Saving Romance (Romances in the Building #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Carly

“Mommy! Mr. Pickles is stuck in the toilet again!” Ava yells.

I groan as I shove the last clean plate into my cupboard and close the dishwasher door.

How my child has now twice gotten a giant stuffed donkey stuck in her toilet is a mystery.

I have a sneaking suspicion that when she helped my colleague’s toddler with potty training two weeks ago, she decided she needed more practice in the off chance she happens upon another toddler in need of her expertise.

I walk into the bathroom to find half a stuffed donkey sticking out of the toilet.

I give my nearly six-year-old daughter a pointed look.

“What? He was doing so well. And what if Anissa needs help next time we visit? I barely remember potty training,” she explains as she motions to her donkey, which is now soaking up water and sinking lower into the bowl.

“Aves, you don’t need to be a potty training expert. I promise you. Anissa’s mom has got this under control,” I explain as I come over and yank on the stuffed animal. Shit. It’s really stuck.

“Sorry, Mom,” she says, and I get a little sad.

She always called me mommy until she was about four.

Now, it’s only sometimes mommy, which only reminds me of how fast she’s growing up.

I just hope I’m enough for her. I watch my friends’ and colleagues’ kids with two parents and can’t help but compare myself.

“Let me call Mr. Troy,” I say, trying not to sigh. Ava is a mature five-year-old, but she’s still five. I hate to say I forget that sometimes, but in my weakest mom moments, I do.

“It’s my fault. I’ll go get him,” she says as she stands from where she’s sitting on the side of the bathtub. It’s then that I notice she wrote on the bathtub wall with her bath crayons.

“Curtsy flush.”

It takes me two seconds to understand what it means. She means a “courtesy flush.”

I point to it, and she giggles. “Mr. Hutch taught me to curtsy flush,” she says proudly. Of course he did.

“Courtesy flush,” I correct and write it out above her adorable handwriting. She shrugs.

We live in the best apartment building ever. My neighbors have become like my family. And they all chip in when I need last-minute babysitting. And Hutchinson Cromwell is one of Ava’s regular sitters.

“Oh, he did, did he?” I ask as I make a mental note to tell my ex-football-playing neighbor to watch what he says.

Bray, who is one of my closest friends and lives across the hall, would never teach Ava silly stuff like that.

He’s so good with her. And to be fair, so is Hutch, even when he acts like a big kid himself.

She shrugs and skips out of the bathroom as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. I hear our door slam, and I run a hand over my face. My phone buzzes with a text.

Giving Mr. Pickles a shake of my head, I walk back into the dining room and pick up my phone.

Bray: I can be there tomorrow at eight.

Me: Perfect. I have lunch for you guys in the fridge.

Braydon Murphy has been a lifesaver. Out of all my friends, he’s stepped up the most to help with Ava. Plus, since he’s an emergency room doctor, I know Ava’s in good hands.

The door flies open, and Troy walks in carrying tools in one hand and holding Ava in his other. She grins at me, and it’s hard to be annoyed with her. She’s lucky she’s so stinking cute.

“I found Mr. Troy,” she says as she points up at his head as if I can’t see him.

“Hi, Troy,” I say.

“I hear Mr. Pickles has a toilet issue again,” he says as he winks at me.

I motion to the bathroom, and he nods as he walks down the hallway.

Ava chats away with him as if it’s just another day, and I suppose it is.

Sighing, I look at the calendar on my wall.

It’s the only way I can keep myself organized.

It’s color-coded and has this little scan thing that uploads to my phone.

I have six weeks until I get my two-week summer vacation, and then it’s back to prep for the next school year.

At least I’m not moving rooms at my school.

After three years there, I finally feel like I’m settling into the environment.

I log into my tutoring job’s website and check my schedule for the week. This is my third summer tutoring there, and I have a few regular students and a few new students. My schedule is packed, which is good because we need the money.

God, how I wish I had a partner to share some burdens with, but at the same time, I’m just glad I got Ava and me out of a bad situation. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

My ex, her father, Chad, whose name alone should have been a clue, was a jerk.

He was always critical of me. We fought constantly from the time Ava was born.

And one day, we had a big fight. He said he hated being a husband and father.

And then he walked out of the house and slammed the door, kicking over a planter on the porch as he went to his car and drove off.

Something about that was the final straw for me.

I packed our things and left that night.

I drove through the night to my sister’s house.

She helped me file for divorce the next day.

Chad is supposed to pay child support, and he does have once-a-month visitation rights, but he’s only used them a few times right after we separated, and last year the child support payments stopped arriving.

I could take him back to court, but it’s easier doing it on my own than asking him to help.

His mom, who isn’t well, sends Ava birthday and holiday cards and always signs Chad’s name, but I know it’s from her and not him.

Ava used to ask about Daddy at first. But then, she asked less and less, until she didn’t ask at all.

I know I’ll have to explain all of it to her someday, but that day isn’t today.

And yes, I still hold out hope that he’ll change his mind and be the parent he should be. And maybe that will happen too.

I decided to move near my sister. She’s not much help, but she’s family, the only family we have left.

Well, at least the only family that remembers me.

Our parents both have dementia and are in a nursing home for memory care patients.

So, Anne is my last family member that I talk with regularly, aside from our aunt and uncle and a few cousins that we see once a year.

When I decided to relocate here, I was crashing on Anne’s sofa bed with Ava until my principal heard I needed a place and told me her friend, Al, had a great apartment that he was looking to rent.

Oddly, Cam had also mentioned it at our Pilates class.

And that’s how I came to live at one-eleven Hearts Lane.

“All done,” Troy calls out as he walks back to the kitchen.

“Thank you. I owe you one,” I say with a sigh as he sets a wet Mr. Pickles on my counter. I grimace. I swear that stuffed donkey is going to be the end of me.

I sit down after tucking Ava into bed. Letting my head fall back against my sofa cushions that have seen better days, I look up at the ceiling.

My eyelids start to droop. I should get our laundry out of the dryer and fold it, but I’m exhausted.

I close my eyes for a moment when a knock at my door abruptly pulls me from my semi-conscious state.

I glance at the clock in the hall. It’s eight thirty.

Too early for bed, too late for visitors.

With a groan, I walk over to the door and peek through my peephole.

Bray stands there, holding up a bag of food from our favorite Chinese restaurant.

I fling open the door.

He grins. “I knew Asian Dragon would get you to open the door!”

I give him a small laugh. His eyes search mine as he steps inside and sets the food on the table.

“You OK?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, just tired. Someone decided to potty train Mr. Pickles again.”

He winces as he starts pulling food out of the bag.

“We’ve got to get her a new hobby.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I state as I sit and open a carton of lo mein, digging into it with the wooden chopsticks from the bag. Then I frown.

“I thought you were working until midnight?”

He shakes his head as he chews on some Mongolian beef. I watch his throat muscles as he swallows. For a man who is busy, he certainly does keep up his workouts.

“Harry switched with me, but his mother-in-law showed up early for a visit, so he pretended I needed him before midnight,” he says with a laugh. “And having us both there was getting too complicated, so I left a little early.”

Bray’s schedule at the local hospital’s emergency room has usually been the night shift.

Which means, he’s been around during the day when I need help with Ava.

So, he’s my go-to after-school care. But a few days ago, when I realized Ava’s summer camp wasn’t available any longer, he volunteered to switch his schedule to a four-to-midnight shift so he could be home with Ava during the day.

I swear, I have no idea what I’d do without him.

“Well, thanks for the food. I managed to scarf down half a grilled cheese with Ava before she decided we needed to go do her new puzzle,” I say as I wave a hand toward the coffee table, where half a puzzle is put together.

Bray reaches over and gives my shoulder a rub. It feels amazing, and I relax a little.

“Come here. Your back is in knots,” he states as he pats the chair next to him. I walk around the table and turn to sit, pulling my hair to the side to give him access to my sore muscles.

He begins to massage them, and I moan. “You are a magician. How did I get so lucky to have you as my neighbor?”

He chuckles. “We’ll blame Al for that,” he teases.

Al O’Brien, who owns our apartment building, one-eleven Hearts Lane, is like the building’s grandfather.

Bray’s mentor at work was friends with Al’s late wife.

And when he needed a place, Al offered him an apartment.

And she also knew my former mentor, so when Ava and I needed a new home, Al made sure that we had one.

I grin at the memory of moving into my place.

“What?” Bray asks, his hot breath warms my neck while he continues to massage my shoulders.

“I was just remembering when we moved in,” I admit.

Bray laughs, and I can tell it’s his real laugh, not the polite one, not the forced one, not even the automated-response one, but a true belly laugh.

I turn, and he keeps laughing.

I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t that funny,” I protest as I remember meeting him in the hallway. He was standing there with Hutch, and Ava was having a meltdown. I apologized because I was mortified to meet my new neighbors with a screaming three-year-old.

Hutch offered to help and picked up Ava, who promptly kicked him in the balls.

He nearly dropped her, and Bray managed to catch her. But then she got overly excited and threw up all over Bray, which caused Hutch to sympathy vomit, which caused Ava to retch again and poop her pants.

It was…a total nightmare introduction.

“Oh, come on. I was covered in shit and vomit, and Hutch was puking his guts out while holding his nuts,” Bray manages in between laughing.

I glare at him. “I was mortified!”

He gets his laughter under control and wipes a tear from his eye. “Oh, come on, a comedy writer couldn’t have dreamt that up,” he protests.

I try to fight the smile on my face because I am still mortified, three years later, but my lips curve up despite my feelings. “I mean, you two did sort of look shell-shocked,” I state.

“Shell-shocked? I’m surprised Hutch still wants kids,” he teases.

“Thank God you are around sick people all day, and weren’t as fazed as Hutch,” I say with a grimace.

“True,” he agrees.

He raises one of the soda cans he bought with the food, and I raise mine.

“To good friends,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“To neighbors who tolerate your child’s antics,” I offer.

He leans forward, and I feel his warm breath again. “What about her mom’s antics?” he teases.

I shrug. He has a point. He’s tucked me into bed at least six times in three years after ladies’ nights have turned into one too many glasses of wine.

“To best friends,” I say. His lips curve higher.

“To best friends,” he agrees, and we clink cans.

I watch his bicep as he raises the can to his lips.

Having a massage from my bestie is about as much action as I’ve gotten in over three years.

I shouldn’t even be looking at him like this.

Ogling friends is definitely off the table.

Maybe the ladies are right. Maybe it is time for me to go on a date again.

It’s great to have a hot bestie, but that’s not going to get me laid.

Maybe Bray can help me find someone to date? Nah, what am I thinking?

I try not to think about it again while we finish our food and chat about all the fun activities he has planned for Ava this summer. I really did score the greatest neighbor in the history of neighbors. And the fact that he’s smoking hot doesn’t hurt.