Love Is a Circus

"Mom, is Cole kind of like a dad," my four-year-old son, Danny, asked as I reached to turn off the light on the night table next to his bed.

I'd just finished tucking him in and kissing him goodnight on the forehead.

"Sweetie, it's late. We had a big day."

"Don't you like him, Mom?"

"Well, yes, he's very nice, but..."

"Maybe if you asked him he'd be a dad."

"Um...I don't think so, sweetie. Cole is...just a person who works for us."                                               Alone in my kitchen with a cup of decaf at the table, I wondered what to make of the day's events. But before I could figure anything out, my cell phone rang. "How was your boat ride?" my best friend Rose asked.

"Marvelous," I said, which was true. Cole and taken Danny and me on an early evening dinner excursion on the Lady Belle, the last paddle wheeler to work the Mississippi River in our area. "But I can't believe I'm..."

"What? Falling in love with your landscaper?"

"It's so unreal."

"He's not just an intenerate day-laborer working for minimum wage, Cindy. He has a degree in horticulture, he owns his own business, he's single, and he's wonderfully handsome. Danny likes him, doesn't he?"

"Danny thinks Cole Spencer hung the moon."

"Well, girl! There you go."

I'd inherited a rambling Victorian home from my aunt and a modest sum of money. The home itself needed minimal repairs but the sprawling yard was a disaster, practically a jungle. Aunt Martha, a die-hard recluse, tended her home well, but not the yard.

I hired Cole Spencer to restore the yard, and I hoped by next spring to turn part of the home into a summertime bed and breakfast to help supplement my school teacher's salary.
Cole's handsome good looks and easy smile attracted me at first sight. Me. Amber Murphy. Thirty-four. Three years a widow. A scary thought leaped into my mind: Could Cole Spencer be the second soul mate of my life?

That's not happening! I told myself

Then last night our professional relationship changed in a stunning way. On my front porch, just after Danny raced into the house, Cole kissed me in the moonlight, and my blood pounded.

I can't be falling in love.

I mean, I finally had my life neatly laid out. My inheritance from Aunt Martha had left me in good financial standing. Running a bed and breakfast, if only during the summer, would take loads of time and energy. Not to mention the time and energy it takes to raise an overly active four-year-old boy. I needed no more complications in my life.

At breakfast the next morning, Danny asked, " Mom, can Cole take us to the circus?"

I smiled. "I don't think so, sweetheart. He's already done enough for us."

Which was true. Cole had rid my lawn of dandelions, crabgrass, and moles. He'd trimmed the trees and planted bushes and shrubs around the entire house. Lately, he talked of building a gazebo where my summer guests could enjoy a cup of coffee after breakfast.

"You're pretty, Mom. I'll bet if you ask him..."

I tousled my son's reddish blonde hair. "Eat your breakfast."

Later that morning, Cole showed up at my front door with two hydrangeas, one in each arm. "Thought I'd plant these on either side of the porch," he said, smiling his easy smile. "They're free. They'll bloom next spring."

As he set the plants down, I stepped out of the house onto the porch.

I heaved a big sigh. "Cole, we need to talk."

"I know," he said sheepishly, burying his hands deep in his jeans pockets. "I was way out of line last night." The sunlight slanting onto the porch gleamed off his longish brown hair. "The last thing I should be doing is kissing a client."

"Or delivering free plants to her house."

He nodded. "Very unprofessional conduct."

"Her life is mapped out," I said. "She doesn't need any complications."

"Right. No complications for either of us."

My feet shuffled. "But this...situation is partly her fault. I'm willing to admit that," I said looking at him. So handsome!

"The worst part of it is she's so very, very beautiful," he said, his gaze landing on me. "Like a spring rose."

Cole and I stood staring at each other, our eyes locked. My heart started that pounding. His Adam's apple bobbed. "There's a circus in town this weekend," he said.

"I thought you and Danny..."

Before he could finish or I could answer, he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me ever so softly and slowly on the lips, and a warm glow swept over me.
Behind the screen door, I heard Danny exclaim, "Oh wow! We get to go to the circus!"

Cole smiled. "What does your mom say?"

Complications, unprofessional conduct, life mapped out—none of it mattered. I smiled back and tried to still my pounding heart. "I love a circus," I said.

                                                     The End
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Mr. Music

          Eight a.m. Saturday morning. Ultimate Fitness Center.

"Crazy," Roberta said, "but I think the guy across the room working with free weights is giving you the eye."

"Don't be silly," I said.  Drenched in sweat, I was doing ab crunches on my floor matt and didn't bother to look up. "He must be hitting on you."

"Me?" Roberta said. She'd just stop working out her thighs on one of the machines. "In my dreams, maybe. When I get below one-fifty."

I halted my crunches. I hopped up, started stretching, and tried to sneak a look at the man. A smile flashed across his face. I glanced behind me—surely someone else had caught his eye. But there was no one behind me. My heart skipped.

 "Told you," Roberta said. "Here he comes..."

Dressed in black shorts and a white T-shirt, he was tall, dark-haired, and unbelievably handsome. His stride was purposeful. His smile grew wider and my heart beat faster. "Lynn Daugherty!" he said, and thrust out his hand.

I recognized his voice—a deep, rich baritone. Trevor Jones—he sang the male leads in all the musicals in high school. I'd had a major crush on him, but he didn't know it. He was theater, speech, and music. I was basketball, volleyball, and track.

I threw my sweaty hand out. He grabbed it firmly, and we shook. "Not surprised to see you at a fitness center," he said, smiling.

I swallowed. I didn't know what to say. "It's been a long time," came out.

"Ten years, probably. You were the best athlete at Riverside High, male or female. What are you doing these days"—he smiled again, eyeing me in my black leotards and green top—"besides staying fit?"

I felt myself blushing. "Teaching PE at Riverside High."

Roberta's turn to smile: "See you guys," she said. "I'm headed for the shower."

Before I could beg with my eyes for her to stay, she spun on her heels and left me with the guy I admired in high school and would've given the world to date. I mean, as a little girl I loved music and dancing, but I grew up with four brothers—two younger, two older—all jocks—and I ended up being a jock, too. But I thought Trevor Jones was so cool—I thought of him as the Music Man.

"What's happening in your life?" I asked. "I thought you'd be in the movies. Or cutting records."

He shook his head. "Not quite that talented. But I ended up with a PhD in Fine Arts, and I'm back now as the head of the department at Blackhawk College."

Blackhawk was our local college. "Good for you!" I said. I'm not sure, but I think we glanced at each other's ringless left hand at the same time—and then we looked quickly way.

"You know what," he said. "I've got to tell you something. Something really important. Remarkable, even. I always wanted to play baseball. I was a big Cubs' fan—still am—but..." He went on to tell me that he was an only kid. His dad died when he was three, and his widowed mom played the organ and piano in church. By the time he was six, she had him singing in the choir; and by the time he was in junior high, she'd pointed him toward a musical career.

"It's great," I said, "that she took an interest and helped develop your talent."

He tunneled his hand through is dark hair. "But I wanted to be a baseball jock. The thing is I thought you were the coolest girl in school. A three-sport star. I can't tell you how much I admired you."

I felt myself blushing again—a deep pink, I was sure. I couldn't believe what he'd said. What really rocked me is that we'd both admired each other and hadn't even known it.

He sighed and said, "Now I'm trying to stay in shape. I spend most of my time these days behind a desk. Nice to see you again."

"You, too," I said, greatly disappointed that our chat had ended and I hadn’t found the courage to tell him how great a music man I thought he was.

Shaking my head, I trotted off to the locker room, where I found Roberta. She'd already showered and dressed and was leaving, but not before she asked, "Well? How'd it go? Is he single?"

"Yes... I mean, I think so."

"Did you guys exchange telephone numbers?"

"I wish."

Later, when I pushed through the big glass doors of the center to leave, still disappointed with myself, Trevor stood outside in the sunshine, leaning against a brick pillar, looking sheepish. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous," he said, "but are you...I mean..."

I knew what he was thinking. "Attached?"

He nodded.

"No."

"Me either," he said. "How about breakfast?"

I smiled. "I'd love breakfast."

Each toting a gym bag, we turned toward our cars in the lot, each of us smiling now. Our shoulders bumped. A warm tingle rippled though me.  "You know what," I said. "I've got something really important to tell you, too. Something quite remarkable, Mr. Music Man..."

The End
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Over the Line

I'm Lost Grove's Parking Enforcement Officer—a Meter Maid. Lots of people get ticked at me when I hand them a ticket, but I'm always willing to give a person a break. Like if they show up and catch me in the middle of writing a one, I tear it up. This is a friendly town.

Anyway, Sunday morning in a checkout aisle at Lyle's Groceries,

I laid my items—mostly for baking—on the belt that would whisk them to Alice, the cashier, so she could scan them. A stranger standing behind me, his blue eyes twinkling, said, "Bet it'll smell great in your house today. My grandmother used to bake a lot."

You don't see many strangers in Lost Grove. This handsome one caught my interest. "Cookies and cake for my sister's baby shower," I said.

"She'll be pleased."

"I hope so."

Alice handed me the slip—$40.00.

That's when heat crept into my face. I suddenly realized and then quickly explained that I'd left my purse locked in the glove compartment of my car. Without hesitation, the handsome man said, "Here, let me," and handed Alice two twenties. "Save you the hassle of running out and back in. And holding things up here."

"I can't let you—"

"Nonsense. I'll check out and meet you in the parking lot."

Feeling totally embarrassed but grateful, I said, "I'll be standing next to a red Jeep Cherokee."

When he approached me in the lot, the sun shone wonderfully off his blond hair. Handing him forty dollars, I glimpsed no rings on his fingers; I thought for sure he glanced at my ringless left hand.

"That was a nice of you," I said, "paying for my groceries. Thank you."
Smiling, he said, "Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

My heart fluttered with hope. "Maybe."

"What's your name?"

"Wendy Flynn."

"Chad Hill."

We shook hands and then said goodbye.

Monday morning, I made my usual rounds downtown, issuing only three citations. At noontime, a fourth citation left me a half block away from Cindy's Café, where I always grab an hour for lunch. I walked in and at the counter the first person I spotted was Chad Hill.

I sucked in a deep breath, gathered my courage, and eased down on a stool next to him. The dark blue uniform and sunglasses I wore threw him. I took off my blue cop hat and dark glasses.

Blinking twice, he said, "You're a police officer?"

"A meter maid."

"Bake all those cakes and cookies yet?"

"This weekend."

And that started us off chatting. We ordered Cindy's Friday special—chicken potpie—and sipped coffee. Handsome Chad Hill came from upstate. He'd taken a job in Lost Gove—the county seat—as a county surveyor. Never married. I told him I was born and raised in Lost Gove. I'd never married either. I was taking night classes to become a full-fledged police officer, an investigation technician. Six months to go.

"Good for you," he said. "Law enforcement needs good female officers."

I guessed him to be my age, nearly thirty. I felt a connection between us, which pleased me tremendously.

After we finished eating, paid or bills, and left Cindy's, he turned left to go down the street. I should've turned right—I'd already covered the area to our left, but Chad said, "Walk with me to my car, it's not that far."

When we reached his car, a half block away, he cleared his throat. His Adam's apple bobbing, he said, "I was wondering if you—if we might..."

My heart skipped. I thought, Oh my, he's going to ask me for a date.

But his words trailed off, and then my heart stopped. Completely. His red Mustang sat parked in a crosswalk. I'd left a pink citation on his windshield, under the wiper blade, my fourth of the morning.

He stared at his car and shook his head. "I'm not illegally parked," he said.

I pointed at the white line. "The rear of your car—the entire trunk practically— is over the line."

"And you're out of line, Officer. My tires are on this side," he said, also pointing.

"Doesn't matter. City ordinance says, 'Any part of a vehicle...'"

He held a palm up. "Never mind," he said, and surprised me with a smile. "I'm guilty."

I recalled his thoughtfulness in the grocery store yesterday, and now I felt terrible for having slapped a citation on his windshield. "I'll tear the ticket up," I said.

He shook his head. "No. I'm guilty," he said again. "Guilty as charged. And as part of my debt to society, let me take you to dinner tonight. Later, a movie maybe." His smile turned rueful. "But someplace where I can't park illegally—like over a white line."

My blood rushed. My turn to smile. "Big gravel parking lot at the Steak House," I said, and tore up his ticket. "Movies at the Sunset Drive-in start at nine. No white lines anywhere at all."

"Sounds safe to me," he said, and we both laughed.

The End
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Dance Partner

"Ask him!" Janet yelled above the pounding music and then nudged me with an elbow. "He wants to dance. Look at him moving to the beat. Pretty smooth."

"You ask him," I said.

"You! You're the reason we're here tonight."

I gulped. Then blew out a breath. I slipped off my tall stool, shuffled over to the man, and said, "Looking for a dance partner?"

He was square-jawed. Very attractive. With the biggest smile he answered, "I'd be honored.

                                                       

Dancers jammed the dimly lit dance floor. Loud music ricocheted from wall to wall, making conversation impossible, though my partner and I managed to exchange first names—Judd and Kaitlin. He danced unbelievably well, but after the third dance we drifted off to the sidelines where we could catch our breath.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" he asked, smiling that big smile again.

"High school. Show choir. You?"

"Three older sisters who made me practice with them when I was a kid. You come to this club often on Saturday night?"

"First time." Then, "I'm the assistant manager of a women's clothing store in the mall. How about you?"

"New in town. Photojournalist for your local newspaper."

With that he hooked his arm in mine and whirled me onto the dance floor again. After two more dances, breathless once more, I told him I couldn't leave my friend Janet sitting alone any longer. "I'll introduce you," I said.

"You guys are awesome together," Janet said as Judd and I slid onto stools.

"Aren't you dancing?" Judd asked her.

"Not tonight," she said. "I'm just having fun watching you two."

And that's the way the rest of the evening went. Judd and I chatted with Janet, danced a few more dances, chatted, danced...until I finally said, "It's getting late."

"Will I see you again?" Judd asked, locking his eyes with mine.

I admit it—my heart beat a bit faster. "Um...maybe next Saturday night."

"Great. I'll be here."

As I drove Janet home that night, she said, "Why didn't you give him your cell phone number? He's hot."

"Because...I want to see if he'll show up. And I'm not sure the first guy I dance with at Dance Land is someone I want to know better. No matter how good-looking."

Next Saturday night, my heart was in a panic. Janet and her fiancé were attending a wedding reception, so a fierce debate raged in my head. Should I go to Dance Land alone and look for Judd. Or stay home? I decided I'd go, peek around inside for a minute or two, and if I didn't spot him right away, I'd leave. I waited until nine-thirty to arrive, thinking he'd surely be there by then. And he was.

"I was afraid you were a no-show," he yelled, over the pulsing music. "Where's Janet?"

"Sorry I'm so late," I said, and then explained about Janet.

"Look," he said, sheepishly. "I'm not really a dance club kind of guy. I was here last Saturday because I was...well, new in town, and looking for something different to do."

"You'll never believe why I was here."

"Can we go someplace quiet? You can tell me."

"I'd love that."

Judd and I settled into a both in a quiet diner with steaming cups of coffee in front of us and discovered we had a lot common—a love of books, museum tours, and symphony performances. Not dance clubs. And then I felt compelled to explain why I was at Dance Land last Saturday night.

"It's Janet who loved hanging out at Dance Land," I said, "and always begged me to come along—I'd find a guy. I told her I'd go with her if she'd come with me to my church picnic—maybe she'd find a guy."

"She did? She found someone?"

I smiled. "In a volleyball game. She spiked him in the face and broke his nose. She played in high school. And now they're getting married. Last week Ted was out of town, so she finally dragged me to Dance Land."

Our eyes locked again. Held a moment. I loved his eyes. Was it the coffee making me feel warm all over? Or was it a thought that had splashed into my head? "The Tri-city Symphony is in town next week," I said, amazed at how brave I'd become. "If you'd like to go."

I held my breath. My cheeks flushed.

Judd sat back, a bit surprised, I think. He offered his big smile once more, and I said, "Of course I'd like to go."

"I promise you won't get your nose broken."

With that we both laughed.

"You want to know something?" he said, still laughing.

Yes—I loved his laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm not worried," he said. "And I wouldn't even care."

The End
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