The Perfect Accident

           He was a tall man, about forty, quite handsome, athletic-looking, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved denim shirt. His rusty-colored hair was cropped short.

As he shambled though the front door of my friend Liz's Coffee Cup Café, he glance anxiously at the patrons eating breakfast in the booths and at the tables.

Then he drifted over to the counter where I perched on a stool, the only woman alone at eight in the morning in the café.

I had to be to work at nine. I'm a legal secretary.

I wondered if he could tell I was a widow over forty. Truthfully, I've always been a hopeless romantic, believing in real-life fairy tales and had felt another good man—like my deceased husband, Tom—would someday come along, if only by accident. But after three years, it seemed I was wrong. Still, I was hopeful.

The man with rusty-colored hair slid onto a stool two places away from me, to my right, in front of the donut display. Force of habit, I guess, but I glanced at his left hand, and noted that it was ringless. I raised my head, and that's when our eyes met. Collided is more like it. His eyes were deep blue, and my heart skipped. He said, "Um...are you from around here?"

"Born and raised right here in Waverly. You?"

"New in town. I'm the new manager at Menards."

"That super hardware/lumber store down the road?"

He nodded. "I decided to stop to try this place for breakfast and—"

Liz appeared with my platter of French toast with two strips of bacon and an egg, over easy. She'd set me up with several blind dates, and now that she saw I was talking to this stranger, she gave me a big smirk, then looked at the man. "May I help you, sir?"

"I was stopping for breakfast—"

"Best breakfast in town," Liz said.

"—but when I was parking, my cell phone fell off the dash—I shouldn't have laid it there. Stupid, but I reached to catch it, and in the process I swerved and put a major dent in someone's car, driver's side door."

Liz darted a look at me. Her car wasn't parked in the lot, but mine was.

"I'm not sure," the man said, "the door will even open. I thought I'd ask...if you know who drives a late-model red Jeep."

I gulped. "I do."

"I'll keep your breakfast warm," Liz said.

As the man and I slid off our stools to go outside and check out my car, he said, "I'm Max Green—"

"I'm Anne Tobias."

"I've got insurance so there's no worry."

In the parking lot, in the sunlight, I saw that the gash in my Honda's door was long, deep, and ugly. "I'm sorry," he said. He looked so sheepish that I caught myself feeling sorry for him. "If you've got time this morning, we'll take your car to the body shop of your choice for an estimate."

"I can call in, take the morning off."

He offered me his cell phone. "Would like to call your husband?"

I told him I was a widow. He said he was sorry to hear that and then asked if he could buy my breakfast. "I owe you that," he said. "At the very least."

Inside, he sat next to me on a stool. While his eyes seemed to appraise me, I felt myself blush. He ordered what I had but with two eggs. We both asked for coffee, no cream nor sugar. He said he was from upstate, his first time in Waverly. He hoped to settle in and make this assignment at Menards permanent. He was divorced long ago. No kids. I told him my kids, twin girls, were both in college, seniors.

Our chatting was easy and friendly. Like old friends. Lots of smiles all around and a laugh or two—I felt my heart warming. Finally he said, "Um...this is so strange, us meeting like this..."

"I know. A dent in my car door."

He bit his bottom lip. Seemed hesitant. "Um...would you like to do something over the weekend? Dinner? A movie?"

I tried to stop my eyes from flying wide open. He's asking me out!

My breath caught for a moment. Be calm, I told myself. "There's a blues concert in the park Saturday night."

"Sounds great. Dinner? A concert?"

"All right, I'd like that."

After we finished breakfast, smiling, he said, "Let's take care of your car."

He thanked Liz for a great meal and left a hefty tip. Liz gave me a wink. As we got up to leave, he said, "Really, I'm sorry about banging into your car. All my fault."

He opened the front door for me.

I felt myself grinning hugely. "It's all right," I said. "Sometimes accidents have a way of turning out perfectly."

The End

Welcome to reality! Contemporary YA fiction with an impact. Visit: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jon+ripslinger

The Escort

Jessica said, "I don't know how to thank you, Mark. You're doing me a big favor."

I smiled at her. It's probably not often that beautiful, blonde, career executive Jessica Mayberry asks a guy to be an escort to a wedding in her family—I felt honored. "Believe me," I said, "the pleasure will be all mine.

And thank you for dinner tonight. You didn't have to do that."

"But I wanted to...I needed to explain things."

We had finished our meal and were enjoying an after-dinner glass of wine. Looking at me sheepishly with light-blue eyes, she said, "Of course you realize..."

She didn't have to finish. We both worked for the same firm but in different departments. We'd been escorts for each other to several company dinners. Each time she made it clear that romance wasn't a priority in her life. But this time I'd been asked to be her escort to a family affair, and I wondered if I could turn this encounter into something truly meaningful.

"I understand," I said. "This isn't a date, I'm simply your escort. If you show up at your cousin's wedding this weekend without a man on your arm, your mom and dad and all your sisters will think it's the end of the world."

"I'll get my mom's lecture—she's very outspoken—about working too hard. Not enjoying life. My three younger sisters are married—have given Dad and her grandkids. Now it's my turn. What's wrong with me?"

"I understand," I said again.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"I'll be happy to protect you." I reached across the table to gently squeeze Jessica's hand, which felt unexpectedly warm. I thought she might pull back, but she didn't. For the first time, I saw a warm glow in her eyes—I was sure of it—and I felt my pulse quicken with hope.

The wedding was out of town, a two-hour drive into the countryside. I insisted I drive and pay for the gas. The Saturday morning was bright and sunny. I said, "I didn't know you grew up on farm. I did, too. It's something else we have in common. I mean, besides the company."

"Farm life taught me the joy of hard work—if you set goals, stay focused, you can achieve whatever you want." She sounded business-like, her normal demeanor, but when I stole a glance at her, I found her staring at me, as if she were seeing me in a different light. A softness surrounded her lips and eyes that was brand new.

"You look beautiful," I said, and watched her blush.

"And you're quite handsome," she said softly. "Mom will be impressed."

After the marriage of Jessica's cousin Ashley to Tim Watson, the festivities moved to the church basement for what proved to be a joyous reception—dinner, toasting, and speeches; laughter, music, and dancing. Jessica and I talked with her mother, who at one point said good-naturedly, "I like this young man, dear. Don't chase him away. Like the others."

Jessica's blushed again.

I gripped her hand for moral support, laughed, and said, "She keeps me tied up outside to a tree, but I don't mind."

"I cut him loose, Mom, only for special occasions. Like family weddings."

With that, I pulled Jessica onto the dance floor—an old ballad was playing—and held her in my arms as our feet glided smoothly to the music's beat. Her nearness, my lips pressed to her forehead—I wondered if she could feel my heart thundering in my chest. Wondered if she sensed how I felt about her.

When the music stopped, we spotted Mom watching us, nodding approvingly. "Thank you for rescuing me," Jessica said. "My mom's a bit outspoken—"

"Not any worse than any other mom."

"—but I love her dearly. And I hope you understand why I desperately needed an escort."

"I understand. And now let's truly set your mom's mind whirling."

I think Jessica knew I was going to kiss her. I spotted a look of expectancy in her eyes and felt her drawing in a deep breath just as my lips brushed against hers. The music started again, another ballad, but we didn't move.

"Sorry," I said, "if I overstepped the bounds of an escort."

She smiled. "You were acting only out of a sense of duty, I'm sure."

I stroked my thumb along her jawline. "Actually, I wanted to kiss you before you chased me away. Like the others."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "You're forgiven, and don't worry..." Then, circling her arms around my neck, as our feet began to move again to the music's rhythm, she lifted her face for another brushing-of-the-lips kiss, soft and sweet. "You're not like any of the others," she murmured.

The End
Enjoy Reality! Contemporary YA fiction with an impact. Visit:
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Jon+Ripslinger

The Apology

The sight of the tall man entering the cafeteria turned everyone's head—at my table at least.

"Take a look at him!" Debbie breathed.

"Did you ever see a better-looking guy?" Casey whispered.

The man we all stared at was over six foot—lean, athletic-looking, with blond hair and strong features.

My friends and I watched with shock as he turned toward us and smiled.

Debbie poked me in the ribs. "Lori! Do you know him?"

I didn't have a chance to answer.

The tall man stopped, smiled, nodded at each of us, and then said to me, "Hello, Lori."

My cheeks felt on fire. "Hello, Brian."

"Nice to see you. You're a nurse here?"

"For over a year."

"I'm starting as an intern." His smile grew wide and made him even more attractive. "I guess we'll be seeing each other from time to time."

"Probably."

And with that the tall man strode away while my two friends watched him in stunned silence. "Who is he?" Casey gasped.

"How do you know him?" Debbie gushed.

"We grew up together. Went to the same junior high. Brian Ram was a nasty boy who teased me about my red hair and freckles, threw snowballs at me, and once pushed me into a mud puddle."

"He could throw snowballs at me," Debbie said.

"Or push me into a river," Casey said. "Did he ever grow out of that stage? Did you date him?"

"His family moved across town—he went to a different senior high. But I saw him frequently during high school at city-wide science fairs."

"I didn't see any rings on his fingers," Debbie said.

"Looks to me like he's turned into a scholar and a gentleman," Casey said.

"Amen!" Debbie said. "A gentleman and a scholar."

Brian was right. That next week, we did run across each other from time to time in the halls of St. Luke's Hospital. But we were always in a rush to be somewhere else and barely had a chance to say, "Hi." That was all right, but I thought I would like to talk to him sometime and tell him how miserable he made my life in junior high.

About a week later, I found myself alone with him on the elevator. I was going from the first to the fourth floor. He'd darted into the elevator just as the doors closed and pushed the button for the third floor.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey."

"How have you been?"

"Fine," I said. "Busy. Never a dull moment."

"I know what you mean."

His deep brown eyes seemed to appraise me. I felt my face flush.

"I'd like to talk to you sometime..." he said.

The elevator doors opened at the second floor. Two elderly visitors stepped inside. Brian said nothing else and got off at the third floor.

Talk to me? I thought. About what?

The next day in the cafeteria I sat with my two friends, finishing lunch.  As always, they bombarded me with questions about Brain. I'd told them he was a high school football star, his picture in the paper all the time, but I simply remembered him as a jerk. "He doesn't seem like a jerk any longer," Casey said.

"Uh-oh," Debbie said. "Here he comes. Headed right for us again."

Brian halted at our table, smiled at us." Ladies," he said, "good afternoon..." He seemed nervous.

We all mumbled something that sounded like "Good afternoon," and then he said, "I'm sorry for butting in—I really am—please forgive me..."

"That's all right," Casey chirped.

"...but, Lori, may I talk to you a minute?" My heart flip-flopping, I managed to stand and say to my friends, "Excuse me." They stared at me wide-eyed, jaws dropping.

At an empty table, Brian politely pulled a chair out for me. I sat down, and when he eased into a chair across from me and smiled again—a warm, generous smile—my urge to tell him how much he'd irritated me when we were in school totally vanished. I told my heart to be calm.

He cleared his throat. Clenched his hands together. "I'm going to come straight to the point..." But he faltered and cleared his throat.

"Yes...?"

"Remember when we were kids? Kennedy Junior High?"

"I remember very well."

"I was a monster. A bully, really."

I blinked.

He shook his head, a sheepish look creeping into those brown eyes. "I treated you rotten. But the thing is I really liked you—I wanted attention—I wanted your attention. I—"

I couldn't stop myself from interrupting. "You're kidding?"

"I'm not. I thought your red hair was amazing—I'd seen nothing like it before."

I sat frozen in my chair.

"What I really want now," he said, "is to apologize—and I'm happy for this opportunity to do it."

I seemed to be breathing okay, but I couldn't talk.

"One other thing," he said. "I didn't push you in that mud puddle on purpose. Remember that?"

"Yes."

"A bunch of us guys were playing dodge ball. You wandered by, I ran into you—an accident, really. I swear."

I finally found my voice. "I was so...so angry with you I never wanted to see you again."

"I don't blame you. I really am sorry."

Now it was my turn to smile. "But I remember teasing you, sticking my tongue out at you more than a few times. Every chance I got, in fact."

"Yes, you did. Once when I was practicing my speech in speech class." He laughed, then glanced at his watch. "Um...look. I've asked about you—I know you're not married. Are you dating anyone?"

I blinked again. "Really, I haven't had much time. "

"I don't have much time either, but would you like to get together—"

Then the pager in the pocket of his white coat beeped. He fished it out and checked the number. "Got to run. Saturday—are you off?"

"Yes." I was breathless.

"We'll talk again."

As soon as he left the table, Debbie and Casey hovered over me, hands planted on their hips. "Well?" they demanded.

I smiled. "You guys are right," I said. "He's a scholar and a gentleman."

The End
Enjoy Reality! Contemporary YA fiction with an impact. Don't wait! Visit: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jon+ripslinger

Mommy! Mommy!

             Telephone calls like this are never easy.  "Hi," I said. "Mr. Clarke? Roger Clarke?"

"Yes," came a deep masculine voice.

"I'm Rebecca Kent." I leaned back in my car seat, cell phone at my ear. "So sorry to bother you," I said, trying to sound friendly but professional.

"I'm the court-appointed guardian for your daughter, Callie and—"

Before I could finish, the man said, "I've been expecting a call."

"I'd like to meet with you and Callie—I'm parked in front of your house.

But if this isn't a convenient time..."

"Come in," he said, no hint of alarm in his voice.

Roger Clarke and his wife had been separated for over a year. She had died four weeks ago, suddenly and tragically of a brain tumor. Eighteen-month-old Callie had lived with her dad during the separation, but now her wealthy maternal grandparents, who evidently had never cared for Roger, a high school science teacher, were requesting custody of the child. As a court-appointed representative for Callie, it was my job to evaluate the situation and make sure the little girl ended up with whoever could provide her with the best and most loving environment.

Stepping inside the doorway of Mr. Clarke's modest ranch-style home at four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, I said, "Sorry," again. "But I like my visits to be somewhat of a surprise—catch people as they really are."

His cool blue eyes crisscrossed me, and I felt a bit of heat rising in my cheeks. Blond-haired and tall, square-jawed, Roger Clarke was amazingly handsome. Surprising me, my heart gave a little Thump! "I understand," he said. "Look around—do what you do. Callie's waking up from her nap."

"Daddy! Daddy!" Callie shrieked when we entered her bedroom. When Mr. Clarke hoisted the beautiful blond-haired toddler out of her bed, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. Then she honored me with a brilliant smile and said, "Mommy! Mommy!"

I blushed. Looking a bit embarrassed, Mr. Clarke said, "Sorry. Callie's mom hasn't lived with us for a while. Courtney...didn't enjoy motherhood, but Callie still misses her."

The baby cradled in his arms, Mr. Clark gave me a tour. The house looked comfortable and cozy and lived in—toys in the living room, shoes by the back door, a few dishes in the sink. Everything pleased me, especially the tender, affectionate bond between Mr. Clark and his daughter.

I spent nearly an hour with them. By the time I was ready to leave, we were on a first-name basis. Finally he asked, "Do I seem to be a responsible father? Or do you think Callie would be better off with her grandparents?" His blue eyes nearly took my breath away.

"I've talked to your in-laws," I said. "They fear strangers will be raising Callie—she's in daycare eight hours a day. She could be in their home and receive family love around the clock. They have plenty of money for the best of schools."

His chin lifted. "That doesn’t make me unfit."

"Of course not," I said. "The court hardly ever removes a child from parental custody when she's thriving."

"Truthfully, how do you think this will turn out?"

"I can't say. The final decision isn't mine. I'll be in touch."

I checked with the day care center and found that Callie arrived every morning smiling and well groomed, clothes clean. No sign of neglect. I checked with Roger's in-laws again. When they sensed things might not go their way, they asked that I make sure they had visiting rights. I said I didn't think that would be a problem.

I wrote my report. A week later on Sunday afternoon again, finished with the case, I made another unannounced visit to the Roger Clarke's household. Dad and daughter sat on the front porch on an old-fashioned glider, Callie clutching a red-haired doll.

"The report's been filed," I said. "My work is finished. You'll be getting a letter. But I thought I'd tell you myself: You have custody. Your in-laws will have visiting rights, the details to be arranged."

Wrapping his arms around his daughter, Roger kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you, thank you," he said to me, and smiled a warm, blue-eyed smile that melted my heart. Then he looked at me curiously and asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

The directness of his gaze forced me to pause a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "You probably have a boyfriend or husband and having coffee wouldn’t be appropriate."

"No husband, no boyfriend," I said. "And I'd love a cup of coffee."

Smiling once more, Roger stood up from the glider, Callie in his arms. "Great!" he said. "That's simply great."

Now it was my turn to smile.

Callie, also smiling, flapping her arms in the air, said, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

The End
Welcome to Reality! Contemporary YA fiction with an impact. Visit: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jon+ripslinger

Prince Charming

         "Single ladies!" Rita called from the stage, microphone in hand. "Up front. The bride is about to toss her bouquet."

"That means you, Debbie!" by best friend Kathy said, elbowing me in the ribs as we stood on the dance floor among other smiling and laughing guests at Marie and Shawn's wedding reception.

"No ring on your finger," she added with another poke in the ribs.
"No Prince Charming in my life, either," I said.

"Catch the bouquet!" This time Kathy gave me a firm shove out of the crowd to where maybe ten or fifteen ladies—in their teens and early twenties probably—certainly not my age—forty—gathered in front of the stage, eagerly awaiting Marie's flower toss.

I edged up behind the group of short-skirted ladies. I never expected Marie's throw to sail over the group and nearly over my outstretched hands. I snared the bundle of red roses, and at the same time I felt my heels slip on the polished hardwood floor. My arms flailing—I held on to the roses—I crashed back into the arms of an unknown rescuer, which was good news. But the bad news is we both tumbled backward into an inglorious heap on the Starlight Ballroom's dance floor.

People crowded around, concern written on their faces. "You guys all right?" they asked. "Anything broken?"

"I'm fine," I said.

I rolled off the person beneath me, knelt beside the form, and peered straight into the blue eyes of a man—probably my age—who had tried to save me. Smiling a killer smile, white teeth flashing, he said, "Nice catch."

"You, too," I said, my heart thumping—he was soo handsome. "You okay?"

"Never been better," he said, sitting up.

I looked at the flowers still clutched in my left hand, then back at the man. Laughter rippled forth from the people hovering over us. Phone cameras clicked. My face heated up with embarrassment. Then the man and I helped each other to our feet.

In a corner where we sat catching out breath at a table, he said, "Tyler Greene. Friend of the groom. You're—?"

"Debbie Harris. Friend of the bride. How did you know I was going to fall?"

"I didn't. I was walking by and saw the bouquet sailing toward you. I stopped to watch. You jumped—"

"I jumped? I don't remember that."

"You jumped—"

"No wonder I fell."

"—caught the flowers, and tumbled into my arms. Lucky me," he added with another killer smile.

Was it my imagination or did a strange excitement hum in the air between us? We sat and talked and talked. He owned Ty's Auto Body Shop; I was a dental technician. He was a widower. I gathered from our conversation he had never thought of looking for anyone else. I'd never married, but I didn't tell him I thought romance had long ago passed me by. I was a hopeless case.

Music started. People drifted onto the dance floor. As my heart started speeding up, Ty asked, "Would you like to dance?"

Panic nearly choked me. Part of me wanted to dance with him, my arms flung around him. Part of me wanted to run. I decided to run. "Um...I should pay the restroom a visit."

"I'll wait," he said.

Before I could reach the rest room, Kathy intercepted me and backed me outside into the warm night air, stars and moon overhead. "Oh wow!" she said. "Do you know who you flattened on the dance floor?"

"Tyler Greene. He's very nice, but..."

"He's the most handsome, eligible bachelor in town. He's your Prince Charming. Don't you just love his blue eyes? Don't let him get away."

"Nonsense. It's way too late in my life for a Prince Charming."

"It' never too late for anything. You go, girl!"

After my rest room visit, I found Ty sitting dutifully at the table, waiting for me. His blue eyes seemed to say, Glad you came back. He stood up. "Thought I'd wait—if only to protect your roses."

I peered at the roses. Still fresh and lovely. I peered at Tyler. Still handsome and smiling. I could tell him it was way past my bedtime. I should go home. But home to what? I asked myself?

My empty house?

"I'd loved to dance," I said, my heart approaching panic speed.

"Wonderful."

As Ty folded me into his arms and we drifted into a slow dance, my step seemed to match his perfectly. I gulped as he pressed me closer, as if we were one.I didn't know if possibly Prince Charming had found me or if I'd found him. But the way my heart continued to beat, I knew Kathy had been right: It wasn't too late for anything. Not even for Prince Charming.

The End
Welcome to Reality! Contemporary YA fiction with an impact: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Jon+Ripslinger%27