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WEDNESDAY morning, I sat down at my desk and began setting up my things for the day. Hagen insisted on driving me to work today. He told me he was concerned about me hitting lampposts and mailboxes on the way. I didn’t protest this because it was an excuse to spend more time with him. We’d settled into a nice routine as roommates, and he’d even let me decorate his living room for him. It was strangely domestic and natural to do it. He complained about having to hold up so many frames while I decided where they should go. He didn’t think I noticed him smiling while he did it.
Today was the day I met with our new client, the owner of the gym.
I finished turning on my computer and began sorting through the mail that sat on my desk. Trey was in charge of distributing everyone’s mail first thing in the morning. The mail that sat on my desk was probably accumulated from the weekend.
There was a letter from a client, Hyacinth Perdue, thanking me for the work I had done for her store. She owned a quilt and craft shop downtown where she taught classes in the evening. She was, hands down, my favorite client I’d ever worked with. I grabbed a sticky note and wrote down a reminder to sign up for her summer beading class before I opened her letter. In the letter, she thanked me again for helping advertise her store. She informed me that she was starting a second quilting class because the first one had gotten so full. She also invited me over for tea—something I planned to take her up on. Maybe if I got off work early enough tomorrow, I’d stop by the store and say hello.
There was a large, manila envelope at the bottom of the mail stack. I opened it and pulled out the contents.
A picture. It was a picture of me.
Actually, it was a picture of Hagen and me. We were sitting in the cab of his truck. The camera had been zoomed in enough that I couldn’t see where we were parked—or if we were parked.
Before I had time to grab my phone and call that nice detective, Rick, Trey knocked on my open doorway.
“Mrs. Vandenmeyer wanted me to tell you that the new client is here. She wants you to come to her office right away.”
“Thanks, Trey. I’ll be right there.”
Dropping the envelope and picture on my desk, I gathered up my tablet and coffee cup, then headed to Susan’s office.
The door was closed, so I tucked the tablet under my arm so I could knock.
I heard Susan call for me to come in. I fumbled with the doorknob, trying to not drop the tablet or, even more importantly, my coffee. Once I was qualified as a professional juggler, I opened the door and stepped inside.
Susan sat on the cream-colored couch with her hand resting on the knee of a man who sat next to her. The man had his head bent over his phone with an arm slung around Susan’s shoulders.
Well, it was definitely the most awkward meeting I’d ever walked into. Normally, Susan sat behind her desk, and the client sat in the uncomfortable chairs. The couch was purely for aesthetic purposes; no one actually sat on it. I didn’t even know it could hold the weight of an adult. And why was Susan touching him? What kind of an account did she land?
The man finished typing on his phone then looked up and smiled at me.
“Jason?”
Jason—from the gym—stood from the couch. “Kylie, how are you?”
He walked over and gave me a hug. I tried to hug him back with my T-rex arms, but it was hard to hug when your arms were full.
“What are you doing here?”
He released me and pulled me over to sit on the couch with them. Jason sat in the middle. I’d never known he was such a cozy soul. In fact, I didn’t know that Susan was that way, either. Yet, there she sat, leaning against him. I tried to lean farther into the arm of the couch, but Jason was not a small guy, and I bumped against him every time I shifted.
He turned to me and smiled. “I’m your new client. I’m expanding the gym.”
Susan leaned forward to look around Jason’s sizable chest so that she could talk to me. “This is why I wanted you to personally handle this account. I wanted to make sure he had the most creative mind working on it.”
Then, she reached up and patted his cheek like he was five years old.
I was so distracted that I came up with a brilliant reply. “Okay.”
“So, now we can get down to the details,” Susan said. “Why don’t you show us what you have?”
I rested the tablet on my lap and took a giant gulp of coffee. I should have added a shot of something else today. “Since I didn’t know what kind of gym we were talking about, I focused on thinking about the thing that holds people back from going to the gym.”
“They can’t afford it? Laziness?” Jason asked.
“No, it’s fear.”
“Fear?”
“People are scared they won’t belong. Some people are intimidated by all the equipment. Everybody wants to feel like they have somewhere to fit in. Gyms are usually marketed toward people who are already fit and in the prime of their life. If you want to widen your customer base, you’re going to have to show them how easy it is to go to the gym.”
“I take it you have experience with this?”
“Yes! I’m admittedly a gym coward. The only reason I started going to your gym was because I didn’t want to get kidnapped and killed. Now that I know it’s your gym we’re talking about, I think this idea would be perfect. When I first showed up at the gym, you took the time to make sure I didn’t kill myself when I tried the elliptical. You showed me the weight machines—maybe someday I’ll actually use them. I watched you help an elderly woman onto the treadmill just the other day. You’re good at making people feel like they could fit in at your gym; you just have to let the rest of the world know it.”
“All right.”
“All right?”
“Yeah, I think you have a good point. What are your ideas?”
“If possible, it’d be great to do a video of some of your clients, or of you teaching them how to use different machines. If you have a beginner’s yoga class, or something like that, that’s also a great way to get people in there, because they’ll feel like they fit in with a bunch of other beginners. We can market your gym as the people’s gym.”
“Sounds good. What do you think, Mom?”
Susan studied the tablet. “It’s an angle that isn’t explored as much as it should be.”
I nodded in agreement, and then Jason’s words sunk in. “Mom? You’re his mother? How did I not know this?”
Both Susan and Jason laughed—they had the same exact laugh. They had the same mouth. Jason must have gotten his height from his father, though, because he had several inches on Susan.
“I don’t usually have time during the day to stop by the office. Mom and I meet for lunch somewhere closer to the gym,” Jason explained.
“I’d heard from Jason that you went to his gym, so we thought you would be the perfect one to run the campaign for him. You have first-hand knowledge of the gym and how it functions. I told Jason that you would be just perfect for this.”
“Well, thank you, Susan. It’s nice to know I’m doing a good job. I am just so surprised that you’re his mother.”
“Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”
Kylie, don’t insert your foot in your mouth, I told myself. “You just seem so young. It’s hard to imagine you having a grown child.”
“Nice save,” Jason whispered to me when Susan stood to refill her coffee cup.
“I thought so,” I muttered. Usually, I didn’t let my thoughts jump out like that, but I had been so surprised to find out that Jason was Susan’s son. “You know, I thought we were friends now. Friends don’t let friends walk into giant surprises.”
Jason chuckled, and Susan came back to sit on the couch with a fresh cup of coffee. The rest of the morning, we sat cozied up on the couch, discussing marketing ideas and Jason’s overall vision for his gym.
It was the perfect distraction from obsessing over Hagen. I’d even forgotten about the pictures I’d received in the mail.
* * * * *
MY PARENTS WERE PLANNING to adopt Hagen. It was the most reasonable explanation. They couldn’t stop singing his praises. They must have been having an early midlife crisis and were wanting another child—because four wasn’t enough.
I called and talked to Dad on the way home after work, and he informed me he had help on the way. I had a pretty good idea what that meant, and I wasn’t sure how crazy I was about the idea.
He asked after Hagen and all about his job, friends, philosophy of life, etcetera. My mom jumped on the line to tell me she texted Hagen a picture of their hotel and thanked him for watching me, because if it hadn’t been for him, they wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving me. I felt like I was about ten years old and left with the babysitter.
I had to admit that they had a point, though. Hagen was being exceptionally sweet and made me feel safe. Besides the whoopee cushion on my bar stool—well, technically, it was his barstool, but I’d claimed it since I’d been staying there—he hadn’t done anything drastic. Just small pranks.
I may have short-sheeted his guest bed last night. He had definitely put that rubber snake on the king bed where I was sleeping. Two days ago, I stuffed just enough toilet paper into the ends of his running shoes to make them uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure he’d even figured that one out yet, because as he drove me to work, he mentioned he needed to buy some shoes and might be a little late picking me up from work. I told him I’d get a ride home with someone else, and he passed me a spare key to his house.
On my lunch break, after a long morning meeting with Jason and Susan the Mother, I had a copy of Hagen’s key made—in case of an emergency. I didn’t know how everything from this week was going to affect our little war, but I was going to be prepared for whatever may come.
I stepped through my front door and hurriedly shut off the alarm Hagen had paid to install in my house. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He didn’t make a big deal about it. I think his exact words were, “It’s done.” I couldn’t believe how fast he’d gotten a company out to install it.
When I told him I wanted to pay him back, he told me, “Too bad.”
That was why I was risking being in my house by myself. I knew he liked baked goodies, and I wanted to do something nice for him for a change. I grabbed a tote bag from my front closet and began scooping all the various ingredients I would need into the bag. I grabbed a couple muffin tins and cookie sheets from the cupboard next to my oven then reset the alarm and headed across the street.
I still didn’t feel comfortable enough to be at my house by myself, especially after the pictures this morning. Those notes were personal. I should have told Hagen about them, but I didn’t want him to think I was jumping to some crazy conclusions.
After lining up the ingredients on Hagen’s kitchen island. I preheated the oven and looked around for a mixing bowl. The closest thing I found was a giant, plastic bowl. It would have to do. I spent the next hour making banana and lemon-poppy-seed muffins. It felt wonderful. Whenever I baked, I shut off my mind. I thought about inconsequential things, like will it rain this weekend? And just how many chocolate chips are too many? Correct answer: there are never enough.
When I pulled the muffins out of the oven, I filled a plate to take over to Dave. I’d been meaning to do something nice for him since he had always let me borrow tools whenever I needed them. After seeing the stash of tools in Hagen’s garage, I thought I might have found a new lender.
Every drawer, box, and reused coffee can was clearly labeled. He probably counted his bolts before he went to bed at night. Knowing that a tool was being borrowed would probably drive him insane. I’d have to remember that for later.
I had just finished washing the dishes when I heard the front door open.
“Honey, I’m home!”
My heart dropped into my stomach at Hagen’s voice. My cheeks flushed, and I hurriedly dried the muffin tin before I set it down on the counter. He might have been joking, but my heart seemed to think it was real, because it wasn’t letting me catch my breath. My mind flashed forward ten years to picture Hagen and me chasing a couple of cute kids around the house. I shook my head to get rid of the image.
Hagen walked into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. He set his running shoes on my barstool—yes, I’d claimed it since I’d been staying at his house.
“I decided to take my old running shoes back to the store since I only bought them a month ago. They’ve been hurting my feet. Imagine my surprise when the shoe clerk found toilet paper stuffed in the ends.” He stalked around the island toward me.
Instead of running for my life, I laughed uncontrollably as I pictured his embarrassment at realizing his mistake. “Did you tell them you were trying to fit into your big brother’s shoes?”
“That’s it.” Hagen leapt for me and latched onto my elbow before I could make a getaway. He reeled me in until I was touching his chest. “You’ve got it coming.”
Wildly reaching for the only defense available, I managed to grab it and waved it slowly beneath his nose.
He closed his eyes and sniffed. “That smells amazing. Where did you buy those?”
I grinned as he released me and grabbed the muffin out of my hand. “I made them.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me in wonder. It was as if I had told him I invented electricity.
He peeled the muffin liner off and ate half the muffin in one bite. I bit my lip as I waited for the verdict. I didn’t know why, but I really wanted him to like them.
It had nothing to do with my daydream of mini Hagens and Kylies running around. Nothing at all.
Instead of saying anything, he shoved the rest of the muffin in his mouth and grabbed another one off the counter. I’d never seen anyone’s lack of manners look as good as Hagen’s. In fact, it nearly melted my heart. There was no better compliment to a cook or baker than to see someone eat their food with abandon.
If someone said they liked your food, they might have been fibbing. If someone inhaled three—no, four—muffins in a row, it showed they actually did like them.
He swallowed the last bite of muffin then looked at me. “I’m never letting you leave if you’re going to make things like this all the time.”
A lot of people took my cooking and baking skills for granted. I loved to do it, so I always offered to bring something to dinners, family get-togethers, etcetera. My family had gotten used to me making all sorts of delicious things, so it felt good that someone new was appreciating those skills.
“Am I forgiven about the shoes?”
“What shoes?” He smiled, and my world tilted sideways.
If he smiled like that all the time, I would make him muffins for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I cleared my throat and hopefully caught the drool before it escaped. He was joking around, and I was forgetting that he wasn’t the guy who I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
What if hanging out with Hagen caused me to be distracted and not realize when true love crossed my path?
Yes, I was attracted to Hagen, but I wanted the full nine yards: love, marriage, and the baby carriage. He wasn’t even looking for a girlfriend. He was a nice guy, making sure his neighbor didn’t get murdered.
Hagen headed out of the kitchen and tossed his shoes inside his bedroom door. No wonder his room was a disaster zone.
“I’m going to run a plate of these over to Dave.”
Hagen turned around, a crestfallen look on his face. “You mean they’re not all for us?”
“No, not all forty-eight of them,” I laughed.
He grumbled under his breath, snagged a plate full of muffins off the counter, then headed toward the bathroom.
“Um, are you showering with those muffins?”
“Haters gonna hate!” he hollered.
Hagen was so different from the man I’d first met. Maybe I’d caught him on a bad day when I came over to introduce myself. Maybe his grandma had died that day. But other than sparking an all out war between us, I had yet to see that version of Hagen again. He was everything a man should have been. He was goofy when it was just us. It made me wonder if I was the only one he acted silly with, but I guessed I’d never know.