Chapter 20 #2
All of it pours out at the end of Cris’s driveway in my broken wheelchair.
I put my good hand over my face, pretty sure things can’t get any worse.
That’s when the first caw sounds from somewhere overhead…
At first, I think it’s just random bird noise, but then it comes again, closer this time. So close, I flinch and drop my hand just as the most massive crow I’ve ever seen bobs down onto the pavement in front of me.
I rear back in my chair, tears cutting off with a gasp. “What the—”
It caws again, an aggressive, rattling sound, and swaggers closer, like a little bird thug asking if I want to rumble.
“No, I don’t,” I say, voice still thick from crying. “Go away. Shoo. Shoo!”
But it doesn’t shoo. It launches itself into the air, then flies down at my head.
“No! Stop! Leave me alone!” I throw up my good arm, shielding my face, only to bleat in terror as its wings brush my fingers.
What the hell is going on here?
Since when do crows attack people?
Why is the world such absolute garbage these days?
“Stop! Stop, I swear to God,” I cry out, swatting the air as the bird continues to circle, cawing abuse overheard.
I’m about to scream bloody murder—or “fire, help fire!” since I heard more people will help if they think you’re on fire, than if they think you’re being attacked—when a male voice booms from the darkness.
“Enough, Edgar! Stop it right now. Leave her alone, you bully.”
I jerk my gaze to my left to see a broad-shouldered man crossing the now illuminated front lawn next door. The crow—Edgar?—plops back onto the sidewalk a few feet away with a sassy croak.
As the man reaches the fence, he points a stern finger at the winged menace, “I mean it, you little jerk. Or I’ll tell Maybelline you’re sneaking out at night again, and you know she won’t be happy.
You won’t be getting any walnut treats from me either if you don’t shape up. Now, get on home, you bad bird.”
The crow makes a grumbling noise that makes it sound like he understood every word the man just said, then takes to the air, gliding across the cul-de-sac to disappear behind the roof of the darkened house next door.
“Are you okay?” the man asks.
He’s on the sidewalk now, moving toward me. As he steps into the light, it becomes clear that he’s not just tall and built, he’s crazy good-looking. From his sandy brown hair to his sparkly blue eyes to that jawline a comic book hero would kill for, he’s yummy enough that I’m instantly flustered.
And a little embarrassed that I’m currently wearing flamingo pajamas and a tiara and can’t remember the last time I washed my hair.
I reach up, deciding I can at least take care of one of these things. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry to bother you.” I wince as one of the hairpins sticks, but finally manage to dislodge it and drop the tiara into my lap.
“You weren’t bothering me. But that’s probably a good idea,” he says, motioning to the tiara. “I think Edgar’s gone for the night, but he’s a madman for anything shiny. I’m sure that’s what he was after.”
My eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
He stops in front of my wheelchair. “That’s my best guest. He isn’t a bad guy, just greedy for sparkly things. Now, what can I do to help?”
I shake my head, still a little stunned that I was nearly mugged by a crow.
“Um, I… Well, I’m staying with Cristina.
She went out to get ice cream, but then Barnaby ran away before I could stop him, and I was trying to get him back inside.
But I think I broke my wheelchair when I slammed on the brakes to keep from rolling into the street. Barnaby’s her dog. I’m Clover.”
“I know Barnaby.” He crouches down beside my wheelchair, giving the wheel a quick glance before lifting those dazzling blue eyes to mine. “Nice to meet you, Clover. I’m Dean, and your chair is definitely broken. Can I offer you a lift inside?”
“A lift? In what?” I ask, too busy being distracted by the sexy dimple by his also very sexy mouth to connect the dots right away.
He grins harder, exhaling a laugh. “I could carry you. That’s what I meant.
This wheelchair isn’t rolling anywhere until that wheel’s fixed, so…
” His smile fades. “I promise, I’ll be very respectful and very careful.
” He glances down at my plastered-up body.
“Looks like you’ve really been through it. ”
I nod. “Yeah. Car accident.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says, the empathy in his gaze making me believe it.
Hot and kind…
Damn. The chances of me not catching a serious crush are pretty much out the window at this point.
And then he rumbles in a husky voice that has me tingling all over, “Think you can put the arm in the cast around my neck? Pretty sure I can manage the rest without any help.”
I nod and whisper, “Yes,” even as I add silently, I bet you can manage the rest.
By the time he’s toted me up the driveway and through the backyard and carefully maneuvered my casted leg through the screen door, I’ve decided I want him to “manage” every inch of me. Preferably while I’m naked and not injured or half covered in plaster.
He sets me on the couch, fetches the footstool to prop up my leg, then excuses himself to run back down the driveway and collect my broken wheelchair.
He returns a minute later, only slightly breathless from the task, setting it in the corner before turning to face me with his hands propped on his hips. “There you go.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, meaning it.
He smiles, but his eyes narrow as they study my face. “Sure thing. Happy to help.”
I hold his gaze for a beat, watching him watch me with increasing intensity until I finally ask, “Do I have lettuce in my tiara or something?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry, no, I just…” He motions my way. “Now that we’re in the light, you look so familiar. Have we met before?”
I blink, thinking there’s no way in hell I would have forgotten meeting this sex god with perfectly crinkly eyes. Aloud, I say, “No, I don’t think so, but I work at a diner in Mid-City. Eaten breakfast around there lately?”
He shakes his head again, more slowly this time. “No, I haven’t, but I—”
“Clover, are you okay? Barnaby ran up to me at the end of the—” Cristina cuts off, freezing in the front doorway as she spots the hot guy across the room, a bag of ice cream in one hand and Barnaby’s collar in the other. “Dean! Hi, what a surprise.”
She stands, releasing Barnaby as she grins and closes the door behind her.
Barnaby, delighted by his own adventure, trots straight to Dean and shoves his nose into his crotch.
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to laugh.
Same, Barnaby. Would not mind doing the same…
“He saved me,” I inform Cristina as she moves into the room, depositing the bag of ice cream on the coffee table. “I tried to go after Barnaby and ended up stranded at the end of the driveway with a broken wheelchair.”
Cris’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my God! Honey, I’m so sorry. You’re the sweetest, but you shouldn’t have. Barnaby always comes home when he bolts. Always.” She winces. “I should have told you. I feel awful.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “All’s well that ends well, and Dean scared away the crow that was trying to steal my tiara, too, so…”
“Edgar. That shit turd. You poor thing.” Cristina’s jaw drops as she turns to Dean. “Wow. You really are our hero tonight.”
“I was just in the right place at the right time,” Dean says, giving Barnaby one final pat before moving toward the screen door.
He glances back at me as he reaches for the handle, “Call me if you need help getting your wheelchair to the medical equipment place to be fixed or swapped out, or whatever. I’ve got a truck, and I’m happy to help. ”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him, even as the warm, tingly crush feelings intensify to a place that is probably unhealthy for a wounded woman.
He grins. “I know, but it feels good to help, right? Just let me know. Cristina has my number.”
“Thanks so much, Dean. We will.” Cristina follows him, waving him across the backyard before shutting the real door as well as the screen door.
She watches him go for a beat before turning back to me with a giddy grin.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, honey, but I’m so glad you met the new neighbor!
Isn’t he the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?
I swear to God, if I weren’t happily married, I would be on that man like a lioness hunting a gazelle. ”
I laugh as I agree, “Crazy hot. And he carried me inside like I was a tiny baby doll human.”
She waves a hand as she hustles back to collect the bag full of ice cream from the table. “Well, you are a tiny baby doll human, girl. And totally gorgeous, but I think he’s too old for you.”
My brows lift. “Yeah? How old is he?”
“In his early thirties, I’m pretty sure,” she says, raising her voice to be heard as she moves into the kitchen, fetching bowls and spoons from the cabinet.
“He has two little girls, about three and four years old. He only moved in a couple of months ago, but I’ve been able to deduce that he has partial custody, isn’t dating anyone at the moment, and the divorce is final, so… could be perfect for Cami.”
“Oh, right,” I say, fighting the wave of disappointment rising in my chest. “Yeah, could be. I mean, they both know what it’s like to be single parents.”
Cami is Cristina’s older sister, who became a single mom to her seven-year-old last year when her husband—also in the military—left her for some woman he’d met on his last deployment. She’s funny, gorgeous, and totally age-appropriate for a guy in his early thirties.
I, on the other hand, am probably about ten years Dean’s junior, at a very different stage of life, and have zero interest in being a stepparent.
I had enough drama with my stepmother in the three years she and my father were married, thank you very much.
I would rather need help getting on the toilet for the rest of my life than be trapped in that kind of dynamic again, even if it were from the other side of the parenting fence.
Cristina is right. Dean is not for me.
So, I smile as she returns with two bowls of ice cream and say, “You should arrange for them to bump into each other sometime.”
Cris beams as she reaches for the remote. “That’s what I thought. And don’t worry, cutie, we’ll find someone fabulous for you when you’re ready to date again.” She pats my leg gently. “And we can swap out your wheelchair tomorrow before we head to the bookstore. No worries.”
“Sounds great, thanks,” I say, my throat tight.
Cris shoots me a sideways glance as she clicks on the DVD player. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you? If you were, we should—”
“No, no, I’m fine,” I say, forcing a brighter note into my tone. “Just ready for a pain pill. I’m going to take it as soon as I’ve got some ice cream in my stomach.” I nod toward the television. “Let’s start it. Barnaby is dying for some Mia Thermopolis. He told me so.”
Barnaby huffs as he flops down on the floor at Cristina’s feet, making us both laugh. A beat later, The Princess Diaries menu screen pops up with its little crown spinning in the corner, and Cristina makes a noise of anticipatory delight as she digs into her ice cream.
I dive into mine, too, doing my best not to think about the hottie next door.
He’s a dad, and that’s a dealbreaker. I don’t date men with children.
That’s just a fact about me, the same way it’s a fact that I play bass and not guitar, that I learned to sew before I learned how to work the washing machine, and that I cry at the end of Toy Story 3, even though I’ve seen it about a dozen times.
It’s just a thing that’s true.
Because I would never want to hurt a kid the way I was hurt. And because love is hard enough without added complications like ex-wives and kids and a ten-year age-gap.
On screen, Anne Hathaway discovers she’s a princess just as I scrape the last of the brownie chunk ice cream from the bottom of the bowl. I take my pain pill, sit back, and wait for the sad, disappointed feeling to go away.
It doesn’t. Which is just…dumb!
You don’t catch feelings in five minutes. That’s not how feelings work. That’s not how anything works! High school girls in movies don’t even catch feelings that fast, and they have a script and orchestral soundtracks and makeover montages.
I am twenty-three years old. I am in two casts with at least five weeks of serious healing ahead of me.
I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get my jobs back or what life in NOLA looks like for me moving forward.
I have to focus on surviving, then thriving.
Dating is seriously the last thing on my list right now.
That’s the truth.
I remind myself of that again and again, until I finally fall asleep near the end of the movie and dream of riding a giant crow into battle, dressed in fantasy armor, with Dean in the saddle behind me, whispering sexy things into my ear.