trusty white steed waiting outside.
Kevin Costner is great, but for some reason, in this vivid daydream, Robin’s got blue eyes and gorgeous, dark, McDreamy hair. He sounds delicious and smells even better. Held secure on his lap atop his mount, we’d gallop off into the sunset, and I never have to pretend to agree with Eunice again. Life would be so good.
“What are you smiling about?” Mr. Walker snapped.
I blinked to return my focus. “I was just thinking about the day you become Mayor and turn this city around.”
“Darn straight I will.” He finally sat down at his desk, only to glare at me with irritation wrinkling his brow. “Well? What are you waiting for? I’m not paying you to just sit there. Get to work.”
Yeah, I know, with men like Eunice around, it’s a shocker I’m still single at thirty-three. He may be only forty-one and very good-looking with distinguished salt-n-pepper hair, but in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a first-class jerk. Like the Chai-spilling-cab-stealer.
With the fanciful Robin Hood daydream still vivid in my mind, I returned to my desk and decided to make Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out For A Hero my theme song. Only trouble with that approach is there just aren’t enough heroes to go around.
I mean, Cinderella has dibs on Prince Charming, Beauty has the Beast, King Arthur loves Guinevere, Lois Lane’s got Clark Kent, Mr. Incredible married ElastiGirl, and Marion captured Robin’s heart a long time ago; to name a few. Every fairytale has its Happily Ever After, or it wouldn’t be a fairytale by definition.
Was it so much to ask for my own?
I drummed my fingers against my lips, giving the situation some serious thought as my elbow rested on the stack of research files patiently awaiting my attention. Come to think of it, since Prince Charming couldn’t seem to make up his mind between his glass-slippered princess, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty, I could have a chance in that story. I’d be the first to admit I’m no Sleeping Beauty, but I could give Snow White a fair run for her money even with my red hair.
No, on second thought, fickle Prince Charming isn’t good enough for me. When I consider the fact that I’d give him my heart and soul, till death do us part, and take those vows seriously, I won’t settle for anything less than a hero who would die for me.
Lunchtime arrived and I scooped up my bag for the walk to Washington Square Park. My PB & J would taste better in the sunshine while I discovered exactly what was the trouble with heroes. Seriously, I owed this research to myself so I could decide whether or not to hold out for one, right?
Nalinda passed me in the hall on my way out. “Did you see my grandmother?” she asked, a note of wonder in her unusually nasally voice. “I told her last night that I felt a cold coming on, and she came all the way in from Queens to bring me homemade chicken soup.”
Ah, that explained the kettle and pot holders. “That’s so sweet.”
“I know, she’s the best.” Nalinda smiled on the way back to her office, basking in the afterglow of her grandmother’s loving care.
A small ache throbbed in my chest. I would love to have someone who’d do that for me. I’m an only child, and my parents retired to Arizona three years ago, the quintessential cliché; they couldn’t take the cold and snow anymore. Besides a couple of good friends whose jobs kept them just as busy as me, I navigated the streets of New York all alone. Most days I didn’t mind.
Then there’s today.
I sat on the sunny park bench, but instead of opening the damp, Chai-scented book in my hands, I found myself thinking back over the morning and realized what a colossal idiot I am. Mr. Apology was so sincere in his remorse for something he didn’t even do. I should’ve been nicer to him, but no
, I was too worried about being late so my boss wouldn’t be upset. And you know what I realized today, anyway? Eunice won’t fire me. No one else would put up with his crap.
What I really should’ve done was let the gorgeous man from the sidewalk deliver that coffee to my desk. Maybe I could’ve figured out why he looked familiar beyond the sexy hair. Struck up a conversation. Given him my number.
Oh, yeah—and found out his name.
I finished my PB & J and decided the next time a man was nice to me I’d be nice right back. To add emphasis, I got up to dunk my sandwich wrapper in the trash barrel. Kind of a throw out the old, bring in the new improved Kelsie. One step away, my heel wedged in a crack. Having already leaned forward to toss my garbage, I walked right out of my shoe and stepped in the remains of a half-eaten hot dog next to the can.
