 
We hope you enjoy this collection of April Fools' Day short stories. We, the authors, thought it would be great fun to combine love and laughter with a good prank or two!

It's always great to share our love of a good story with our readers. If you enjoy this collection, at the end of each author's story, you will find their bios and links to other publications. We would also love the chance to meet you through Twitter, Facebook and on our websites.

Reviews!! They are always appreciated, so if you have a moment, please leave us a note and let us know how much you enjoyed our efforts!

No project goes forward without a driving force. We, the authors, would like to thank Karan Eleni of Bliss Book Promotions!

Enjoy,

Sheryl, Whitney, Amy, Engy, Connie, Suzie, Celia and Laurie

XOXOXOX
Table of Contents

Fool Me Once

Who Does He Think He's Fooling

Fools in Love

Don't Prank Me Now, Prank Me Later

Operation Tom Foolery

April's Fool

Fool's Luck

Fooled Around and Fell in Love

Fool Me Once

By

S.E. Babin

Dedication – To the guy who made me feel ugly in high school. Based upon your Facebook pictures, you seem to have lost your hair. Maybe you should ask Karma about it. I bet she knows where it is ...
2001 – Beckett's side of the story

Alexandria Jewitt was a nerd. A massive, textbook, chubby nerd. From the wannabe Skecher shoes she probably picked up at Payless to the Walmart brand baseball shirt she wore at least twice a week, Alexandria never stood a chance at being cool in our high school. For the most part I ignored her. She was easy to ignore with her slumped shoulders and the way her mousy hair hung across half of her face. I saw her often around school, but hardly ever gave her a second thought until it was time for the annual April Fools' Day parade.

That sounds weird, I know. Maybe even a little bit jerkish, I'll give you that one too. But the thing about high school is that one time or another most of us acted like asshats. I was no exception, but my transgression in this particular instance was bigger and more heinous than most. Because of it, Alex will most likely hate me forever.

And I will most likely deserve it.

It started off innocently enough, as most things that spiral out of control do. I was sitting in the cafeteria with some of the guys from the football team when she walked past our table. She was holding her lunch tray and her head was bowed as if she couldn't see anyone, no one could see her either. She was also wearing that blue and white baseball t-shirt again. Long brown hair hung in sheets around her, obscuring the majority of her face. From what I'd seen of her, it wasn't a terrible face, but the braces were a huge turn-off. The massive black framed glasses were another strike against her.

Robbie, a guy I wasn't too close with but hung around merely for the popularity boost it gave, nudged me. "Look at her, would you? How many times do you think she wears that shirt in a week?" Coming from him, wearing the same shirt more than once every six months was a mortal fashion crime. I never knew any dude to be as concerned with fashion as he was. Today he was sporting ripped designer jeans and a Polo shirt that cost more than every single piece of clothing on my body.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "At least twice. That shirt should be condemned by the health inspector."

I watched as her shoulders stiffened. She'd heard it. A flicker of guilt sparked in my stomach as I watched her walk away.

"She's a chubster, isn't she?" Jack made pig noises and cracked up laughing.

"Damn straight, she is," said Robbie. A thoughtful look stole over his face and he snapped his fingers. "Speaking of pigs, I have a sweet idea for our annual April Fools' prank."

Every year the small town we lived in held an annual April Fools' Parade. I didn't understand it, and I wasn't sure if anyone else understood but like most things, everyone just went along with it. After all, any excuse for a party, right?

We hadn't missed a single year doing something outrageous. Every year it got bigger and better, but now that we were seniors, I was a little bit more apprehensive about getting caught. One screw up could land us in serious trouble and I had big plans for college. Jack and Robbie, however, appeared completely unconcerned and, unfortunately for me, Robbie was a genius at these pranks and happened to be our self-appointed leader. I normally had a lot of fun getting into trouble this time of the year, but our pranks never involved people. Destruction of property was a given, but our pranks never made someone a target. Now, from the way he was staring at Alexandria, I thought that was probably about to change.

***

I sat back in my chair and stared at him. "I don't know, dude. That sounds more mean than funny."

Robbie's gaze turned speculative. "Since when do you have a thing for Miss Piggy?"

Jack thought the idea was awesome. Everything Robbie did was awesome to Jack. Poor guy had always been a follower. He'd be the one behind the scenes making sure everything went according to plan, and I'd be the one at the front, gaining Alexandria's trust and ultimately asking her to the April Fools' Parade. It was like every bad movie I'd ever seen, but it was possible this could be even worse.

I held my hands up in a gesture of acquiescence and tried to stifle the stirrings of anger I was feeling. If I wanted to stay in this crowd, I knew I'd have to go along with it. What did I care about Alexandria anyway? I had a reputation to uphold. If I pissed off Robbie and the other guys, there was no way I'd ever live it down. "Fine," I finally said, if only to get them to shut up. It was just a prank. What harm could it do?

Famous last words.
2001 – Alex's side of the story

Beckett Dean was cool. Annoyingly so. He had perfect hair, perfect teeth, a lean swimmer's body ... pretty much everything a girl could want. So why, I asked myself, was he leaning on my locker with a sexy smoldering grin on his face?

Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! I stopped in front of my locker, careful to maintain my personal space, but close enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Guys like him didn't get close to girls like me. His eyes flickered and his grin wavered, but he stood his ground.

Interesting.

I reached around him and began dialing the combination. I wasn't going to speak. He was obviously here for something, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice quaver with curiosity.

He probably needed help with his homework. That's the only reason a guy like him would approach me. After an awkward silence, Beckett spoke.

His voice was swoony, even for a high school guy. Some guys went through horrible puberty - squeaky voices, scraggly chin hair, and giant awkward feet. Not Beckett, damn him. He was a perfect specimen of the high school male. Legions of high school girls swooned over his name. I prided myself on not being one of them, although from the way my heart sped up in response to his proximity, I thought it might be because he'd never paid a single ounce of attention to me than from me having strong willpower.

"Hi, Alexandria."

I rolled my eyes. Did he want brownie points for knowing my name? "Alex," I said shortly.

"Excuse me?"

"No one calls me Alexandria." I pulled out my Advanced Calculus book and gave him a quelling look. "You'd know that if you actually knew me."

He stood straighter, one eyebrow raised. I'd surprised him. "I - I'm sorry."

I snorted. "If you need help with your homework, find someone else." I slammed my locker shut and brushed past him. I was going to be late for class.

"Wait!"

I tried to walk faster, but I was short and Beckett had long legs. Before I knew it, he'd taken my backpack off of my shoulder and was carrying it.

"Give it back," I demanded.

"Relax," he said. When he smiled, a dimple peeked out from his cheek. I hated him for being so gorgeous.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway and had to tilt my head to look up at him. This made my glasses slip down my nose, so I pushed them up, watching as a flicker of distaste crossed his face. That was more like it.

Students milled around us as they walked to class, curiosity evident in the way everyone slowed down to gawk and whispered once they passed us up. "What is Beckett doing?" I heard one girl whisper, and another made an audible gagging noise.

I felt burning tears of humiliation fill my eyes. "Beckett, whether you realize it or not, the fact that you're standing here trying to make some kind of point is worse than being ignored. You're embarrassing me." I gestured to the people staring at us and leaned in to whisper. "Whatever it is you're trying to prove to yourself, I want no part of it."

I snatched the backpack out of his hands and began to walk quickly to my classroom.

"Beck!" He shouted. My footsteps slowed and I turned around to glance at him.

His mouth curved to one side. "You'd know that if you actually knew me."

I shook my head and turned back around before he could see me smile.

***

My thoughts whirled and I couldn't concentrate on class. What was his deal? I'd seen the movies. I knew that guys like him didn't suddenly come up to the most unpopular girl at school and carry their backpacks for no reason. He wanted something. I didn't think it was homework anymore, but Beckett, excuse me ... Beck was up to something. If I knew what was good for me, I'd avoid him at all costs.

***

He'd been at my locker every single day for the past three weeks. I'd tried to ignore him and, in the beginning he'd let me. He'd walked me to fourth period and never let me carry my backpack. He'd asked weird questions about my home life, my hobbies, the types of foods I liked to eat, and all sorts of other weird things that would be creepy if he didn't seem to actually be interested in my responses.

It was like being a bug under a microscope and while I'd basked under his attention, without letting him know I was beginning to enjoy his company against my better judgment, I was not immune to the nasty quips the other students made when I walked past them.

Why is Beck walking with that nasty girl?

Are nerds in style now?

What is up with her hair? She looks like Wednesday Addams.

Is she giving it up? Is that why Beck likes her?

Beck ignored everyone which had me even more worried he was up to something. I, Alexandria Jewitt, was no fool. I'd been a nerd long enough to know when I was being set up. A little part of me was sad Beck was involved because he seemed like he might be a genuinely nice person.

Sometimes during a particularly heated conversation on the way to class, I'd glance over and see him staring at me in this interested, curious way. It was like I was the only person in the room and I'd said something intensely clever he approved of. If I were a puppy, I'd be constantly rolling over and exposing my belly to earn his approval. He was a hard nut to crack and he still wouldn't give me much information about himself, something else that set my inner alarm bells ringing. I knew he was the youngest of three children. His father was an established lawyer at a downtown firm in Houston and his mother flitted back and forth, involving herself in charitable pursuits.

Other than this, I didn't know much else about Beck other than his obsession with all things football. As I walked up to my locker, my throat caught as I saw his familiar presence leaning against the orange metal. Perhaps noticing my stare, he looked up, his eyebrows lowered as if I'd caught him in some intensely deep thought. When our gaze locked, I saw a flicker of sadness briefly flare. His smile was fake today.

I knew because I thought his smiles were the most beautiful thing about him. I, Alexandria Jewitt, of the mousy hair and brace face, could make one Beckett Dean laugh. Sometimes it was the best thing about my day, hearing his full-bodied chuckle and seeing the megawatt smile appear on his face. He always seemed surprised by his laughter when I was around, and I thought maybe Beck didn't laugh enough at home.

When our eye contact grew intense, he turned and dialed the combination to my locker. I let him. He pulled out my calculus book and held his hand out for my backpack. As I'd reluctantly done over the past few weeks, I handed it over. He unzipped it, shoved the book in, re-zipped it and handed it back over with a brittle smile.

"What's up?" I asked him, my stomach fluttering. I knew that whatever this was, today would be the end of it. I couldn't explain why, but I knew his presence was on a time limit.

He shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and looked at the floor. A faint tinge of color appeared on his cheeks.

Beckett blushing? Okay, I was officially freaked out.

"I was wondering if you had a date to the parade." His normally carefree voice was husky and a little harsh.

I flinched unwittingly and felt my brows furrow together.

"Well, let me just check my super busy social calendar." I pretended to flip through my mini-calendar.

He covered my hand with his. It was the first time he'd ever touched me. The warmth of his skin on mine caused my hands to shake. "Don't be flippant."

I cleared my throat. "That's an awfully large word for a high schooler."

His mouth curved. "I've been hanging around with this nerd named Alex. She's been teaching me all kinds of things I never wanted to know."

"She sounds terrible," I said.

Beck nodded solemnly. "She really is."

I studied him for a moment. He was nervous. As was I. "I do not have a date," I finally said. "I can't believe it with all the men I've been having to fight off these days, but it's true."

Instead of relief, he looked pained. He screwed his face up and asked me to accompany him to the parade and dance afterward. When I told him I would go, he didn't look happy. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say Beck looked a little devastated.

This wasn't exactly the vote of confidence I'd hoped for when accepting a date invite from the hottest guy in school.
Now – Alex

Every time I imagined his face I wanted to punch him. Not just once, repeatedly. I'd thought Beck was completely out of my system, and for the longest time he was. I thought I'd mostly gotten over the burning hatred I'd been harboring for him over the last twelve-plus years. I'd mostly gotten over the humiliation of his actions at the town parade. I'd even mostly gotten over the fact that someone might actually find me desirable enough to want to go out with me of their own volition.

But now, he was here. Standing in front of me, even more handsome than I remembered. His golden hair was shorter, trimmed in that magazine-worthy way and minimally styled. He looked delectable.

I hated every single inch of him.

I even hated the inside of him. Maybe even especially that. The outside could be gorgeous, but when the inside was rotten, the entire package sort of all fell apart.

It started off as a normal day. I'd woken up early because I had a busy day planned at the shop. I had two weddings to get ready for. Everything had to be perfect because both of these clients had the ability to make or break my fledgling florist shop. I'd been doing modestly okay, bringing in clientele when I could, hoping the good deals I offered would be spread via word of mouth and so far, it was going pretty well. Decent enough for me to afford to pay myself a meager salary and bring on a shop assistant. But I hoped these weddings would turn out to be my bread and butter.

The first wedding was for an up-and-coming Houston socialite. She was marrying some hoity-toity New York financial guru or something. Honestly, my eyes glazed over whenever she started to gush about her fiancée. I was only concerned with the flowers. The second, however, was a tad more difficult. The woman's name was Miriam Dean, a last name that set my heart to pounding even as I told myself that the last name Dean was relatively common in a city as large as Houston. She was a massive media influence in the local area and had breezed into my shop one day after reading a small local newspaper snippet profiling my shop.

She was tall for a woman, and sported spectacular red hair that I suspected wasn't all the way natural, and I, being generally clueless of anything even remotely trendy, had no idea who she was. I wasn't much of a prime-time television watcher, instead preferring the mindless numbing activity of Netflix and its library of thousands of television shows I could literally watch myself into oblivion with. Thankfully, she found me delightful instead of hokey and later told me she was relieved because people treated her differently when they knew who she was. I probably would have too, if she had let it slip when she first came in. Instead, I offered her a cup of coffee and a scone I'd made myself. If she thought it was quaint, she didn't say a word. She took the offerings, put a giant dent in the scone with her brilliant white teeth and started telling me about the flowers she wanted, while her mouth was still full.

Miriam was a hard woman to not like. We chatted for an hour about her flower selection until we narrowed it down to a selection of pale peach roses, white baby's breath, honeysuckle and pale pink Ranunculus. It would be beautiful, which was good for her, and quite expensive, which would be very good for me. The pale flowers would look beautiful against the vivid scarlet of her hair. She told me her dress would be white and laughed uproariously about why women still wore virginal white on their wedding day when everyone knew ninety-nine percent of them were liars.

I found her refreshing. I suspected she found me curious. But I couldn't help but like her.

Until today. Today I was seriously considering cancelling her wedding order and burning down my shop just to get the memory out of my head.

The door jingled open and, seeing the familiar scarlet head of hair coming through, I called out my greeting only to have it choke off in mid-sentence when I saw who was behind her.

Beckett Dean. In the flesh.

I felt my face go pale and I held onto the counter to keep my knees from collapsing underneath me. I hadn't seen him since our high school graduation when he'd shown up at my house begging for forgiveness. I told him I never wanted to see him again. And I meant it.

Yet, here he was. What more could he do to me? How else could he humiliate me? Why was he here? With Miriam of all people?

The truth hit me like a freight train. Every time I heard the name Dean, my heart seized up like I was having an episode, but every single time it was a false alarm. This time, seeing the similarities in the strength of their jaws and tilt of their noses, I had a sinking suspicion it was not.

Beckett and Miriam were related. I had unwittingly walked into the lion's den.

To give Beck credit, he looked just as flummoxed as I was. I watched in satisfaction as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise. His tan cheeks flooded with color. I hoped it was embarrassment.

That rat bastard deserved to be embarrassed over how he had treated me.

Miriam, sensing the disturbance in her happy universe, faltered in mid-step. "Alex, everything okay?"

I forced a smile, cleared my throat and said, "Of course, why wouldn't it be?"

She turned to the rotten jerk who was probably her brother, a frown on her perfect ivory brow. Confusion was evident on her face. "Beck?"

He clenched his jaw and said nothing for a long drawn out moment. I wanted to sink down to the floor and bang my head on it a few times, hopefully knocking myself out and waking up with decades-long amnesia. Maybe I could relive my high school years being blonde and thin with sparkling blue eyes—maybe the head cheerleader dating the ridiculously handsome valedictorian. We'd get married, after college of course, become independently wealthy and pop out impossibly beautiful babies while living the rest of our lives in a glorious, storied existence. Anything but this.

"We know each other," he said between gritted teeth.

"Oh?" Miriam asked and waited for a response that never came. I could tell she was curious. "Where from?"

I stood behind the counter like a statue.

"High school," he finally said.

Miriam sucked in a deep breath as she put the pieces together. "Alex," she breathed as her anguished gaze flew to mine. "Oh, my God."

"Hi." I waved feebly.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns," Beck said lamely and trailed off.

We stood there in impossibly awkward silence, me reliving the horrible memories of that day and how it had haunted me ever since. Miriam and Dean whispered to each other in hushed tones across the room.

I busied myself wiping the counters down, sure I was about to lose out on one of the biggest jobs of my career when I heard Miriam viciously whisper, "I am not giving her up just because you're a raging douche bag!"

I smiled to myself. Or maybe not. A bloom of hope began to spread throughout my chest. Please just make Beck go away. Please just let me have to deal with Miriam. I can get through this, cash her check and never, ever have to see the Dean family again. Please don't let me lose out on this. I could deal with him being here today. It wasn't ideal, but it was doable. As long as I maintained eye contact with Miriam and never ever looked at that burning ball of Douche-Baggery that was Beckett Dean, I could get through this.

Just as I was running out of things to pretend to be doing, Miriam came up to the counter. Her voice was fervent and her eyes were bright. "Listen to me," she said earnestly. "My brother is an idiot. Or was an idiot." She shook her head. "Okay, he's an idiot sometimes, but not nearly as big of an idiot as he used to be."

I chuckled at her description as Beck shuffled awkwardly behind her. "I want you to do these flowers for me, Alex. Please. Pretty please." She looked back at her brother. "He never has to step foot in this shop again. Say the word. Say you'll keep doing this and I'll banish Beck from getting within fifty feet of you."

"Hey!" Beck protested from the back and pushed his sister aside. I was confronted with the fiery laser blue of his eyes. I wanted to look away, but I felt like a bug pinned into place by a mad scientist.

He bowed his head. "Look. I know you hate me—"

I tried to interrupt. "I don't—"

He snorted and held a hand up. "Of course you hate me. I hated myself for what I did." He straightened. "I still hate myself for what happened."

I bristled with anger. "The words what happened seemed to infer it was an accident. It was no accident, Beck."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I know. I know. It was unforgivable."

God, he was handsome. Sinfully so. I wanted to touch his cheek and tell him it was okay. But it wasn't. I'd spent too much time on hating him to just forgive him because he was gorgeous. Beauty was due to genetics and nothing he could control. Therefore I could appreciate his looks without being swayed by them when I knew inside he just wasn't a very nice person

I wondered briefly how pretty his face would still be if I reared my fist back and punched him square in the face.

"It was unforgivable," I said shortly.

Miriam stood there, silent, studying us both, a thoughtful expression on her face. I glanced at her briefly, thought of how much I liked her and how much I needed this job. "But I'm willing to set my personal differences with you aside because of your sister."

He started to smile, but I continued. "As long as I don't see you in my shop anymore. Twice in a lifetime is quite enough for me, thank you."

A flash of hurt crossed his face, so fast I thought I might have imagined it.

"Fine," he said in a brusque tone. "But answer one question for me, Alex."

My memory hurtled back a decade to our classroom walks together, my backpack slung across his broad shoulders and him laughing at something ridiculous I had said. "Answer one question for me, Alex," he would always say, his emphasis on my name our running joke after our semi-disastrous first meeting.

I wanted to tell him to piss off. I wanted to scream and rail at him for being such a thoughtless jackass in high school. But Miriam was standing there with a hopeful expression on her face and next to it was the image of my dwindling bank account floating in my head.

"Fine. One answer."

He leaned forward, his proximity intimidating and intoxicating. He smelled different than I remembered, spicier, more male. If they bottled his scent, they could call it "Jackass." Women would flock to that scent, because, in the end, didn't everyone love a handsome jackass?

I frowned and leaned away.

"Why didn't you rat me out when you had the chance?"

I inhaled sharply. Of all the questions he had asked, the answer to it was one that haunted me. I'd had the opportunity to ruin him, ruin his college plans, his high school graduation ... everything. But I hadn't. Even after the humiliation, I'd kept my head down and my mouth shut—even through the disapproving stares of my parents and school officials—I'd never said a word about anyone's involvement in what had happened. I'd clammed up, cried my eyes out in my bedroom at night and for the next month and a half of school, I'd woken up each morning, dried my eyes, sucked it up and gone to school, taking great pains to avoid Beck, Jack and Robbie for the rest of my senior year.

I didn't rat him out because I suspected I'd been in love with him. Of all the dumb things I'd ever done in my life, falling for Beckett Dean was the dumbest. Even after what he did during the April Fools' Day Parade, I was still in love with him. Yes, I hated him for it, but my heart was a traitor. It had taken me years to beat that infatuation with him into submission.

I didn't rat him out because, in spite of everything, I still thought Beckett might be a good guy. It was a cruel, horrible, thoughtless prank, but I wasn't physically hurt. I was just mortified beyond my imagination. I also suspected Beckett wasn't the mastermind behind it. That smacked of Robbie, the quarterback of our high school football team. I suspected he pulled the legs off of crickets in the silence of his bedroom. He was smart and mean. Two dangerous combinations.

I, Alex Jewitt, was never the kind of girl Robbie could tolerate. While there might have been several other girls he could have targeted, unfortunately I was the one who'd been caught in his cross-hairs, and I was the one who had ultimately suffered.

"It doesn't matter," I said to him.

He narrowed his eyes. "It matters to me."

I smiled sweetly. "Well, even more reason for me not to tell you then."

Miriam snorted and patted her brother on the back. "Go wait in the car. I won't be long."

Beckett leveled a long, meaningful look my way and left the shop, flinging the door open and sending the bells into a wild frenzy of clanging.

"Well, that was super awkward," Miriam said brightly. "I brought him here to show him what I picked and to help with the bridesmaid bouquets. He didn't want to come, but I practically dragged him down here because I didn't have anyone else to show." She waved her hand in disgust. "He's probably sitting in the car absolutely fuming right now." Miriam gave me a sad smile. "I truly didn't put the pieces together. How could I? I'd never met you before." She reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. "I know this won't help, but Beckett was sick over what he did to you. Absolutely devastated."

My stomach lurched and I squelched the urge to lash out at her. It wasn't Miriam's fault she was related to a total jerk. He was her brother, so there was bound to be some sympathy for him. I pasted a false smile on my face, even though it felt more like a grimace, and said, "Should we get to work?"

Miriam's eyes softened. "Of course. Again, my deepest apologies, Alex."

I nodded once, sharply, and pulled out my binder so we could choose more flowers. I had no appetite for discussing Beckett Dean any longer than necessary today.

An hour and a half later, I watched Miriam drive off in her tan Lexus SVU. Beckett stared out through the passenger window, his eyes covered by sunglasses, but I suspected he was staring right at me as I stood in the window watching them leave. I wanted nothing more than to sink myself down in a giant mass of hot water and bubbles and then drown the rest of my sorrows with a glass of red wine.

A quick glance at the clock told me I still had about four hours to go before I could make that dream a reality. I busied myself with floral orders and sketched out the designs for Miriam's bouquets. I might think her brother was a regular stinker, but Miriam was the kind of person who deserved the best, so I planned to give it to her the best way I know how—making a fabulous bouquet worthy of a stunning bride.

Several sketches later, I stretched out the kink in my neck from hunching over my table and stood. The day had been slow, but there weren't many events going on right now. Soon, it would be homecoming, prom and weddings galore and I'd be so busy I could barely keep up. The funds from the two weddings would tide me over for a while, so I knew I should be okay financially.

I didn't want to dip into my savings, but I could if I needed to. While I was in college, I'd had a bit of a secret shame. I'd always been interested in numbers, so I'd started playing the stock market a little bit here and there. Turned out I had a knack, but not a passion for it. A few small investments turned into much larger investments and I'd socked that money away into a money market account. It had been sitting there ever since, the only withdrawal I had made to purchase my shop and my gorgeous little historical home. I dreamed of opening a major wedding planning business, but I wanted to start small to see if it was what I truly wanted to do. So far, even though I'd had a couple of Bridezillas come through the doors, I still enjoyed making a bride's dreams come true.

The Dean wedding was the only kink in the plan. I'd never expected to run into Beckett again. I expected him to be living somewhere else making other nerdy, chubby girls miserable. Instead he was here, in my shop, making me crazy just with his presence. Well, not now he wasn't, thank goodness, but it still felt like he was here, hovering over me, making it difficult to concentrate on anything except how yummy he was and how much I still disliked him.

When Miriam came back in a few days, I'd show her the sketches and finalize everything for her wedding. It was six months away, so I had the time to make any changes she wanted or needed, order everything, get started and make sure Miriam had the best flowers any bride could ask for. In turn, I hoped that my hard work would pay off and get more customers into the store.

I put the drawings in the file cabinet, locked the drawer and busied myself cleaning up the shop. Closing time was in an hour, and I never left the shop dirty. Sometimes I felt like it, but you never knew who was going to walk in right before closing time. I had the day off tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure my assistant, Betsy, didn't have to stress out when she came into the shop to open in the morning.

Once the dirt was swept up, the register was counted and the money stored, I stepped outside, locked the doors, turned the corner and ran smack into Beckett Dean.

"Ooof," I said when I ran into the brick wall he called a chest.

He steadied me by gripping both of my arms. "You okay?"

I nodded mutely. It was the closest I'd ever been to him. And then I remembered I hated him.

"What are you doing here?"

He released me, and I rubbed my arms where his fingers touched.

"I came to apologize."

I narrowed my eyes. "You've already done that."

He shrugged. "I know. I'll keep doing it until you forgive me."

"Fat chance of that happening," I muttered as I straightened the handbag strap that had fallen down in our collision. I shoved past him and started walking to my car.

Instead of leaving me alone, Beckett followed me. "I know you're angry. You have every right to be."

"You promised you wouldn't come to my shop anymore."

Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught his heart-stopping smile. "No, I didn't," he said.

I stopped walking. "Yes, you did." What was I going to do if he kept showing up here?

He looked down at me and, once again, I cursed the fact that I hadn't grown an inch since high school.

"No, I said I wouldn't come in your shop."

I blew out a frustrated breath. "Semantics!"

"Effective semantics."

"Why are you doing this?" I just wanted him to go away and leave me to my introverted, flower-ridden existence.

He studied me and I struggled to quell the urge to smooth my hair down. I must look a fright. Being a florist wasn't conducive to style, that was for sure.

"I did something terrible to you, Alex."

His jaw clenched and he seemed to be struggling to put the words together. "You meant something to me, and I betrayed your trust. I—There's nothing I can say but how sorry I am. I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Fresh anger bloomed in my chest. "I meant something to you?" I felt the edge in my voice, sharp and steely.

He looked wary. "Of course you did."

"Hmm," I said. I crossed my arms, trying to stop the shaking of my hands. "You know what I do when someone means something to me?"

From the look on his face, Beckett knew he had stepped in it.

"I cook dinner for them. I buy them presents. I talk to them, tell them how I feel. I listen to them."

Anger flashed in his eyes, but furious now, I continued.

"You know what I don't do?" My voice escalated to a high screeching pitch. "I don't ask them on a date and humiliate them in front of the entire town!"

"Look, Alex—"

"Don't Look Alex me," I screamed. "I knew you were up to something! I knew there was no way someone as popular as you would like a girl like me, yet I let you in. I trusted you. I told you things I'd never told anyone! I liked you, Beckett. I thought you were a good person. Even afterwards, I still thought you might be a good person." My head dropped and my voice trailed off. "I cared about you, Beckett, but as time went on, I began to hate you."

The first tears fell down my nose and dripped onto my dirty shirt. I looked up at him, saw his devastated expression, and I still didn't know how I could forgive him. It's those teenage hurts that are the hardest to let go of. "Don't come back."

I turned and left him standing there staring after me.
Now – Beckett

Alex was beautiful. She'd always been pretty, once I'd managed to get over those giant braces taking over her face. By the way, those braces managed to do their job in a fantastic way. Walking into her shop and seeing her there was shocking as hell. I had no idea Alex was a florist, no idea she was still even in town. In high school, she'd been brilliant, far smarter than anyone I'd ever known.

What she was doing working in a shop, I didn't hesitate to guess. Alex was her own person. Her originality was something I'd always admired. I didn't want to go with Miriam this morning. Most men, myself included, had zero desire to have anything to do with flowers of any sort unless we were standing in the checkout line on Valentine's Day doing our manly duty.

However, seeing Alex today made it all worth it. I'm not sure how worth it it was to Alex, considering my mere presence seemed to infuriate her, but to me, it was everything. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of her and how damned sorry I was about everything. I didn't mean for things to go so far, which seems like a major cop out. I knew what Robbie had planned, and I should have stopped it. But hanging around Alex was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive. She might not have been a beauty in high school, but she had a quick mind, quick wit and a refreshing take on the world. I wanted, no needed, to be around her.

The years had changed Alex. She hadn't grown a single inch, but her body had slimmed just enough to create a curvy softness most men couldn't get enough of, myself included. Her hair, once a mousy brown, was now highlighted into a tawny golden brown. She had it tossed up on the top of her head, making me itch to take it down and have it fall around me.

Her eyes were still the same. Bright, vivid, sparkling green. They say only one to two percent of the world's population have green eyes. I knew in my heart that no one had eyes like Alexandria Jewett. And her face, my favorite part. So expressive, so sad. I wasn't proud to be the one who had put that sadness on her face, although I wasn't sure I was one hundred percent to blame. Alex didn't seem to have the best family life when we were in school. Perhaps I only exacerbated her issues.

Seeing and talking to her now only increased that need. I wanted to be with her. Ten years later ... I still found her to be like a drug. I had stayed away from her because I knew she wanted it. Now, I wasn't sure I could do it anymore.

We had been kids. I deserved forgiveness from her. And if not forgiveness, then understanding. I would work on her, break her barriers down and do everything I could to see her gift me with her crooked smile again.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me and watched as she walked away from me. No matter what, Alex and I would soon have to hash this out. I wasn't going anywhere until we did.
Now – Alex

"Damn that Beckett Dean," I shouted when I was back in my car. For emphasis I banged my hands on the steering wheel. I thought again about cancelling Miriam's order and just couldn't bring myself to do it. It wasn't her fault Beckett was an idjit.

One quick glance out my window told me Beckett was walking away. I blew out a breath, started my car and began the drive home, trying to quiet my whirling thoughts with the Taylor Swift album blaring out of my iPhone.

Oh, Taylor, I thought miserably, some things you just can't shake off.

Once I made it home, I hurried inside and pulled down the closest bottle of wine I could find. Pouring myself a healthy glass, I wandered to the deck outside, desperate for the peace and quiet only the garden could provide. My one nod to vanity was this house. I couldn't resist the allure of the pretty little downtown historical. Painted a cheery yellow, with a full wrap-around porch, it was both beautiful and outrageously expensive. I loved it at first sight, even though the price tag gave me nausea.

The yard was massive, surprising in a house like this, and it only added to the allure of it. I had made a full-price cash-only offer immediately and just a few short months after I graduated college, I had moved in.

My neighbors were yuppies and I don't think they knew how to react when they saw me. I chose old rock 'n roll t-shirts over designer blouses and Converse shoes over Louboutin's. Crackers and cheese over Filet mignon. Basically I didn't fit in here, but I didn't fit in anywhere. It made me happy knowing that I was probably the only one on the entire city block who owned their house outright. When they sneered their noses at me, I smiled serenely and knew I'd never have to worry about repossession. It was the small things in life, really.

I settled myself into the cushy seat closest to my patio table, my thoughts whirling over the events of the last eight hours. It's funny how things can change in an instant. Beck walking into my shop had thrown me into a tailspin and swirled all the dust around me I'd thought I'd finally settled. I didn't think about high school much anymore, but when I did, it still managed to get my angry juices going.

The day of the April Fools' Parade, I had finally convinced myself that everything was fine. Nothing had happened yet, so obviously Beck really wanted to go to the parade with me, right? I felt vindicated finally. Beck had chosen someone he wanted to be with over the conventions of modern-day high-school pretty-girl politics. It started out as a wonderful day.

I remembered pulling the dress out that I'd splurged on from tips I'd saved waiting tables at our local Mexican restaurant and laying it across the bed. It was a vivid blue with a flowy skirt. I knew if I twirled, the skirt would twirl with me. I'd added sparkly crystal earrings and black high heels. I was going to look great.

I'd taken my time that night, dressed with care. I hot-rolled my hair and it flowed across my shoulders and down my back in loose, shiny brown curls. I rarely wore makeup, but I applied a double coat of mascara, some sparkly blush and a light lip gloss. Glancing at myself once in the mirror, I had to blink twice at the young lady staring back at me. I barely recognized myself. I was still about ten pounds too heavy, but the dress flattered those curves instead of exacerbating them. Vivid green eyes blinked back at me, set off by the blue of the skirt.

The high pitched doorbell told me Beck was outside. Heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, I ran downstairs, careful not to break my neck, and opened the door. He wore a pair of charcoal slacks and a blue shirt. We matched and hadn't even planned it.

His mouth opened when he saw me. He blinked. Once. Twice. Closed his mouth and finally was able to speak. "You look ... nice," he managed.

That stung.

"Thanks," I murmured. "Ready?"

He nodded. I gave him a curious glance. Beck looked good enough to eat, but his face had a green pallor to it and he seemed extremely nervous. It was unlike him.

I shook my head, grabbed my keys and purse and made sure I locked the door behind me so my parents wouldn't freak when they got home from work.

In the car on the way there, Beck said little. I tried to fill the void with meaningless chatter until he interrupted me.

"Alex. I need to say something."

My fingers fidgeted with the zipper of my purse. "Okay," I said softly.

"You know I like you, right?"

"Hmmm. Weird question. No. I know you tolerate me, and for some strange reason must have felt obligated to take me tonight."

He snorted. "A yes or no would have been enough."

"Then no," I said.

Silence fell again in the car. "How can you say that?" He asked softly.

"Because you've shown some strange, intense interest in me lately and I'm still not sure what it's about."

I glanced over and saw his eyebrows fly together, turning his handsome face thunderous. I'd angered him.

"No matter what happens tonight, I want you to know I care about you."

I chuckled nervously. "That sounds ... ominous."

Beck's face closed down and we drove the rest of the way in silence. When we'd arrived in the town square, he helped me out of the car, then excused himself. He yelled over his shoulder. "Stay here! I'll be right back."

Beck was acting weird. Again.

I stood there watching him walk away, shook my head and headed in the opposite direction. He obviously didn't want to be seen with me.

I saw several girls from the high school there, all giving me murderous looks as I passed them by. The main float was done up in our school colors, blue and white, and a stage had been set up on the float to welcome the Parade King and Queen. The queen would undoubtedly be one of the prettier, more popular girls from the school, although every senior girl's name was put into the drawing every year. It was supposed to be random, but considering MacKenzie Myers had won the last three years, we all knew that to be suspect.

A girl from my calculus class noticed me and headed my way. Alice, I think her name was. She was pretty, but just as I shunned as I was. I smiled hesitantly and waved her over. She hurried up, an urgent look on her face.

"Alex!" she breathed, "thank goodness I found you! You need to be caref—"

A firm grip on my elbow startled me. I turned to see Robbie standing next to me. He smiled brilliantly and I blinked in confusion. "There you are!" he said too loudly. "Beck has been looking for you! Come on."

Alice stared at him, her brows furrowing. "Alex, stay--"

"Don't you have some nerd club to be in or something?" He steered me none too gently away, and I stared over my shoulder at Alice. Her arms were crossed and a sympathetic expression crossed her face.

I pulled away from Robbie. "What is going on?" I demanded.

He laughed forcefully. "Nothing! God, I swear you smart girls worry way too much."

"With good reason," I muttered.

"Beck is waiting for you." He led me over to Beck and Jack. They stood with their backs to me, whispering in hushed voices. Beck's face was flushed red and he gestured wildly with his hands.

Robbie cleared his throat. "Found her!" He said brightly with a meaningful look at Beck when he turned around.

Beck stepped toward me and led me away.

Behind us, Robbie said quietly, "I'll ruin you."

Once we were out of earshot and back at the main parade area, I stopped. "What in the world is going on?"

Just then, music on the float started up and the announcer's voice came over the loudspeaker, drowning out all other conversation. In just a few minutes, they'd announce the King and Queen. This year's crowd looked larger than usual, hundreds of people now gathered around, jockeying for the best spot to see the parade. I was pressed close against Beck who hadn't said a word since we'd left Robbie. Not that we could hear each other anymore, though.

He pulled me closer to him and whispered in my ear. "Let's go."

I looked sharply up at him. "What? Why?"

"We need to go. Now."

I pulled away from him. "What is your problem? I'm not leaving. I spent a lot of money on this dress and I even did my freaking hair! If you want to go, then go. Jeez." I turned away from him and tried to watch the dancers twirling batons around the float, but I kept glancing at Beck out of my peripheral vision. He looked disturbed, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought he was going to crack a tooth.

About 15 excruciating moments later, last year's Queen MacKenzie walked up to the announcer with the envelope.

One drum roll later, my entire high-school life was ruined.

***

White noise filled my ears when I heard him call my name. I was the Queen? There was no way that was possible. Based upon the general lack of applause from the crowd, everyone else knew it too. As I slowly walked to the stage, I heard Beck's name called as the King. I turned back to look at him, a slow smile spreading on my face. Maybe hanging around with him had boosted my popularity. Maybe things were turning around.

My smile fell as I saw the grim expression on his face. I kept walking, my steps faltering, slowly up to the stage. Something was wrong, especially since I didn't see Beck following me up. I slowed when I was a few feet away from the announcer, looking around frantically for anything amiss. I couldn't see anything so I took a few more steps until I stood next to the man holding out the envelope. He leaned in to the mic and called Beck's name again.

I felt myself break out into a cold sweat as soon as I heard the snuffling noise. Surprised laughter broke out into the parade goers and my heart dropped. Pigs, dozens and dozens of pigs were making their way around the float and onto the stage. Each bore a sash that said, "Queen Chubby."

The announcer's face fell, but trying to ignore it, he placed the crown on my curls and the sash over my head, stood back to smile at me, and his face fell in horror. I was too smart not to realize what my banner said. Feeling something pelting my head from above, I smelled the tell-tale scent of bacon raining down around me.

Furious tears filled my eyes. Over the loudspeaker came Robbie's unmistakable voice. "Queen Chubby's reign begins now! Join her at the local cafe for free pig slop. Guaranteed to put an extra ten pounds on your ass or your money back!"

I tried to ignore the rest as I slowly took the sash off and dropped it on the stage. Sounds of raucous laughter drowned out my thoughts as I tried to push multiple pigs out of the way.

"Snort, snort, snort, snort, snooooort!" Came the voice, complete with juvenile giggling. Once I made it past the pigs, the voice came on again, "Aww, Chubby, come on now. You know we're just kidding, right? You don't have to be pretty to win at April Fools'!"

I slowly walked down the stairs, numb, the stares of hundreds of people burning against my skin, some mocking, and some pitying. Pigs brushed against my legs, snorting and snuffling, their coarse hair tearing into my pantyhose and scratching my legs. Beck was nowhere to be found.

I walked halfway home until a car pulled up and opened the passenger door. Alice rolled down her window, her eyes filled with tears. "Get in."

I cried on her shoulder the entire way home.

***

I took a long, needed sip of wine. Yes, it was horrible. But it was also a juvenile prank and one Beck appeared to be genuinely remorseful for. I searched inside myself and knew it was time to let go. I might never want to see Beck again and I knew I would never forget what happened, but I could try my best to forgive him.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Miriam's phone number.
Now – Alex

"This is unexpected," he said when I opened the door.

"Shut up," I said and stepped out of the way so he could enter.

He held up a paper bag, so I led him into the kitchen. He pulled out Chinese takeout and handed me a carton. I smiled as I opened it and inhaled the familiar honey scent of sweet and sour chicken.

"Come on, let's go to the deck."

Beck craned his neck to look around at my house. "This is incredible," he said.

I shrugged. "Thanks. I love it here."

I pushed open the door to the backyard and allowed him to pass first. He set his food down and helped himself to a glass of the red wine from the bottle I'd left out from earlier.

Beck started to speak and I waved a hand at him. "Eat first."

He nodded and we both dug into our food. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but it was fraught with nervousness and anticipation, on both our parts, I think. When we'd finished, I pushed my carton aside, took a sip of my wine and stared him in the eye.

I took a deep breath. "I forgive you."

Beck blinked a couple of times. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," I said, and realized I meant it. I was finally able to let go of my anger. I was no longer the chubby, nerdy girl he knew from high school. I'd grown up, built a business I was proud of and could no longer afford to hold onto grudges. It would hold me back. It had held me back.

He started to speak, but I interrupted. "Please don't apologize to me anymore. It was time for me to let it go."

His mouth quirked. "I just want to say one thing."

I nodded. "Okay."

"I tried to stop him."

It still hurt to talk about. "I know you did." And I did. I realized later that intense conversation he'd been having with Jack all of those years ago had had to do with the prank they'd planned. He'd left me that day to stop everything, but it was already in motion.

He quirked a brow. "You do?"

I shrugged. "It wasn't too hard to figure out."

He leaned back against the patio chair, looking way too comfortable in my house. It was disconcerting. I'd never had a man here, and never in a million years had I expected my first male guest to be Beck. Sunlight played against the highlights of his hair, turning the blond of his hair into a spun gold. His gaze was serious and he looked to be contemplating something.

"What now?" He said after a moment.

I squirmed in my chair. "What do you mean?"

He spread his hands out. "Is this it? Do we go our separate ways now?"

I studied him, drinking him in, knowing if he stayed around I wouldn't be able to bear it. "I think that would be best, don't you?"

I might have forgiven him, but I still wasn't ready to let go of all of my righteous anger. I still needed to work through some things—fully purge the incident from my mind and lock it into a box I didn't plan on opening again. I wasn't sure I could do that if Beck was hanging around. But why would he? It had been ten years. Surely we had nothing in common? We hadn't in high school. We probably still didn't. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. Beck would always be tied to that terrible incident and the faster I got away from him, the better.

Beck steepled his fingers and watched me. I knew my thoughts must have been playing across my face to elicit his interest like that.

"You just wanted to tell me that and boot me out of your house?" He didn't look angry, but I was beginning to feel nervous.

"Yes," I said. "Look, I'm sure you've grown to be a wonderful person, but it's not good for me to be around you. I have personal things to work through and, to be honest, your presence just keeps bringing that horrible day up again. You don't think it's best to just let it go and move on?"

To my surprise, he grinned and tipped his wineglass up to take a large swallow. I watched as his long, tanned throat worked as he swallowed. Mother, Mary and Joseph, he was beautiful.

"Oh, no, Alex," he said after a moment, and to my humiliation caught me staring at him. The grin never left his face as he leaned toward me and tipped my chin up to meet his gaze. My heartbeat fluttered like a panicked bird.

"I don't think that's best at all," he said. He stood, gathered the cartons and cleaned up my table. As I watched him and fumbled for something to say, he gave me a sexy wink. "This is not over. You and I are not over. I'll let that sink in while I let myself out."

My pulse raced. I was scared of many things to do with Beckett, but most of all I was terrified of the delicious anticipation I felt at his threat.

Watching him walk away, I couldn't help the smile forming on my face.

"Game on, Beckett," I murmured.
Author Bio:

S.E. Babin has a passion for writing books with a paranormal twist. Whether it's romance or mystery, she loves taking the norm and turning it into the extraordinary. Her love of reading turned into a curious exploration to see whether or not she could write her own novel. Beginning with random, terrible poetry and a slightly popular reimagining of Beowulf's Grendel in her high school English class, Sheryl spent way too much time in the library, killing any chance of her becoming a cheerleader or anything even remotely cool.

Author Links:

Find her on Facebook at - https://www.facebook.com/SEBabin

Who Does He Think

He's Fooling

By

Laurie Baxter

To M & A, the loves of my life
Tricks of the Trade

"Maybe I need to clarify, people. Nine a.m. staff meeting means nine a.m. Eastern Standard Time." Jessica smirked as she paced in front of the still-filling rows of chairs in the conference room.

"Uh, Jessica, we're actually on Daylight Saving Time as of three weeks ago," offered Ted from accounting, who was too new to know better.

Jessica folded her arms across her perfectly tailored suit jacket and stared at him for a good full minute. Amy took the opportunity to slide into a seat in the back corner, unnoticed, she hoped. She pulled her red curls into a ponytail as she furtively glanced around, looking for—oh, good, there Tom was, and sitting safely on the other side of the room and three rows in front of her. Given that ACME Office Amusements employed only a few dozen full-time staff in their Northeast headquarters, she'd be hard-pressed to hide from him for long, but she was damn well going to stretch it out as much as possible. Maybe if she avoided him long enough, he'd completely forget about last night's humiliating events.

As Jessica tapped her fingers on her arm and waited for the last of the stragglers, Tom turned to look over his shoulder. Amy whirled to face the wall. Good job, Ame! He'll never guess it's you. This was not her fault. She had not asked him to proclaim his love for her over beer and Buffalo wings last night. Or, okay, in fairness, the love was merely implied. But, really, what else does it mean when your office pal and drinking buddy of over a year suddenly asks you out on a date?

She rested her head against the wall with a slight thunk. Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn't nearly so upset about Tom asking her out as she was about the way she'd responded. But it wasn't her fault! He'd caught her off guard! And she truly had thought yesterday was April Fools' Day. So, really, laughing and congratulating him on his hilarious joke was a perfectly natural response. Oh, God, she was never going to be able to face him again.

"Don't you agree, Amy?" came a soft voice, just beside her. Crap. Amy pasted on a smile and turned as slowly as possible, mentally calculating which was more likely to be the answer Jessica wanted and which was likely to be a trap.

This was torture. Tom shifted anxiously in his seat.

"Y-yes?" ventured Amy.

Jessica raised her brow and stared.

Amy might have rejected him, but Tom still couldn't watch the boss toy with the woman he cared about like this. She was still his friend. Possibly. Actually, he really wasn't sure what he and Amy were to each other after last night's complete and utter humiliation, but even so, he wondered if he should ask a question or create a diversion of some kind. It would help if he had been paying any attention to Jessica's speech himself, but, honestly, he was way too distracted trying to look, you know, not destroyed.

"Boy, the boss is really letting your lady friend have it!" laughed Chuck, leaning up from the row behind Tom.

"Exactly, Amy!" said Jessica, finally, continuing up the aisle and going on with what sounded like her standard speech about teamwork and being one big family.

"She's not my—we're not—" Tom gave up and focused back on Jessica, who was now scaring the assistants in the front row.

Chuck slapped him too hard on the shoulder. "When are you going to grow a sack and ask Red out?"

"My sack—" Several people turned. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "My sack is fine. We're just friends."

"If you say so, Sally." Chuck shook his head and leaned back.

Tom tried to focus on Jessica, who was now saying something about everyone at the office taking themselves too seriously and how a toy company, even an office toy company, should be fun, but he stole a glance back at Amy who was—Aaaaa! Looking right at him. They both snapped their faces front like nothing had happened. Oh, man, never mind his disappointment and hurt feelings, how the heck was this going to work with the two of them in the same office? Why had he asked her out? They were friends. Maybe even "work spouses," and he'd screwed it all up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"And that is why we are going to do something about it!" finished Jessica, who then reached into her pocket and... was she putting on a clown nose?

Ted from accounting raised his hand, "Is this about the 'Big Top' virus? Because I was told as long as we don't click the link in the email—"

"Does it look like this is about the 'Big Top' virus?"

Everyone froze, Ted included. You could never be too careful how you answered these things.

After a long, awkward moment, Jessica continued, "No, Ted, as I was saying, this is about having more fun, loosening up, and bonding."

"Right, of course." Ted nodded, clearly not understanding a damn thing.

If Jessica was just going to continue with one of her nonsensical "pep" talks, Tom wondered if he could find a way to sneak out. Knowing that Amy was likely staring at the back of his head this whole time was starting to make him antsy.

"This," grandstanded Amy, "is about our first annual 'Private Prankster' day!" Wait, what?

Ted from accounting timidly raised his hand. "Jessica, what exactly is—"

"Not now, Ted!" Jessica cut him off. "Private Pranksters are just like Secret Santas, except they're for April Fools' Day!"

Of course. Sigh. Chuck leaned forward. "This is going to be awesome!" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Jessica produced a brightly colored sombrero. Where did she get a sombrero? Oh, no, wait, that was last year's failed Sombrero Scalp Massager. "In this charming, little hat"—she grinned—"are strips of paper with each of your names on them. When I come to you, take a name, but keep it secret!" She placed her finger to her lips and winked, though it was so exaggerated it looked more like her contact was falling out.

As Jessica started walking around to each of the employees, Tom stole another glance back at Amy ... who developed a lightning-fast need to examine the drop ceiling panel above her the second he did. Could this get any worse? Actually, yes. He could choose Amy.

Jessica appeared in front of him. "Tom?"

He swallowed hard and picked a slip of paper.

"Now," announced Jessica, "Once you have your designated prankee, prank them once, prank them all day, whatever feels right. But I want to see some trickery out there today! Failure to 'get your fool on' is not an option!"

She continued on and Tom bit the bullet and looked at the paper in his hand. Not Amy. Jessica. He had drawn Jessica. Oh, good, maybe he'd get fired now, too, for not being "fun" enough.

Amy squinted at the back of Tom's neck, but it was impossible to tell if he'd drawn her name. Please no, please no, please no. But, really, what were the odds? She had to relax. In fact, this latest crazy Jessica scheme was a good thing, actually, when she thought about it. Everyone would be busy playing practical jokes on each other. It would be a great distraction from the awkwardness at hand. Tom would be focused on whoever he drew. And she could avoid him and throw herself into coming up with the perfect prank for—She smiled at Jessica, who had arrived at her seat with the now nearly empty sombrero.

"Looks like there's only one choice for you, my dear." She grinned, handing Amy the last name. Tom.
Where Amy Fears to Tread

"Oh, my goodness. I am so excited! What a fun idea! Isn't this a fun idea? I've never pranked anyone before. What should I do?"

Melanie had been going on about the day's "team-building exercise" ever since they'd gotten out of the meeting. She was sweet and, after Tom, Amy's best work friend. Which was good because, if she hadn't been, Amy probably would have shoved the Solar Dancing Ninja prototype Mel had brought over to discuss into her mouth ten minutes ago to shut her up. Instead, Amy sat in front of her oversized computer monitor and concentrated on tweaking her CAD drawing of the toy as Melanie continued her debate.

"Maybe something with confetti? Do you think Chuck likes confetti? I don't want to do anything Chuck wouldn't like. After all, the whole point of the exercise is to have fun with it. Ooh, maybe I could replace his lunch with a nice piece of chocolate cake from the bakery down the street." She giggled. "Can you imagine? He goes to look for his ham and cheese and"—she covered her mouth, almost overcome by giggles now—"there's no sandwich, just chocolate cake!"

"That sounds great, Melanie. Great idea." Melanie clearly did not fully grasp the whole April Fools' concept, but Amy was too busy worrying about how to prank Tom to explain it. She watched him across the open office floor, sitting with Chuck at their drafting tables, though Chuck was working on his laptop today. Tom's table, mercifully, faced away from her, but she could see he was working on renderings for the new alien Cyclops toy. You squeezed it and its eyeball popped out. It was supposed to relieve stress. She could use one of those right now. Preferably one that looked like Jessica.

Melanie's smile melted away. "Wait a minute, though. What if Chuck doesn't like chocolate? That would be mean to take his lunch away and give him something he doesn't like instead."

"Yeah, uh-huh," Amy muttered, still staring at the back of Tom's head. She couldn't pull a regular prank on Tom, not after that awful rejection last night. On the other hand, if she did something too nice... well, she didn't want to give him the wrong idea, either. Dammit. Worst. Team-building exercise. Ever.

"Best. Team-building exercise. Ever."

Tom rubbed his temples. As if the day weren't already bad enough, he now had to listen to Chuck's unmitigated excitement about the whole Private Prankster thing. Of course he was jazzed. It was license to be even more of an ass than he already was. Which was fine, but did Tom really have to hear about it? He was too self-conscious to move or turn at all for fear of seeing Amy, even though his neck was getting stiff and he was dying for a cup of coffee.

"Check it out, Tommy. There's an April Fools' gag hall of fame online! Some rockin' ideas here, man. Do you think I could get ahold of a tarantula on short notice?"

Sigh. Facing front also meant facing Chuck. All day.

And what was he going to do about pranking Jessica? Man, his neck was sore.

Tom looked sad, Amy decided. He was obviously afraid to turn around. Probably worried she'd be watching him. Which, of course, she totally was. She felt terrible. Tom was such a sweet guy. They always had a really good time together. Look at his lanky frame slumped over his drawing like that, his hand pushing back the adorable swoosh of hair that perpetually flopped in his eyes. She'd been attracted to him when she started working there last year, but he was seeing someone at the time, then she was. They'd ended up becoming friends. And how cute was that alien he was drawing? Awww. Only Tom could make a bloodshot eyeball look cuddly. He didn't deserve the reaction she had given him last night. Maybe she was interested. Oh, God, but it was too late now. Wasn't it?

"Okay, thanks. Bye!" Melanie hung up the phone. "All set! They're going to give me a whole cupcake sampler. That way, there's sure to be something Chuck likes!" Maybe Melanie had the right idea. Maybe she should use this Private Prankster thing to make it up to Tom. Do something nice. Show him how sorry she was. But what? A bouquet of squirting flowers? A drawer full of those smiley face Ping-Pong balls they'd overstocked last year? She needed something bigger. A grand gesture. Ooh! What if his presentation at the afternoon meeting was interrupted by a singing telegram apology? She opened a browser window and got to work.

"Maybe the ol' hot sauce in the coffee? Or I could pants her. Is that too cliché?"

Chuck had been going through the list of possible ways to torment his prankee for the past half hour. Tom had stopped listening twenty-five minutes ago. Or, rather, he had stopped pretending to listen then. He hadn't actually been listening at all. He should have been figuring out his own required trickery, but he was still reliving the mortifying moment the night before when Amy had laughed—laughed—at his suggestion they go out on an actual date. He thunked his head against his table before realizing the paint on his alien was not completely dry yet. He snapped back upright, licked his finger, and began rubbing his forehead vigorously.

"Nice look, buddy," Chuck cackled. Tom looked at his finger, smeared with color now, as, he noted, was his alien rendering. Just great.

Chuck gasped. "That's it! Ponytail!"

"What? No, it's supposed to be an eyeball. It just got smudged."

"No, no, no. My prank. It's genius! Little Orphan Amy will never know what hit her!"

"You got Amy?" This was not good. True, Tom was glad he hadn't drawn her name, but Chuck?

"Borrow your scissors?"

"Huh?"

Chuck reached over and took them from Tom's supply bin without waiting for a response. "Thanks, bud!" He slid them up his jacket sleeve and, oddly, backed up to the office wall, where he began inching around the room's perimeter, eyes on Amy. What was he up to with the scissors and the sneaking and—wait. What had he said about a ponytail?

Oh, no. No, no, no, no.

Amy tapped away obliviously at her computer. Chuck gave a silent nod to a confused-looking Ted as he passed accounting.

Even Chuck wasn't that crazy. Was he? Chuck casually slid the scissors into his palm as he rounded the plastic ficus plant in the corner. Tom bolted to Amy's desk.
Tomfoolery

He slammed into her workstation with a little more momentum than planned. Amy looked up from her monitor. Out of breath and slightly injured from the impact, he remained doubled over her inbox, but he tried to look as casually doubled over as possible.

"Hi." He panted.

"Hi..." Amy smiled cautiously. She looked like she might be evaluating him for possible mental health treatment. She casually closed her browser window. "Hey, I'm glad you're here. I've been wanting to talk to you—" But there was no time because Chuck had now made it to within six feet of her. He had to think fast.

"Amy! Amy..." Amy, what? Excellent diversion, Tom.

Amy knit her brow. "Look, Tom, I don't want things to be weird between us—"

"Have you seen this new group email?" he squealed.

"Uh, no?"

"Oh, my God, just wait. It's this video... of... a cat!" He forced some laughter. Too much? "It like falls down and stuff. It's hilarious!"

Chuck was shaking his head at him, scissors securely in hand. He took a step toward Amy and her ponytail. Oh, this was so not cool.

"Here! I'll find it for you!" In one deft move, Tom slid Amy and her desk chair away from the computer. For show, he tapped at the keyboard. Chuck reached for her hair. Tom shot out his right foot and spun her to face the window.

"Tom, what is up with you?" said Amy as she wound to a stop.

He glared at Chuck, grabbing for the scissor handle. "Uhhh, I just thought you'd like a look at the view? I find it refreshing to look outside from time to time. Gorgeous day, right?" He grunted as he and Chuck wrestled for the scissors, though to anyone else it probably looked more like they were doing some kind of awkward, junior-high-style slow dance, both of them with smiles pasted on, the scissors concealed from view between their bodies.

Amy peered out the window. "I think I see someone peeing in the alley." At that moment, Chuck broke free and lunged for Amy, scooping up her bouncy red curls, but he didn't quite get a firm hold on them, and they slipped from his grasp. Amy must have felt the resulting tug, because she reached up to her ponytail. Tom snatched the scissors from Chuck's hand just as she turned back around.

"Was one of you pulling my hair?"

Chuck shrugged. "Why would I do that?" He laughed. "I was just on my way back to my desk. You have a lovely day now, my dear."

"Ooookay." Amy turned to Tom. "Is it just me, or is he acting weirder than normal?"

Tom laughed louder than was strictly necessary. "Oh, you know Chuck. That guy is weird." He gestured with his right hand for emphasis. The hand that was not empty. Her gaze shifted. She blinked in astonishment.

"What are you doing with those, Tom?"

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.

Amy tapped away at her delete key, un-filling out, letter by letter, the form for the singing telegram she had been planning to send Tom. Thank God she hadn't put the order through yet. Drinking buddy or not, Tom was not getting serenaded by a goofy-but-lovable giant chicken singing "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" today, not after that display (team-building assignment be damned). To think she had actually been reconsidering his date invitation! There was a major bullet dodged. Or scissor, anyway. Was he twelve?! What the hell was wrong with him? And talk about terrible luck. What were the odds of him being her Private Prankster, too? But obviously he was. And this was what he'd decided to do with it.

She cautiously peered around her monitor. Tom was sitting at his desk, fidgeting, looking anxious. It just didn't make sense. This was not the Tom she knew. He hadn't acted like this last fall when Jen from sales had turned him down for drinks. Amy must've really hurt him.

She sighed. She had been harsh. Really, really harsh. And this was his reaction, it seemed. She shook her head. This was Tom, the guy who had bought up the last of the beloved Vampire's Bite Staplers when they were discontinued just so everyone in the office could have one. He wouldn't have really cut her ponytail off ... would he? He hadn't actually done anything. Possibly because she'd stopped him, she realized, but still ... Nobody is that much of a jerk. Maybe he just needed some cooling-off time. Obviously, he was hurt. She didn't need to add to that. Going out with him should probably be off the table, given his obvious emotional instability, but she would give him the benefit of the doubt and let the scissor incident go. For both their sakes, it was probably best that she just leave him alone.

Jessica stepped out of her office and caught her watching Tom. She raised a knowing brow and gave Amy a wink. Oh, right. She was still supposed to prank him. Dammit. Maybe something simple, completely unloaded, like ... what? A whoopee cushion. No, better not to embarrass him anymore. Milk in a salt shaker? No, wait, wasn't he lactose intolerant? Geez, this was hard.

"No, really, what the hell were you thinking, Chuck?!" Tom could feel his own eyes practically bugging out of his head as if, at any time, one might shoot off, alien-squeeze-toy-style. But really, who does that?!

"Are we really going to have to go over this again?" said Chuck, feet up on his desk, as relaxed as could be.

"Yes, yes we are. We have to go over it until you realize what an insane thing you just did." He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. Deep breath in and out. Nope, still furious. He sprang back into Chuck's face. "You tried to cut off a person's hair."

"Pff. You're acting like it doesn't ever grow back."

Tom blinked. What do you say to that? "You realize, of course, that now Amy thinks I'm a complete psychopath."

Chuck looked serious all of a sudden. "I did not mean for that to happen."

"Yeah. I know," Tom sighed.

They were silent, having a moment. Or at least as close to having a moment as Chuck ever got.

Then Chuck burst out laughing. "That part was just a stroke of dumb luck! Oh, man, you should have seen your face, 'No, Amy, no, this isn't what it looks like!'" He imitated Tom's voice. Apparently Tom sounded like a seven-year-old girl. Chuck collapsed in laughter.

Tom buried his head in his hands. "This is not amusing to me."

"Yeah, well, you're not the one I'm trying to impress." He nodded in the direction of Jessica, who was now making the rounds, checking on everyone's pranks. She smiled approvingly as Ted from accounting's desk drawer exploded confetti at him. Ted sputtered, having inhaled some of the paper bits, but put on a brave face. "I'm just trying to raise my company spirit," Chuck continued, "Shouldn't you be worrying about your own prank?" His voice was muffled, as if he were ... Tom looked up to see that Chuck was now stuffing a huge piece of chocolate cake in his mouth.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I don't know." He shrugged as he downed another bite. "It was just here. Mmm. So good!"

Tom rolled his eyes. He could keep talking, but what would be the point?

Melanie clapped. "Yay! Look at that. Chuck does like the chocolate cake. Oooh, this is fun! I'm going to prank him again!" She squealed with glee, but quietly, presumably so as not to draw Chuck's attention since she was still his Private Prankster. She, however, did not seem to be able to stop herself from hopping up and down. At least someone was enjoying this exercise.

Amy pasted on a smile she hoped passed for genuine enthusiasm. "Yay," she managed halfheartedly. Melanie grinned at her and quiet-clapped some more.

Without warning, Jessica appeared, suddenly standing behind Melanie as if she'd materialized there. How the heck had she done that? Amy had been keeping half an eye out for her since the meeting, keenly aware of how much Jess liked to check up on how everyone was doing with her little projects. Jessica wore an enormous grin and spoke in her presentation voice—loud enough to gather the attention of every person in the office. "Excellent, Melanie!" She threw her arm around a startled Mel. "I don't know who you're pranking, and I don't want to know, but this is exactly the kind of personal investment I'm looking for in this activity! This, everyone, is what company spirit looks like! Well done."

Well, at least Jess' attention was on someone else, which meant she was less likely to—

"Amy!"

Amy jumped.

"You could learn a thing or two from your friend, here!" She waggled her finger in Amy's face. "Have you pranked anyone today yet?"

She waited expectantly for an answer, as did everyone watching. Amy swallowed. "I will get right on that, Jess."

Jessica leaned in close and stared into Amy's eyes for a long, awkward moment. Finally, she arched a brow. "Will you?"

The whole staff was whispering. Just great. Amy scanned the crowd. There was Chuck, stuffing his face with cake and watching with delight as if taking in a sporting event. Tom was rapt too, but he was watching with what looked like ... concern? Or possibly just fear.

Jessica, suddenly millimeters from her ear, whispered, "Will. You?"

"I will." Was everyone here crazy and she just hadn't noticed it?

Jessica clapped her hands together loudly, "Fantastic!" She addressed the room, "I want you all to get on that! This is April Fools' Day, people! Let's get pranking! Woooooo!"

Amy watched, still frozen in her chair, as Jessica gave her megawatt smile to the crowd, who woooo-ed back, some with more conviction than others. After which they looked around awkwardly before resuming work. Whew. Well, at least that was ov—

Jessica turned to her. "Amy?"

She looked up to see Jessica making a V with her fingers, pointing to her own eyes and then to Amy's as she narrowed her gaze, giving the universal sign for I am watching you, lady. Then she clacked away on her heels. Really, Amy loved her job, but maybe she should consider looking for other work.

"Yay! So how are you going to prank you know who?" chirped Melanie beside her.

Amy let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She had no idea. She looked up at Tom, who was still staring at her but quickly snapped away, suddenly becoming super focused on highlighting the veins in his eyeball rendering.

Okay, this was ridiculous. There was only so much she could take at one time. Jessica was one thing, but this was Tom and enough was enough. She needed to clear the air with him. Surely they could get past this. They had been friends too long to let a little misunderstanding and some hurt feelings get in the way. She stood, straightened her skirt, and marched straight for Tom.
The Fool with the Spill

Tom pretended to be deeply focused on his rendering. Were the bloodshot veins in the alien eyeball too blue? Maybe just a little more green to bring out the highlights. God, this was killing him. Amy clearly had the wrong idea. Though, under the circumstances, who could blame her? He had tried to explain the scissors, but in his efforts to protect Chuck's identity as her Private Prankster (he knew Jessica would not be happy if he blew the exercise before it even got started) and what with all Tom's stammering and fumbling over himself, he had just been making himself look guiltier and guiltier. So he'd retreated back to his desk. Which, yes, he'd realized belatedly, only made him look guiltier. He needed to talk to Amy and explain, but after Jessica made such a huge example of her, she might not be in the most receptive frame of mind. Normally, he'd go over there now and make a few jokes about Jess to lighten the mood, but with the way things were going with him and Amy since last night ... He really didn't know what the best move was here.

"Chuck, what's going on with Amy? Does she look okay?"

Chuck looked over Tom's shoulder in the direction of Amy's work center and shrugged. "Eh, I'd give her a six. Seven if she opened another button on the blouse."

Tom shook his head. "Why do I even ask?"

"Probably 'cause you have the hots for her, right, Ames?"

Tom swiveled to see Amy standing behind him. Right, because he wasn't humiliated enough.

Amy shot Chuck a tight smile and turned to Tom, "Listen, can we please talk?"

Oh, thank God. "Yeah. Yeah, absolutely."

Chuck grinned. "Absolutely, go right ahead." He laced his hands behind his head and sat back for the show.

Amy looked around, then nodded toward the break room. "Come on."

He followed her. This was good. He could explain himself, and they would be, well, not back to normal because he had obviously blown that last night with the whole I think we could be great as more than friends idiocy, but at least she wouldn't hate him, and at this point he'd take it.

The break room was, mercifully, empty at the moment. Amy leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "So..."

Right. He should say something. She was willing to listen to him. That was half the battle. Now all he had to do was convince her he wasn't crushed and bitter after last night's rejection. "Uh, nice blouse."

Amy looked down. "Um, thanks..." She looked at him expectantly, but when he said nothing, she continued, in an ego-destroying sympathetic tone, "Look, Tom, I know I upset you last night."

"No! No."

She threw him a dubious look.

"Possibly a little."

"I understand that. I do," she said carefully. "But we've got to at least be civil to one another. We have to work together, after all."

"Of course, right. I totally agree."

She relaxed a little. God, he loved her smile. "So, you weren't actually going to cut my ponytail off, were you?"

"No! Nooooo! No, no, no! I know what it must've looked like, but I swear, I would never do that!"

"Good, 'cause I thought maybe you were so mad about—"

"Nooooooo!"

They both laughed. Whew. Thank goodness. Sure, he was upset she wasn't interested, but he couldn't stand the thought of losing her as a friend too. This felt better, like they'd be able to get back to that.

Except that right now, the laughter had died down and they were just sort of staring at each other. Well, this was awkward. Tom looked around frantically for an appropriate distraction. "Coffee?"

"Huh?"

"Would you like some?"

"Oh." She shrugged. "Sure. Thank you."

Tom turned and quickly busied himself making her drink. She hovered around him with a kind of timid, nervous energy.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I know you couldn't do something like that. I don't know what I was thinking. I should've realized you'd never be so vindictive or immature."

He turned to her, handing her the coffee. "Black, three sugars." He smiled. Their eyes locked and both were quiet for a moment.

Finally, Amy whispered, "You remembered."

She was looking at him sort of differently, almost as if... Wow, oh, wow. Could there still be a chance she might be interested? "Sure. Of course," he breathed back. No. No way. She'd made her feelings clear last night, and he had to snap out of this or he'd lose her completely.

She set the cup down on the counter and took a step toward him. "Tom, you caught me off guard last night. But, I don't know, maybe..." No. Way. No way. "Maybe I was a little rash."

Yes! He was not going to screw this up. Not after he'd bungled it so thoroughly the first time and now, by some miracle, had been given a second ch— Wait. What the heck was Chuck doing, tiptoeing up behind her?

"Tom?" Amy tilted her head.

"Can I help you, Chuck?"

Amy turned. Chuck froze. He flashed a wide smile. "Nope, nope. Just..." he looked around, his eyes landing on the basket of sugar packets on the counter. He grabbed about three dozen. "Just needed a little sugar. See you kids!" He winked and went back to his desk.

Amy shook her head and laughed. "Not sure he needs that much sugar in his diet, but far be it from me."

Something wasn't right. Tom narrowed his eyes at Chuck, who was now watching them through the glass wall from his drafting table. Chuck grinned and gave an exuberant wave.

"So, anyway, what I was saying was." Amy laughed nervously. "What was I saying?"

Tom barely heard her. He was scanning the room. Chuck was up to something. Why had he come into the break room just then?

"I guess I was saying maybe I didn't give your date idea the, uh, consideration it deserved," Amy went on, "Uh, so..." She blew some loose hair out of her eyes. "Wow. I guess I really don't know how to talk about this." She chuckled, grabbing her cup from the counter. "Could this be any more awkward?"

That was when Tom's eyes fell on the hot sauce packets in the wastebasket. The six used hot sauce packets in the wastebasket. And he knew.

He had to warn her, but when he looked up, she was already raising the cup to her lips. "Amy! Noooooooooo!"

The next few moments played out like a bad slo-mo action sequence, Tom lunging for the tainted coffee while Amy's face contorted in horror as she registered him diving at her. Tom trying to snatch the cup away before she took a sip, but instead managing only to slap at it, upending the vessel and spilling hot-sauce-laced coffee all down Amy's front.

Time return to normal as Tom recoiled in shock.

"Amy! Amy, I'm so sorry."

Her mouth hung open. Droplets of coffee fell, one by one, from her sleeve. She inhaled sharply, as if about to speak, but nothing came out.

"Amy."

She grabbed a wad of napkins from the counter, eyes locked on Tom the whole time, glaring, and stalked out of the room. As Tom watched her tromp across the office to the ladies' room, heads turning as she passed, he noticed Chuck shaking with silent laughter, practically purple from holding it in. He wondered if April Fools' Day would fly in court as a legitimate defense for murder.

Amy marched across the office. People were staring, but she was not about to stop and explain. How could she? She had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on anymore. Melanie was absorbed in some computer calculations, but she glanced up as Amy passed.

Amy pushed into the bathroom (nice try, whoever had switched the men's and women's room signs, but she was in no mood). She blotted herself with the napkins, but they weren't soaking up much. Surveying the damage in the mirror, she could see her blouse had already absorbed as much liquid as it could possibly hold. Fantastic. Among the things she had not planned today, being the sole entrant in a wet button-down contest.

The door swung open, and Mel leaned in. "Amy? Everything okay?" She stopped short when she saw Amy's reflection in the mirror. "Oh. Wow. What happened?"

"I just... had a little accident," she explained tersely.

"I've got my gym bag. You want to borrow my sweatshirt?"

No, why would she? Amy loved being sticky and wet. She sighed. She was not mad at Melanie, the nicest person in the office—possibly on the planet. "That would be great. Thank you."

Melanie scurried off to get the shirt. Amy gingerly unbuttoned her soggy blouse, trying to keep the sugary, brown mess off her fingers as much as possible.

What the hell was going on with Tom?! This was beyond juvenile. Enough forgiveness and understanding—turning him down had clearly been the right thing to do, and she was lucky he'd shown his true colors (again!) before she'd reversed her decision.

What had she been thinking? So he was—normally—sort of sweet and, okay, very cute. Screw cute! He was an immature ass, and he was going down. Unbelievable that he would use a work exercise as an excuse to torment her like this. Poor jerk probably had no idea she was his Private Prankster, too. Well, too bad for him. He wouldn't even know what hit him. As soon as she came up with something. Something good. Crud, what would be a good prank?

Melanie returned with a pink sweatshirt, which she handed to Amy.

"Thank you. You are a lifesaver." Amy pulled it over her head. "Let me tell you, I am going to get Tom."

Mel beamed, "I knew you'd get into the spirit! And you're so lucky you drew Tom because you guys are such good friends! Isn't this fun?"

"Sure. Loads. But I want to really stick it to him. You know?" She narrowed her eyes. "Like really, really stick it to him. Any ideas? Nothing is too much. Seriously, violence, humiliation. Anything goes."

Melanie chewed her fingernail, deep in thought. "Well ... I can tell you what my plan is," she offered with a conspiratorial grin, "I'm going to sneak over while Chuck's at the afternoon meeting and finish his filing for him! Maybe you could do something like that!"

Yeah. Okay. Clearly, Melanie was not the evil mastermind she was looking for. Amy smiled. "Thanks, Mel. I'll think about it."

"Okey-dokey! Well, I better get back out there. You coming?"

"In a minute."

Melanie smiled. "You know, that sweatshirt looks really cute on you." She gave Amy a little thumbs-up and left the room. Amy turned back to the mirror, where she saw for the first time the cartoon cat and hang in there slogan written across her chest in sparkly bubble letters. Naturally.

She took a deep breath, smoothed her sparkly cat shirt, and walked out of the bathroom, head held high. It was April Fools' Day, and if Tom thought she was going to let him have the last laugh, he really was a fool.
Fool Me Once, Shame on You. Fool Me Twice... Watch Out Because It. Is. On.

Tom watched as Amy stalked out of the ladies' room, and no, she did not look like she had calmed down while she was in there. The adorable kitten on the shirt she'd changed into only served to emphasize how pissed off she was. She looked like she could decapitate that kitten with her bare hands.

She sat at her workstation and glowered at the screen. After a moment, she began violently tapping at her keyboard.

Tom swallowed hard. This was his fault. He had to do something about it before any chance for him and Amy to even maintain a friendship was gone. He liked her, sure. He really, really liked her. Hell, even now with the deep scowl on her face and ridiculous sweatshirt, he kind of wanted to kiss her. But she had made her feelings perfectly clear last night, and even though he wished she'd let him down a little easier, he totally respected that. What he absolutely couldn't stand was the thought of them not even being friends. And yet it seemed like right at that very moment she might well be plotting his demise.

He just couldn't let that happen. She had to listen to him. He at least needed her to know that the coffee and the scissors hadn't been him. Or, well, all right, technically the coffee was him, but once he explained she had to forgive him. Right?

She looked up, locking eyes with him with a glare so intent it would likely wither the plastic ficus in the corner. Oh, God, she was never going to forgive him. He looked away, quickly, and she returned to her computer. That was it. He had to talk to her. He had to try.

He stood and took a step toward Amy. Then Chuck's hand shot out and caught him by the belt. Tom stumbled, grabbing onto his chair.

"What was that for, Chuck?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To talk to Amy. I have to. I've got to clear this up."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm her Private Prankster. Or she thinks I'm pranking her, anyway, with scissors and hot sauce. Well, she doesn't know about the hot sauce, but that's only because I poured her coffee all over her, which she thinks I did, like everything else, as revenge for her laughing at me when I asked her out."

Chuck's eyes popped wide, and a grin spread over his face.

Tom sighed and shook his head. Great. And now Chuck knew. "I would appreciate you keeping that information to yourself."

"Oh, absolutely, buddy," snickered Chuck. There would probably be an email blast within the hour. But Tom had more important things to worry about.

"Fine. You do what you have to do, Chuck. Now if you'll excuse me—"

Chuck grabbed the belt again, causing Tom to stumble to the ground as he tried to step away. He got to his feet, turning to glare at Chuck.

"What the hell, Chuck? Really, what the hell all day?! It's supposed to be a fun little team-building exercise, not Guantanamo 2.0."

"I can't let you do it, Tom. You screwed up my other pranks. I still have to get her, and if you go over and talk to her, you'll end up telling her I'm her Prankster, and then she'll see me coming. You'll take away my strategic advantage."

Tom blinked at Chuck. What. The. Hell? "You're insane."

"Possibly true," he conceded. "'Scuse me a sec." Then suddenly, inexplicably, Chuck immersed himself in some work on his laptop. Tom stared. He did not get it.

"Fine, whatever. I'm going. You can't stop me." He turned.

"Oh, yeah?" Behind him, he heard a single click and the sound of an email whooshing to its destination. Tom turned. Chuck was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, smiling contentedly.

"What was that?" Tom narrowed his eyes.

"Hmm? Oh. You just sent Amy an email."

"What?"

"That's right, 'TomDaBomb.'" Chuck winked.

Oh, God.

"You know the password to my personal email account?"

Chuck shrugged. "Gotta change that sucker more often, buddy."

Tom looked over at Amy, still furious and still focused on her computer. What had Chuck sent her? A humiliating love letter? That picture he'd taken at the office Halloween party during Tom's epic wardrobe fail? He raced around to look at Chuck's screen. His blood ran cold.

"You sent her the Big Top virus?!" Tom gaped. Chuck had gone too far.

Chuck just grinned. "Technically, my friend, you did..."

No! Noooooooooo! He had to stop this. It would wipe out her hard drive. All her work. Chuck was clearly psychotic, which was possibly something Tom should mention to human resources, but he didn't have time to worry about that now. Now, he had to go stop Amy before she opened that email. He stood and took a half-step away when Chuck tackled him.

He tried to scream her name, but speaking coherently is not easy with two hundred pounds of crazy wrenching you to the ground. "Aaaaaagggglllllmmmpph."

Amy heard a strange, muffled sound, but paid no attention. It was probably just another one of the silly little tricks that had been going on around the office all day, and she had no time for those. She was on a mission.

She scanned the page in front of her, a top-ten list of the dirtiest April Fools' tricks of all time, but none of them seemed fitting for Tom. Well, no, the Bengay in the jock strap would be awesome, but she was pretty sure he didn't wear one to work. And even if he did, she should probably steer clear of his underthings. Who knew how he'd misconstrue that, considering how things had gone so far.

She started to click back to the search results page when an email dinged into her box. She looked up at the alert. An email from Tom. Great. What now? More denials of responsibility and pleas for forgiveness, most likely. Did he really expect her to read it? Did he think making the subject line "Urgent, Please Read" would sway her?

She was about to click delete when she heard another odd, strangled sort of sound. She glanced up and found the source: Tom and Chuck were on the carpet, wrestling. Tom had Chuck in a headlock, while Chuck grasped desperately at Tom's lower leg. What was he doing, tormenting Chuck now? Tom saw her look over and released Chuck's head, yelling to her.

"Amy! The email!" He grabbed onto a chair and pulled himself to a standing position, then tried to run toward her, but Chuck still had his leg and he fell forward on his face. "Amy!" he screamed from the ground. "Don't open it! Please, please don't open it!"

Oh, so he regretted sending it now, eh? Maybe she should see what was inside it in that case. Might be interesting after all. She flashed a smug smile his way and reached for her mouse.

"Noooooooo!!!" Tom bellowed, tearing free of Chuck and bounding across the office.

Amy watched, dumbstruck, as Tom knocked down Bobby, the intern delivering mail, and sent the mail cart flying. Wow, he really didn't want her to see what he'd sent. Must be good. She clicked open the letter.

"For a good time, click here," she read aloud. As if. "Let's see what you decided you didn't want me to see—" She started to click, but just at that instant, her computer, all her various papers and supplies, and Tom came crashing over her desk at her. She dove out of the way just in time, narrowly escaping serious injury, though her computer was not nearly so lucky. Sparks and a small flame sputtered up from the crumpled wreckage.

Tom scrambled to his feet, a cable somehow wrapped around his arm, the smashed keyboard dangling from his wrist.

"Coming through!" Chuck swooped in and doused the fire with the office extinguisher, not stopping until the whole smoking heap was covered in white foam. "I have always wanted to do that." He grinned.

The last piece of hardware crashed to the ground. Amy just stared at Tom, who, to his credit, looked suitably terrified of what she might say. She opened her mouth to speak, and ...

There was a whoopee cushion sound. Melanie jumped out of her chair. "Ooops! That was me." She giggled. "You got me! Whoever was my Private Prankster, you got me!" She held up the whoopee cushion as evidence.

Amy kept her eyes fixed on Tom. She was searching for the exact words with which to eviscerate him when Jessica's door opened.
Fools Rush In

"What is going on out here?!" Jessica burst out of her office.

"Whoopee cushion!" Melanie explained, waving it.

"Ask Cirque de Tom, here," said Amy. Words could not describe how she was feeling about this latest stunt. Although, if they could, they would all have four letters.

Tom took a step toward her, dragging various shards of technology with him. "Amy, I ... This isn't ... I would never ..." He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. "I did not mean to do that."

She looked him up and down. "Really? What did you think hurling yourself bodily at thousands of dollars' worth of equipment would do?"

"I had to." He tried to move again, but he was still tethered to the tangled heap on the floor. He bent down to wiggle himself free.

"Sure. Because trying to sabotage my haircut and ruining my blouse wasn't nearly vindictive enough, was it?"

"There was a virus, Amy. It would have destroyed your computer!"

"Would it, now?" She smirked.

Jessica arrived between them, coolly surveying the scene. "Is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

"Tom was just venting his outrage because he can't handle rejection," Amy explained.

"Mmm." Jessica looked him over knowingly.

"No! Jessica, Amy, no. I—that's not what's happening here."

Chuck cackled. "Oh, this is good!"

Tom glared at Chuck. "It was an accident, Jessica, I swear."

Pathetic. Although, despite everything, Amy couldn't help feeling a little bad watching him squirm in front of Jessica. Maybe she was the one who was pathetic. "That's right," she told the boss. "He was trying to protect me from the computer virus he sent me. Not exactly what you had in mind for Private Prankster day, is it?" There. Better. Less pathetic.

"Now wait a minute, no, I did not do that. I would not do that. Amy, I am not your Private Prankster. The thing I've been trying to protect you from all day is your Prankster... Chuck."

Say what now? Wait, was that possible? Chuck was kind of a jerk, and if it were true... it would mean that Tom wasn't!

All eyes, including Amy's, turned to Chuck. Chuck burst out laughing.

"Sorry, dude. I'm not Amy's Prankster."

Sigh. So much for that theory. Wow. New low. "Blaming someone else for your own juvenile behavior, Tom? Really?"

Tom's mouth hung open as he looked back and forth between Amy and Chuck. "No! N-n-no. That's not what happened. Chuck did it. Chuck did it all. Tell her, Chuck! Tell her you're her Private Prankster." Tom gritted his teeth. "Tell her, Chuck."

Chuck just shrugged. "Sorry, no can do, buddy."

Tom's jaw came more or less unhinged. At least he was good at feigning shock.

Amy held up her hands. "I don't know what to do with you, Tom."

Jessica eyed Tom with disappointment. "This was supposed to be a team-building exercise. This is not what the Private Pranksters were all about."

Tom blinked at her, then turned and lunged at Chuck. Fortunately, Ted from accounting held him back. Tom sputtered, "It was him, all of it, him! He told me he was going to cut Amy's hair. I had to wrestle the scissors out of his hand! He put hot sauce in her coffee. I didn't mean to spill it all over her, I was just trying to keep her from drinking it! And the computer." He ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't trying to break the computer. I just wanted to stop Amy from clicking the link Chuck sent her that would have given her the Big Top virus."

He sank down onto her desk, Ted from accounting now awkwardly holding him around the middle. Jessica nodded for him to let go.

"I'm really sorry, Amy," Tom continued quietly. "I swear I heard everything you said last night. I know you just want to be friends, and I totally respect that. I would never try to get back at you or do anything to hurt you. I was just trying to help. I messed everything up. I'm so sorry." He looked up at her, sad and sincere.

This was so confusing. There was so much to take in. "Tom, I ... I don't know what to think ..." Was that true, though? She knew what she wanted to think, that she hadn't been wrong about Tom after all, that he really was the sweet friend she'd always thought he was (and maybe more). Which, in fact, made a hell of a lot more sense than the alternative. But that would only be possible if ...

She turned to Chuck, "Is it true? Were you my Prankster after all? Was saying it wasn't true just part of the game?"

Chuck exploded in laughter, which, while not exactly an answer, didn't make him look particularly innocent.

Jessica leaned over to Melanie. "Do you have any idea what's going on, here?"

"Not a clue." Melanie shook her head.

Amy stepped up in Chuck's face. "Is that funny to you? Is this just all part of the big fat joke on me?!"

"No. No," gasped Chuck, barely able to talk, he was laughing so hard. "It's not part of the joke on you. It's part of the joke on him." All eyes followed his pointing finger to look at Tom.

But ... but ... "But you were going to cut her hair!" Tom blurted. This didn't make any sense. Chuck simply wasn't that clever. Was he?

Chuck grinned and shook his head. "I would never do that. What kind of monster do you think I am?"

Amy folded her arms. "Enough, Chuck. I know you're not Tom's Prankster. Because I am."

"That's cute, but no, you're not."

Amy sighed, pulling a slip of paper from her pocket and handing it to him. He glanced down.

"This says 'Ted.'"

"What?" Amy snatched the paper back and examined it herself. "I—I guess I read it in a hurry, I ..." she squinted at it again. "Yup, that says 'Ted,' all right ... It's possible I was, um, a little distracted this morning ..." She trailed off.

"You had the scissors!" Tom said, a little more shrilly than intended, to Chuck.

"Did I actually cut anything, Tommy? Did I?"

Well, no, but ... "Because I wrestled them away from you!" Amy was now looking back and forth between him and Chuck, appearing less certain by the second. But Tom had saved Amy. He had! Hadn't he?

"Ah, Tom. It was almost too easy." Chuck laughed. "You played right into my hand." He turned to Amy. "Of course I wouldn't have done that, Red."

Amy gave an apologetic smile. "Of course not. I, um ... of course not."

"But you said 'it grows back'!" protested Tom.

Chuck stifled a snort. "You like that? I thought that was a good touch. You bought it, too. Oh, you should have seen your face!"

No, this was not happening. "Okay, then, what about the hot sauce?!" Amy threw him a questioning look. "There was hot sauce in your coffee. That's why I spilled it on you." That came out wrong. "I mean, I wasn't trying to spill it on you. I was just trying to stop you from drinking it." He turned back to Chuck, "I suppose there was no hot sauce in the coffee?"

Chuck shrugged. "Amazing what a couple of empty packets and the power of suggestion will do." He turned to Amy. "I am sorry about that. I had no idea he would pour the stuff all over you."

Okay, he hadn't poured it on her. And anyway, how was he supposed to know he was protecting her from nothin—Hold on. Oh, God.

"Chuck ... Was there an actual virus in that email you sent Amy?"

The crowd turned to Chuck, who sobered up pretty quickly. "Again, I really had no way of knowing how hugely Tom would overreact to a little April Fools' fun ..."

So Tom had destroyed a computer, all of Amy's work, and quite possibly all hope for any kind of relationship they might have for nothing.

The room was silent. You could almost hear everyone thinking what a loser he was. Finally, Jessica cleared her throat. "I am very. Very. Very disappointed."

"Jessica, I am so sorry. I am so, so, so, so, so sorry. I will pay for all this." Tom gestured vaguely to the wreckage that was once Amy's workstation. "Please don't fire me."

Jessica pulled back and looked at him like he was even more insane than she probably thought just from the general destruction. She chuckled and waved a dismissive hand in his face, "I don't care about this. The insurance will cover it."

Ted from accounting piped up. "Um, I don't think we have insurance for—"

"Whatever." Jess cut him off. "So it might cost a little money, and Amy here will have to redo hours and hours of work." Amy sighed. Tom dropped his head into his hands. "That's not the point. The point is that, aside from Chuck"—she looked around the crowd until she spotted him, then blew him a kiss—"hardly anyone has taken the Private Prankster exercise to heart. Confetti poppers? Whoopee cushions?! Is that the best you can do?"

The staff mumbled various apologies and generally looked at their feet.

"And I don't know which one of you drew my name"— crap, Tom had completely forgotten about pranking Jessica—"but I haven't seen so much as a thumbtack on my chair yet and you've had hours!"

Ooookay, so probably he should get on that.

Jessica scanned the room, jaw set. "I expect more from all of you! And someone—I no longer care who—someone better play a humdinger on me ASAP!" She stormed back to her office, slamming the door behind her.

"Okay, then," said Tom. "Guess I know what I'm doing this afternoon."

Chuck appeared at his side. "You had Jess? You're her Private Prankster?"

"Mmm-hmm. Because this day isn't already crazy enough for me."

"Oh, let me do it. Please, please, please, let me do it! You were so easy, and I was going for the whole 'freak you out' thing—there are so many truly demented practical jokes I didn't even get to try out."

Well, at least that was something to be grateful for. Why not? "Knock yourself out, man."

"Ooh, this is going to be awesome. I hardly know where to start." Chuck rubbed his hands together with glee. "Hey, so are we good, then?"

It was a toss-up between forgiving Chuck and decking him, but since he was saving Tom's ass with Jess, he held out his hand.

Chuck ignored it and gave him a manly bear hug instead. "Thanks, buddy!" And off he went, plotting what Tom could only hope he would never have to find out about.

The rest of the staff had quickly busied themselves with their pranking tasks. Tom turned back around to find only Melanie and Amy still there. So this was awkward. Not as awkward, of course, as, say, having someone laugh when you've just asked them out, but still.

"So, Tom." Melanie broke the silence. "I was really impressed with how you just crushed any chance of that virus infecting Amy's computer. Not everyone would do that." She noted earnestly.

He gave her a half smile. "Thanks."

Ted from accounting poked his head in. "Sorry, Melanie? I was just, um ..." He twisted his hands together nervously. "I'm your Private Prankster, and I was just wondering was the whoopee cushion okay? Did you like that? Because Jessica said ..."

"Oh, I loved it!"

"You did? Because I've got some other stuff I was planning. Did you want me to ..."

"Please, yes! Oh, yay! I love Private Prankster day!"

Melanie followed Ted back toward his desk. Tom smiled, "Well, at least someone's enjoying the day."

Amy moved up beside him. "Did you really do that? Did you really spend the whole day trying to save me?"

"From a nonexistent threat while leaving a massive path of destruction in my wake? Yup, that was me."

"Well, I think that's very sweet." She wrapped her arm around his and leaned her head on his shoulder. Wait. What was going on here? Because it sort of felt like ... Was she? Did this mean? "Maybe you should ask me again if I want to go out for a drink."

"Excuse me, Amy?" Bobby the intern interrupted them. "Delivery for you." He handed her a blank envelope.

"Who's it from?" she asked as she broke the seal. Glitter burst out all over her.

"Me." Bobby grinned, showing her a slip of paper with her name on it. "Have a good one." He waved as he made his retreat.

"Because you could use a drink after all this?" Tom asked.

"I really could."

Right, of course.

"But," she continued, "I was thinking more like a date."

Yes! Tom felt like jumping up on the desk and doing a happy dance, but he remained cool and steady. He hoped. "That would nice."

They stood there, looking out at the office, watching as Melanie squealed at pictures of puppies mysteriously coming off the copy machine and Chuck wired up some sort of elaborate contraption involving many, many ink cartridges. Arm in arm, Amy still leaning against him. "You realize, of course," she murmured, "you're helping me recreate all the files you just obliterated."

"Oooooh, yeah." But, really, how bad could extra nights and weekends be, alone here with Amy?
Author Bio:

Laurie Baxter has degrees in both puppetry and screenwriting because let's face it, majoring in English would have been no more useful and way less fun. She loves chocolate, ice cream, chocolate ice cream, dogs, New York City, old movies, modern architecture, all kinds of theater, and music from before she was born. Her eighth grade English teacher told her to become a writer, so she did.

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Fools in Love

By

Whitney Dineen

I would like to dedicate this story to high school friends, Caryn and Ryan. Your love story is inspired! Wishing you all the best as you start your new life together.

Thank you both again for your willingness to share your story and allow me creative license.
Fools In Love

Corrine double- and triple-checked her image in the full-length mahogany mirror hanging on the wall of her trendy hotel room. Damn, she was hot! Not a cheap and plastic Playboy hot, either. She looked elegant, sexy and smoking hot. Especially for a woman who was new to the world of self-appreciation. She studied her trim visage as a slow smile overtook her lightly tanned face. Amazing what putting yourself first can do for your overall sense of wellbeing. Not to mention what it can do for legs, butt and triceps. Add a good haircut, highlights and a flirty cocktail dress and the world was her oyster.

She enthusiastically grabbed for her phone as soon as she heard the beginning notes of "Hot for Teacher." "Ellen! Are you in the lobby?"

Her childhood friend and dinner companion responded, "Fucking, god-damned men! What in the hell is wrong with them?"

"I'm going out on a limb here but I'm guessing Bob isn't joining us?"

"Asshole. Seriously, you are so lucky not to be shackled to such a pathetic excuse of manhood." Ellen decreed.

Corrine chuckled, "Any more, you mean." Corrine had been married to her own sorry excuse of manhood. But after seven years of passive-aggressive verbal abuse, she finally got sick of it and filed for divorce. A divorce that had become final three years earlier. It had only been in the last ten months that she had taken back the reins of her life.

Her friend sighed, "What room are you in? Maybe we should just order room service and ransack the minibar."

"Not a chance! I'm looking and feeling about three thousand percent better than I have in the last ten years and I'm not wasting it on ten dollar can of mini Pringles and a generic bottle of chardonnay." Before Ellen could try to talk her into it, she added, "I'll meet you in the lobby in two minutes."

Grabbing her purse, Cory took one last peak in the mirror, blotted her lipstick and slid into her sexiest pumps. She wasn't exactly looking for love, but she wanted to at least dress like it was an option.

As the elevator slid open, Cory's eyes scanned the stylishly appointed lobby. She was glad she'd decided to spend the extra money on a five-star hotel. After years of taking care of others, it was nice to be the recipient of her own thoughtfulness. And of course, the company was paying for it.

Cory's eyes drifted across a group of businessmen before finally alighting on the slouched form of her childhood friend. Ellie looked so small and defeated, nothing like the vivacious cheerleader she had been in high school. It appeared that the loveseat was actually trying to consume her. Cory hurried over and stopped directly in front of her friend.

Ellen looked up and was about to ask the strange woman who'd just walked up what she wanted. Then she stared right into the gorgeous intruder's eyes and realized this was no stranger, this was Cory. Looking her friend up and down, trying to compute which end was up, she finally blurted out, "Cory? What the heck? Look at you. You're gorgeous!"

Cory sat down next to her friend and gave her a heartfelt hug, "I'm so glad to see you, Elle! Let's blow out of here and get some drinks."

Ellen sighed, "I could definitely use a double or triple girly something-or-other. By the way, I'm staying the night with you. I think Bob could stand a bit of the karmic wheel in motion."

Over cocktails at Untitled in River North, Ellen unloaded the whole sordid drama. Bob, who had been Ellie's high school and college boyfriend turned husband, was no longer interested in being married. His family-owned construction company had become his own personal dating pool. In the last fifteen years, he'd had three confessed affairs and several that Ellie had turned a blind eye to. She pretended not to notice because she had three children that demanded all of her energy.

Cory interrupted, "Speaking of my godchildren, how are the darlings?"

Ellie's smile transformed her face. "They're wonderful. Consumed with the dramas of their own lives so I'm hoping they have no idea how unhappy their parents are."

Cory held her friend's hand, "Hey, at least you got to have them. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that Steve and I never had kids but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my own brood of hellions."

Ellen forced herself to perk up. "What are we doing? I haven't seen you in months and we're sitting here spending our night together acting like we're at a funeral." With added gusto, she exclaimed, "Enough, let's have some fun." After reapplying her lipstick, Ellie grabbed Cory's hand and dragged her out on the dance floor. "For the rest of the night, I'm going to forget that loser Bob and I'm going to party with my best friend!"

Just as they found a space to cut loose, the D.J. announced, "As my own little April Fools' Day tribute, I have an oldie but goody for you." When the ladies heard the beginning strains of Joe Jackson's, "Fools in Love," they both burst out laughing. By the middle of the song, they were belting it out for all they were worth.

"Fools in love, they think they're heroes  
'Cause they get to feel more pain  
I say fools in love are zeros  
I should know  
I should know because this fool's in love again."

As they staggered back to their table, Cory's eye was drawn to a very tall and handsome man who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle they were making of themselves. Giving him a mock salute, she took in his dark wavy hair and his broad shoulders, just the kind of man that she could go for. But not tonight, she reminded herself. Tonight was about old friends.

Cory and Ellie had ordered another drink and a basket of beer-battered onion rings for sustenance when Cory observed the heartthrob from the bar making his way toward them. While she would love nothing more than to indulge in a flirtation, she knew that was the last thing Ellen would want to witness in her current mood. So she leaned in and declared, "I'm off to the ladies'. Be back in a couple minutes."

Cory speed walked to the facilities in hopes of throwing off her would-be suitor. She spent several minutes reapplying her lipstick, fluffing her hair and checking her email, trusting he would get bored and find someone else to chat up. Imagine her surprise when she exited the restroom to find that he had. He was head-to-head with Ellie, laughing like two old friends. What the hell? She took a moment to let old insecurities creep in. She thought for sure he had been checking her out and the whole time he was eyeballing Ellie? Cory picked up speed, intent on giving the sex-oozing lothario a piece of her mind. She was going to let him know that he was making an ass of himself over a married woman. Although she was sure Ellie was enjoying the attention, she was still driven to make her point.

As she arrived at the table, Mr. Hot Stuff stood up, towering over her, even in her four-inch heels and wrapped his arms around her. "Corrine Breslin, I can hardly believe it's you! You look gorgeous!"

Cory felt so at home in his arms that she wanted to lean into him and never let go. He smelled clean and spicy and manly. She stared up at him at a total loss for words and finally managed, "You too!" Then she threw her hands up in the air in surrender and demanded, "Who are you?"

Ellie started laughing so hard that she shot remnants of her Lemon Drop out of her nose. "Ouch!" She wiped at her face, "Vodka through the nose is not a good sensation." Finally calming down, she introduced, "Cory, the man you are apparently trying to climb is Ryan Monroe, from high school.

The first thing Cory realized was that she had somehow wrapped her leg around this hotty and it did, in fact, appear that she was trying to climb him. That was when it finally hit her—what Ellie had just said. "Ryan Monroe? What, how, when, who? What I mean is... I don't know what I mean." Then without thinking, she blurted out, "You look amazing!"

With his arms still around her, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "So do you, Cory." The heat of his breath caused a trill of desire to run through her. Ryan Monroe! He was her geeky debating partner senior year. He was destined for an Ivy League school and a life of lab coats. She would have thought he'd have married an equally intellectual paragon named Prudence or Hortense. Cory finally got a grip and pulled back. Just because she was trying to melt into him did not make him single.

In a jerky motion, she separated herself entirely and demanded, "How have you been, Ryan? Do you live in Chicago? What do you do? Are you married?"

Ryan pulled her back into his arms and simply answered, "Not married. " Then he continued to regale them with the rest of his past. After graduating from MIT he had gotten his doctorate at Cal Tech and was now a physics professor at The University of Chicago. Cory sighed. She really was hot for teacher. Ryan asked, "And what about you, Miss Debate Captain? You seem to have changed a lot yourself."

Cory blushed to the roots of her hair. She had changed a lot since high school. When they were in school, she was everyone's buddy. She'd had great friends but didn't bother getting caught up in the whole high school social angst scene. She was driven to succeed so she could get into a great school and eventually join her family's insurance business, the same business that brought her back to Chicago, from Florida, with great regularity. She responded, "I went to Colgate, got my masters at Duke and am blissfully divorced."

Just as Cory was getting comfortable at the thought of Ryan Monroe becoming the other half to her whole, an overtly sexy young blonde joined them. Cory guessed her to be about twenty-five or so, making her a full decade younger than the rest of them. She sidled up next to Ryan and crooned, "Rye Rye, I thought we were meeting at the bar."

It was all Cory could do to slink out of Ryan's embrace without punching him in the face. She turned and inquired, "Rye, Rye?" Then to the young woman, she added, "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to monopolize Rye Rye. We're old friends from high school."

Ryan's face paled as he cleared his throat, "Amber, you're late."

Slinking up to him, she nearly purred, "But I'm here now. Let's go."

He tersely replied, "No. I want to catch up with my friends for a bit."

His date whined, "Rye Rye, we have reservations downstairs in ten minutes. "

Ryan coldly responded, "So, we'll reschedule."

Ellen, a bit past the sober point declared, "Thank god someone mentioned food. I'm starving!" She elbowed Ryan in the ribs and winked, "What do you say we make that reservation for four? I've been dying to eat at Paris, but you have to sleep with someone to get a table."

Cory, clearly not wanting to be part of a double date with ole Rye Rye and Amber declared, "I want pizza, Elle. Come on, let's go to Gino's for a Spinach Pie."

Determined not to let Cory go so quickly, Ryan decided, "I want pizza too. We'll go with you."

Amber gasped, "Ryan, it took us months to get this reservation! I do not want pizza. Do I make myself clear?"

With a decided chill, he returned, "Perfectly clear, Amber." Then to Ellen, he suggested, "Ellie, why don't you join Amber downstairs while I accompany Cory to Gino's. Then we'll all get what we want."

While a bit drunk, Ellie was nobody's fool and clapped her hands together, "Wonderful!" Then to Cory, she whispered, "I need your room key."

Cory stuttered, "What for? You can't be serious? You're not going to eat dinner with this girl. What about our night out?"

Ellie leaned in and quietly stated, "Yes, but its April Fools' Day and I'm a fool for love. So, I'm going to eat snails or fish guts or whatever they serve down there in Snootyville and you are going to go out with our old friend Rye Rye." With a wink, she added, "You can thank me later." Ellie grabbed Amber's hand and pulled her out of the bar before the younger woman knew what hit her.

Cory stood completely still with shock, "What just happened?"

Instead of answering, Ryan wrapped his arm around her and led her out of the bar.
Pie in the Sky

Cory was situated next to Ryan in his black Mercedes coupe before she came out of her haze. She turned to him and none-too-delicately demanded, "Why are we going for pizza while Ellen is eating at a swank restaurant with your girlfriend?"

Ryan cringed, "So we can catch up, reminisce about old times."

"What old times? You want to talk about the time we got our asses kicked in debate because you didn't want to embarrass Shelly Michaels by pointing out what an idiot she was?" Cory continued, "I know you had the hots for her, Ryan, and I have barely forgiven you for it. That B totally blew my class standing."

Ryan soothed, "I'm sorry about that, Cory. But that's ancient history. Let's face it. You didn't seem overly bothered a few minutes ago."

"You mean before your girlfriend showed up?"

"Amber is just someone that I date. She's not my girlfriend." Then he pulled out into traffic and headed east towards Chicago's iconic pizzeria.

"Someone you date or someone you sleep with?" Cory knew it was ridiculous to be mad at Ryan for having a girlfriend. Of course he should have a girlfriend. She was surprised he wasn't married. What was wrong with the women of Chicago that they hadn't jumped on him and dragged him off to the altar by now?  
Ryan ignored her and simply turned up the oldies station that was playing Rod Stewart's rendition of, "These Foolish Things." Damn these tributes to April Fools' Day! Ryan started to sing along:

"You came, you saw, you conquered me  
When you did that to me  
I knew somehow this had to be"

Then he reached out and took her hand, "Yes, I had a date tonight. And no, I probably didn't leave it well with Amber." Giving her fingers a squeeze, he added, "You were the last person in the world I thought I'd run into. But you are the only person I want to spend the evening with. What do you say to that?"

"I say, you probably won't have a girlfriend by morning."

Ryan replied, "If you mean Amber, she's not my girlfriend, now." With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "But that doesn't mean I won't have a girlfriend in the morning."

Cory was afraid to open her mouth for fear she would offer to be his girlfriend immediately. Perhaps suggest they abort dinner plans and head straight for her hotel room to celebrate her new standing as his girlfriend, perhaps naked.

After handing the keys over to the valet, Ryan stepped out of the car and walked around to open Cory's door. She took his outstretched hand and silently vowed to order coffee with her pizza. More alcohol could only lead to danger. In that vein, she might just order extra garlic in her pie, too.

With his arm around her waist, Ryan led Cory into the entrance of the nearly fifty-year-old pizzeria. They were immediately assailed by the robust aroma of Chicago's native pies. It was a scent that caused a Pavlovian response in Midwesterners the world over.

Once they were tucked far in a back corner of the restaurant, side-by-side in a booth, Ryan wrapped his arm around Cory and pulled her close. "This is going to go down in history as the most perfect date ever."

Cory choked, "Date? I thought we were just two old friends reminiscing our glory days."

He leaned down and whispered, "Our glory days were not in high school, Cory. They are yet come." As he brushed his lips across her forehead, Cory was astonished that the man arousing her to new heights of horniness was Ryan Monroe. Why-oh-why-oh-why hadn't she seen his potential as a teenager? The thought of lost time was staggering.

Sensing where her minded was wondering, Ryan crooned, "We're here together now. That's all that counts."

Over a very leisurely meal and pitcher of beer, not coffee, Cory found out more about Ryan than she ever knew during their formative years. He was a devoted Cubs fan, an avid biker, skier and piano player. He was perfect. Loyal to a fault (something Cub fans had in common), athletic and musically inclined. Added to that, he was a single, gorgeous professor and she started to imagine her newly engraved stationary reading, Mrs. Ryan Monroe.

As her mind wandered, so did Ryan's hands. He began caressing her back, then along her side. She turned to look at him and found his face was nearly touching hers. His lips were on hers before she could investigate whether or not she had spinach in her teeth. The kiss started out tentatively but moved swiftly into one of ownership. Ryan's tongue thrust into her mouth with practiced ease. She moaned into his mouth and was sure she was about to burst into flame when their waitress stopped by and asked if they wanted anything else.

Cory's synapses weren't firing fast enough to understand the question. Luckily, Ryan simply slid his black card to her and went back to satisfying her most pressing need. When the waitress returned, Cory gently pushed her hands against Ryan's chest. She nudged ever-so-slightly and managed to utter, "Holy cow, that was some kiss! Tell me again why we weren't more than debate partners in high school."

Ryan laughed as he wrote in a hefty tip for their waitress. The extra twenty wasn't for her attentive service either, but for her very much appreciated negligence. "Now, where should we go? At the risk of sounding presumptuous, my apartment is only a few blocks from here on Lake Shore Drive."

Grabbing her coat and purse, Cory replied, "Sounds perfect." She wasn't sure she could even walk to the door without help, as her body felt like a limp noodle.

Ryan was not experiencing the same sensation. He put his hand on hers and declared, "While I would love nothing more than to run out of here, I need to sit for a moment and ponder quantum entanglement."

"Excuse me?" Cory started to worry there might be a very good reason that Ryan was still single. "What does quantum entanglement, whatever that is, have to do with us going to your apartment?"  
Quirking his eyebrow, he answered, "Nothing. But it has everything to do with me being able to get up and walk out of here without the whole restaurant knowing what I'm thinking about." Pointing to a father sharing a pizza with his young daughter, he added, "It is a family establishment, you know."

Cory laughed out loud in response, "Ah, good thinking. What's the old saying, close your eyes and think of England?" That's when she really looked at the father and daughter and realized that the man was none other than Bob Engle, Ellie's husband!
A Fly in the Pie

Cory was on her feet charging toward Bob before she thought to tell Ryan where she was going. Luckily, the physics conundrum must have done the trick because he was right on her heels with no obvious signs of strain.

Bob, completely absorbed in his young dinner companion, didn't see her coming until she was looming over them. "Hello, Bob. Sorry you couldn't make dinner tonight."

Bob looked up, startled. "Excuse me. You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

Cory stared a Bob for a moment before answering. He looked like hell. She had no idea what had happened to the super preppy, gorgeous husband of her best friend. The man sitting before her looked paunchy and tired. His once-chiseled face was soft and covered in grayish stubble and he was wearing what looked like a twenty-year-old Member's Only jacket. She finally answered, "Bob, you idiot, it's me. Cory."

Bob sputtered nervously, "Cory?! Wow, I mean wow! I mean, what are you doing here? I thought you were having dinner with Ellen."

He continued to trip over his own tongue as Ryan stepped forward and offered, "Hey man, how are you doing?"

Somehow Bob recognized Ryan immediately and stood up, "Ryan Monroe, how are you doing, big guy?" The two men embraced like old friends. "What are you kids up to? I thought Cory was having dinner with Ellie tonight." He scrambled to think of what to say next, when the little girl sitting across from him asked, "Who are your friends, Daddy?"

Daddy? Cory looked from Bob to the little girl with a million and one questions swimming in her heard. Bob's face softened when he looked at his daughter and answered, "These are my friends from high school, Megan." Motioning toward Cory, he said, "This is Miss Breslin and Mr. Monroe." Then to Cory and Ryan, he added, "This is my beautiful daughter, Megan." As an afterthought, he added, "She's seven today."

Cory started to feel a little dizzy. She swayed on her feet, but Ryan stood behind her and shored her up before she lost her balance. Megan was not Ellie's daughter but she was the same age as one of Ellie's daughters. What in the hell was going on here? Was this some kind of horrible April Fools' prank? But how could it be? Bob hadn't even known her when he'd seen her. He thought she was having dinner with his wife. Cory managed, "Bob, we need to talk."

With sweat beading on his upper lip, her friend's husband nodded his head, "Yeah, we do. But first I need to finish my daughter's birthday celebration. Her mom is picking her up in a few minutes. Why don't I meet you somewhere?"

Ryan pulled out a business card and handed it to Bob, "We're just heading over to my place. Why don't you join us when you're done here?" Bob nodded his head in response. Then to Megan, Ryan bowed and exclaimed, "Happy Birthday to you, beautiful lady."

Megan giggled, "Thanks. I have a loose tooth!"

In a fog, Cory simply stared at the little girl who looked so much like Bob but nothing like Ellen. Ryan must have made some excuse for her muteness because the next thing she knew, he was handing the valet his claim ticket.

She finally found her voice on their way to his apartment, "Ryan, do you have any idea what's going on?

"None." he replied. "But I don't think that was a conversation to have in front of his little girl."

Cory shook her head, "His little girl! Who was that? I feel like I've just entered the Twilight Zone. Bob and Ellie's daughter, Camille, just turned seven last week. Who in the heck is Megan?" She kept rambling, "Oh, my god. Do you think he has a whole other family that he's hiding? Holy crap!"

Ryan shook his head, "I don't think so. If he was, then he would have been there with his other wife instead of waiting for Megan's mom to pick her up." Reaching over to take her hand, he gave a slight squeeze and said, "Hang in there. Bob will be over to explain himself in a couple of minutes."

In a near panic, she asked "What if he ditches us and doesn't come over?"

"Then he knows that you'll be talking to Ellen about what you saw. I'm guessing that he doesn't want that to happen until he explains himself."

"Oh, Ryan, Ellie is going to be devastated. I mean, here she thought that Bob was cheating on her tonight, not on her kids."

Ryan crooned, "Hang on, Honey. We'll get you home and get this all figured out before the night is over."

Cory felt ripples of pleasure rush through her. Ryan had just called her Honey and it felt very, very right. This whole night had gone from weird to weirder but it seemed to be working out just fine for her. Too bad Ellie wasn't going to be as lucky.
Home Sweet Home

Ryan's condo was in the swanky "Y" shaped Lake Point Towers building on North Lake Shore Drive. It was sleek and stylish, very much like Ryan himself. After getting off the elevator on the thirty-second floor, Cory announced, "I had no idea physics professors lived so well. I thought you all cohabited on campus, smoking pipes and forgetting to clean your glasses."

Effortlessly picking her up and carrying her through the front door, Ryan laughed, "I suppose I could look into getting some cardigans with patched elbows and corduroys with tube socks, if you think that would get you in the mood." Then he dropped her on the marble kitchen counter top, nudged her knees apart and began to scoot her cocktail dress up. With his hands moving up her thighs, he devoured her mouth as if trying to quench a lifelong thirst. Cory groaned as her yearning mounted, "Ryan, Bob is going to be here any minute. Maybe we should slow down until after he leaves."

Ryan took a deep breath before exhaling, "I agree. No sense starting something we can't finish properly. Damn," he promised, "we are going to finish this."

Cory's body trembled at the thought. That was a promise she was definitely going to hold him to. Cory slid off the counter and asked where the bathroom was. A little cool water on her face was a necessity if she was going to maintain control of her hormones. When she came out, she saw that Bob had already arrived.

Without any niceties, Cory demanded, "Okay Bob, spill it. Who is Megan and how is it even possible that she is your child?" Ryan raised an eyebrow at her question. She rolled her eyes in response, "Okay, so I know how it's possible. But what the hell?"

Ryan took Bob off the hook for a moment by offering, "How 'bout a beer, buddy?"

Bob nodded, "That would be great, thanks." With liquid courage in hand, Bob walked into the living room that overlooked Navy Pier. "This is some view, Ryan."

Cory's jaw clenched, "Right, great view. Spill it, Bob. What's going on?"  
Collapsing into the couch, Bob started his story. "You remember all the troubles Ellie and I were having at our ten year reunion?"

How could she or any of their classmates ever forget? Bob and Ellie had shown up barely speaking to each other and by the end of the night, their discord had escalated to a screaming fight full of accusations of infidelity and heartbreak.

Bob continued, "That was the only time in our marriage that I ever cheated on Ellie. I have no excuse except that I was an immature asshole. Ellie was so busy with Bobby Jr. and Isabelle, and I felt left out."

Cory interrupted, "Ellie was overwhelmed with responsibility, Bob. It should have occurred to you to help her and be a teammate instead of a crybaby."

Ryan interjected, "Maybe we should just let Bob explain, Cory."

Bob shook his head, "No, Cory's right. I was a crybaby and an overall rotten husband. I know that." Lost in memory, he continued, "We'd just hired a new girl in the office, Jamie Hunter. She was a couple years behind us in school. So anyway, one day she told me what a big crush she'd had on me in high school and well, one thing led to another. We started an affair." Bob held up his hand, "Don't say it, Cory. I know what a fool I was. I eventually told Ellie about the affair and after a heart-to-heart we decided to try to make our marriage work for the sake of our kids. The trouble is that by the time we made that decision, Ellie and Jamie were both pregnant."

Cory sat perfectly still. She wasn't quite sure what to say. So she started with, "If Jamie was your only affair, why does Ellie seem to think that you have confessed to two more?"

Running his fingers through his thinning hair, Bob replied, "Because I did confess to two more. I just didn't have them." Seeing Cory's confusion, he added, "Look, in order to be a part of Megan's life, I had to show up for certain things, you know? How could I tell Ellie that I couldn't go to Camille's dance recital because my other daughter was in the hospital having her appendix out? If she found out the truth, she would have taken our kids and left. Cory, I'm an idiot, I know. But I love my children and I want to do right by them, all of them."

Cory really wanted to hate Bob. She had hated him over the years for all that he'd put Ellen through. But now, well now she actually kind of admired him. "Bob, you have to tell Ellie this. She deserves to know the whole truth."

Looking more miserable than ever, he moaned, "Cor, if I tell her, she'll leave me. I love her. I love our kids. I don't want to live without them."

Cory replied, "Bob, she's about to leave you now. She thinks the reason you didn't show tonight is because you're having another affair. She's tired of it and tired of you. Your only chance is to explain and see if she loves you enough to try to make it work."

Looking like death warmed over, Bob asked, "Where is she?"

Cory told him that Ellie was in her hotel room and was planning to spend the night there to pay him back. Bob shook his head, "I really want to go to her, but I need to get home and pay the babysitter. Damn, what a mess."

With a shared look of compassion, Ryan offered, "Cory and I will go back to your house and pay the sitter. We'll even stay the night so you and Ellen can try to hammer this out."

Bob jumped at the offer, "You guys are amazing. Thank you. I don't know what's going to happen tonight, but I promise you that from this day forward, I'm going to do everything in my power to make it up to Ellie. He amended, "Even if she wants out of the marriage. "

Surprising herself, Cory hugged Bob and consoled, "Believe it or not, Bob, I hope things do work out for you guys. You're not quite the loser I had pegged you to be."

"Thanks, Cory. I owe you guys." And with that, Bob left for Cory's hotel in hopes of winning his wife back.

Without much conversation, Cory and Ryan left for Bob and Ellen's house. Ryan flipped on the radio to Aaron Neville's, "Everybody Plays the Fool."

"Everybody plays the fool, sometime  
There's no exception to the rule, listen, baby.

It may be factual, it may be cruel, I ain't lying  
everybody plays the fool."

Cory sighed, "Damn these April Fool songs."

***

After paying the sitter, Cory and Ryan snuggled on their friend's couch. Cory sighed, "So much for fulfilling your promise to finish what we started in your kitchen."

Ryan kissed her tenderly, "I think we have the rest of our lives for that."

Cory smiled, "Promises, promises."

Without being able to fool around, Cory and Ryan talked for hours. They discovered unbelievable parallels in their lives. Both sets of parents had graduated from the same high school, Main East in Park Ridge. They were even married in the same church on the same day, one year apart. Their grandfathers had grown up in the same neighborhood and were altar boys at the same parish and their grandmothers had played canasta in the same card club.

Ryan chuckled, "Add to that, we were debate partners in high school and almost went to the same university, I'm thinking that maybe the universe has been working to bring us together for a very long time."

Cory smiled, "I think you may just be right, Ryan Monroe."
Moving On

Ellie sighed. Bob had looked more and more like himself in the last few months. At first she wasn't sure if she'd made the right decision, but as the year wore on, she knew that she had. Her husband's revelation about having another child was the most shattering news she could have imagined. In many ways it was worse than his having multiple affairs. She could pretend affairs had never happened. Conversely, if she acknowledged them, affairs were grounds for a divorce, a divorce that didn't make her out to be the bad guy. But a child was an innocent bystander. A child was cause for hope and fresh beginnings. A child could not be punished for existing.

For this reason, Ellen had told Bob that she was willing to try to make a go of it, if he agreed to tell their children about Megan. Sitting down with Bobby, Isabelle and Camille and telling them about their dad's indiscretion and subsequent offspring was agony. Bob was humiliated and ashamed at his confession and was the recipient of questions that made him very uncomfortable. Ellie sat with Bob while he told their kids about their new sister and reassured them that she and Bob were committed to making their marriage work.

Ellie contacted Jamie Hunter and requested a meeting. Ellie was not expecting to like Megan's mother. In her eyes she was the other woman and a home-wrecker. She was a destroyer of illusion. But the truth of it was that Jamie was not unlike her. She was just a mother trying to do right by her child and navigate the maze of life. And she was doing it without a partner. For that, Jamie had her compassion and respect. As much as she felt Bob wasn't around enough, at least he had been physically present and his children were benefitting greatly from that.

Ellen explained to Jamie that now that she knew about Megan, she didn't want to keep the little girl separate from her siblings. She said, "I have always taught my children that people should never be punished for choices their parents make. Megan has a right to know her siblings and my children have a right to know her."

Jamie was astonished, "But Bob has been hiding her all these years. I didn't think he would ever welcome Megan into his real family."

Ellie cringed, "Jamie, Megan is Bob's real family. No less than the children he and I have together."

The other woman inquired, "How can you possibly be so accepting of all this?"

Ellie scoffed, "Never in a million years would I have ever chosen for this to happen. But when Bob confessed his affair with you, I told him that I would forgive him. I might not have done so had I known that you were pregnant." Inhaling deeply, she added, "Our children shouldn't have to pay for something that was not in their control. For that reason, I welcome Megan into my family as I hope you will accept my children into yours."

Jamie shook her head in wonder, "Ellen, you are a bigger woman than I would have been in your situation. Of course I will welcome your children. For their benefit and ours, I hope that someday you and I can be friends as well."

Ellie smiled, "I think our being friends is the only way this is going to work. Let's face it. If it were up to Bob, we'd all still be miserable."

Jamie reached her hand across the table and took Ellen's hand. "Thank you, Ellen. Bob is very lucky to have you."

Ellie laughed, "Damn straight, he is! Now, so this doesn't take on the tone of some god-awful polygamist reality show, you and I are going to have to hold our heads up so the gossip is kept to a minimum."
Fool for You

Wearing a white tuxedo jacket and tie, Bob Engle stood up and raised his glass. "First of all, I would like to thank Ryan and Cory for their friendship over the last year. Without the two of you, my life wouldn't be worth a hill of beans." The crowd was silent until he declared, "Everyone drink!"

The guests tentatively sipped their champagne as many of them had no idea what Bob was talking about. Bob raised his glass again and continued, "Now I would like to toast the bride and groom in earnest. No couple on the face of the earth is more perfect for each other than the two of you. You are the stars in each other's sky. You are the air each other breathes. You are ..."

Ryan interrupted, "Bob, this is getting sappy."

Cory swatted her new husband on the arm, "I like it. Keep going, Bob."

Bob raised his hands to quiet the giggling audience, "But seriously, I'll never be able to use the bathroom at Harray Carray's again after knowing what happened in the handicap stall."

The crowd cheered their approval as Cory blushed in embarrassment. Ryan stood up and raised his own glass to calm them down, "To my bride, Corrine Monroe. Thank you for coming back into my life. I look forward to years of love, laughter, debates ..." then wagging his eyebrows added, "and many more trips to Harray Carray's!"

Amidst thunderous applause the bride and groom kissed. The DJ interrupted the commotion by tapping on his microphone and announcing, "May I present Cory and Ryan Monroe in their first dance together as husband and wife."

Cory and Ryan took the floor to what, while perhaps not the most appropriate song for a wedding, they would always consider their song, "Fools in Love."

"Everything you do, everywhere you go now  
Everything you touch, everything you feel  
Everything you do, even your rock 'n' roll now  
Nothing mean a thing except you and your lady love  
Your lady love, your lady love, your lady love."
Author Bio:

While attending the University of Illinois in Chicago, Whitney Dineen was discovered by a local modeling agent and began an unexpected career as a plus-size Ford model. She modeled in New York City before moving to Los Angeles with her husband. During "The Hollywood Years," Whitney was bitten by the writing bug and started creating characters that are inspired by strong women with a great sense of humor. She is the author of the best-selling romantic comedy, She Sins at Midnight. Her second book, The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan, is due out in May, 2015. In addition to writing romantic comedies, Whitney has also created a series of adventure books for girls. The first of which, Wilhelmina and the Willamette Wig Factory, will be released in the autumn of 2015. Whitney and her husband live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest where they raise their children, chickens and organic vegetables.

Author Links:

For more on Whitney, check out her website: http://whitneydineen.com/

Whitney on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Whitney-Dineen/11687019412

Whitney on Twitter: https://twitter.com/WhitneyDineen

Don't Prank Me Now,

Prank Me Later

By

Amy Gettinger

To Peter, Scott, and David, the Engineer/Wizard/Have-you-restarted-it?/Duh-of-course-I-can-write-a-macro-for-that/Don't-you-know-anything-about-chemistry? tricksters of my life.
Xenia Marcks woke up with a start on the first day of April. Fire crackers and poppers were going off outside her bedroom window at 4:47 a.m.

Damn kids and their monkey business. Whose idea had it been to have twin boys, a singleton boy a year later, and then another set of twin boys a year after that? Five soggy diaper sprites all under one roof, raising havoc? And then who exactly had named them all after legendary trickster figures? Ah, yes. Her husband Tom, the prank master.

"We'll name these two after twin trickster gods Mawu and Lisa from the Fon people of West Africa!"

"But they're both boys!"

"Okay. Mungojerry and Rumpleteazer from Cats!"

"How many black eyes do we want them to get on the playground?"

"Phil and Lil from Rugrats?"

"Cartoons?" Xenia had shuddered.

"Hey! Fred and George, the pranking Weasley twins!"

"Fred is a Flintstone. George was an idiot king in the Revolutionary War."

In the end, her boys had indeed become serious pranksters. But at this time of the morning, so many years later, exhausted and frayed, she really couldn't remember who had planned for her to be the sole parent of five super-clever wise guys. Tom wasn't around to ask anymore. It had been what, sixteen? Seventeen? No. Almost eighteen years since the younger twins had been born, each toting his own hand buzzer and box of fake roaches along in his amniotic sac. But who could remember that far back anyway? As a CPA at the height of tax season, last week was a little blurry for Xenia.

The four dogs were growling at the noise outside. Then, when the popping ceased, they resettled on the bed, shoving her feet off the edge. And reminding her she needed to buy a much bigger bed. And to get up and pee. She sat up, shoving her feet into her fuzzy slippers. She started for the bathroom, but the slippers didn't budge. She fell down on one knee, twisting her ankle, and only kept from falling flat on her face by grabbing the bed hard and holding on.

Crap. My new slippers? Stuck to the carpet? "Ugh. Gorilla glue!" Three big dog tongues licked her face in sympathy. And Lena, the squirmy labradoodle puppy, jumped playfully on her back.

"Arrrrrggh!" said Xenia.

It was going to be a rough day.

***

Of course, by the time she finished in the bathroom and got robed, the boys would all be in bed again, feigning sleep quite believably, but Xenia was mad enough to go wake them up and make them pay for disturbing her. She opened her bedroom door and strode smack into a solid wall of saran wrap covering her doorway, which bounced the angry velocity of her body straight backward toward the bed. She stumbled and landed hard on her butt on the carpet, where three big dogs swarmed around her, administering forty more face licks.

"We love you, Mom! Breakfast! Now!" said their loving facial of doggie spit. Well, if spit could talk. Blond little Lena, with her fluffy, round tummy, jumped on Xenia's head.

It took a while to disentangle herself from the dogs, find shoes without play-dough or potting soil stuffed into the toes by nocturnal elves, and rummage for the right tool to slice through the saran wrap. (She had learned to keep a set of tools in her bedroom for just such occasions.) By then, most of her anger had dissipated, so she was able to head more calmly down the hall, now armed with a flashlight to find the booby trap threads strung across it at head level, the ones rigged to fling paper clips or Lucky Charms cereal or torn-up-math-paper confetti at her on contact. She ducked under four of these and opened the twins' bedroom door. And stepped right into a large pile of something very squishy and smelly.

"What the hell?" she yelled at the twins. "Huck! Puck! Disarm this house!"

Burrowed deep in their twin beds, Huck and Puck were stocky, curly-headed college sophomores. Huck was named for Huckleberry Finn and Puck for the trickster sprite from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. They squinted at her out of what appeared to be a real, cozy sleep.

"Huh?" they said in unison.

"Don't act like you're sleeping in here. I heard your poppers outside my window!" Xenia's frustration was revving back up.

"Whaaaat?" they both said, eyelids at half-mast.

"And stop that unison thing. You are not a boys' chorus!!"

"But we—" they started.

"I'm warning you! You two may be on spring vacation from college, but I swear I still have a knee and you're not too big to—oh, good grief." She raised her stinking shoe and danced around on one foot for a minute.

"You hopping mad, Mom?" they said, snickering.

Looking at her two oldest prankster elves, Xenia's heart melted. She started laughing, at first in quiet, snorty smirks, then in sharp, barking bursts, and then in louder, larger waves, soon becoming maniacal howls of glee that filled the house from rafter to slab and released the pent-up stress of the last two months of tax preparation she'd just endured.

"Phew! Open a window!" she gasped as she sank down on the end of Puck's bed, which let loose with a giant fart sound. And made her laugh even harder.

The boys couldn't keep a straight face, and soon they were all roaring with hilarity, as a pack of tail-wagging dogs joined them, adding slobber in buckets to the fun.

"You didn't name us Huck and Puck for nothing, Mom." Huck's freckles and wide grin reminded Xenia of Pippi Longstocking. His curly brown hair was just a shade lighter than his twin's. "Remember Dad's last wish to keep his traditions alive. Especially today."

"And make us keep our damn names," Puck grumbled. "Do you know how much I get kidded for my freaking name?"

Huck sat up. "Hey, I get called 'Huckle Buckle Beanstalk' and 'Huckleberry Bumpkin.' Might as well just call me 'Stooge.' You're just—oh, wow. I never thought about all the permutations for you. Puck Marcks. Pucker Up Marcks. Hockey Puck Marcks. Punk Marcks. Pock Marks. Funk Marcks. Funky Punky Pocked Mark Marcks. Mr. Marcks, you are seriously fu—"

Puck threw a shoe at Huck, which hit him hard in the shoulder. "Butthead. Just call me Fred."

Xenia broke in. "Be glad I chose Puck. Your dad preferred Bugs Bunny. At least I saved you from that."

Huck said in a snide voice, "Aaah, what's up, doc?"

Puck threw the other shoe.

Xenia wiped her eyes. "And Huck, your whoopee cushion needs replacing. It's off key."

Both boys put hands under their armpits and made the loudest underarm farts she'd ever heard. In unison. Then three more boys showed up in the doorway and added some differently tuned underarm noises. It became a tonal symphony. Xenia giggled through several symphonic movements, building to a deafening crescendo to their final, farty blast.

"Hey! You guys woke us up! We were trying to sleep!" Nineteen-year-old Harpo, the blondest and slimmest of her boys, stood there looking awfully bright and cheery for the hour. The most studious of her children, he'd slept almost non-stop since returning home from a grueling winter quarter in physics at UC Irvine. Calmer and more thoughtful than his brothers, he might seem pretty harmless next to them, but his sly smile was hiding something now, which put Xenia on high alert. This boy had pulled a few real doozies of pranks in his life, things that had left Xenia speechless. Like getting the horse into the kitchen when he was only five years old. Or erecting a Plexiglas sheet a foot under the surface of the deep end of the pool so that when she jumped in, she sat down hard in shallow water and everyone at the pool party howled. Sometimes, Harpo seemed less of a prankster and more of a magician.

Xenia narrowed her eyes at him. "Your pajamas aren't even wrinkled."

He tossed his shaggy head. "I ironed them just for you."

"Hey, is this real dog poop by the door here? Eeeyuuuww! Who did this?" Ferris, her youngest son by ten minutes, pushed his glasses up and scowled at the pan full of very suspicious brown material. He grabbed it and backed out of the room, looking stricken. Named for Ferris Bueller, of course, he had always been the most fastidious of the bunch.

His twin, Coyote, poked his grinning face into the room. "Hah! Gotcha, Mom! We did great, huh? Dad would be so proud." Coyote had of course been named for the American Indian trickster god. He was the only one of her boys with no freckles, an amazing feat for a twin. If it hadn't been for his stocky Marcks build and that mischievous gleam in his eye, she'd have wondered if he'd been switched in the hospital. Not actually an impossible prank for her husband, Tom, the ultimate prankster, to have accomplished, out of pure devilment. Sadly, it was not even improbable. Tom Marcks had been the soul of tomfoolery. Bless his little harlequin heart.

Xenia smiled, shaking her head. "Please tell me there's no sugar in the hamburger for today's lunch. Or pepper in the cake mix for later. And you haven't put a snake in the downstairs toilet, have you?"

Wide-eyed, Coyote shrugged. The other boys shrugged, too. A very bad sign.

"Oh, God," she said. "Are there spiders in the pantry? Tarantulas or those jumping ones?"

"No idea." Huck and Puck said together. Trickster twins to the bitter end. "Ask Harpo."

Harpo made a sour face. "Ugh. Throw me your shoe, Mom."

Xenia pulled off the shoe, wrapped it in a dirty t-shirt off the floor, and tossed it to her sweetest son. Harpo left, the nasty smell from her shoe receding with him. The dogs trailed behind him downstairs. Out of all the boys, he was the one she could count on to take dogs out and feed them without even being asked, a true feat of magic in itself.

"God. I need a nap," she said.

"On April first?" said Huck, with mock disappointment.

"It's our big day," said Puck, with the same expression.

"We wanted to make you breakfast." Coyote's dark hair and thick brows gave off waves of devilment.

"Oh, I think I'll forego the rubber eggs this year." Xenia's eyes drooped. "Go do your homework, senior class clown. Besides, I'll do better on the receiving end of your stuff after more sleep." Then her eyes flew wide. "Which will give you guys more time to set up the bigger pranks, right?"

Huck, Puck, and Coyote gave her the utter deadpan prankster stare.

She blinked a few times. Her flagging eyes won. "So be it. I'm knackered. Do your worst." She stumbled back to bed, barely registering the alarm clock blaring the Frozen theme song every half hour from Harpo's room. If that was as bad as it was going to get, fine. She snuggled into the pillows with earplugs in and floated off to dreamland.

Later, she awoke to a very eerie feeling house. Not a whisper from any corner. Wow. It was 10:15. She was glad she had declared today a holiday from work. Coyote and Ferris had the week off from high school. With Huck and Puck home from UC Santa Barbara on spring break and Harpo finally awake, she was hoping to get a little quality time with the whole family today. She showered, did her hair, and dressed in long sleeves for a cool April morning in coastal Northern California.

Feeling much more human now, Xenia ventured out of her bedroom. She opened the other bedroom doors very slowly and stuck her head in. No human inhabitants. No mammalian inhabitants. And no further pranks set up. Well, to be fair, in Ferris and Coyote's room there was a drawer rigged with thread to the door handle that popped open and spewed confetti when she peeked in. Mild stuff. Almost daily routine for her. But where were the boys? And the dogs?

She sneaked carefully downstairs, waiting for the next prank bucket of water or basket of dead mice to come crashing down on her at any second. Nothing on the stairs. At the bottom, she turned the corner into the dining room and stopped dead.

"What the ever-loving heck? Whaaaaaat?"

Her expensive new dining room set, the one she'd finally purchased to suit her own taste after living with her parents' old solid oak set for twenty years, was gone. She had scrimped and saved for that new dining room set!

The old one had been well-loved, but was older than Moses. Her great-grandmother had bought it before electricity had been invented. Her grandmother had used it hard for forty years. Her parents had refinished it and used it for another thirty, passing it to her in the mid-90s to accommodate her young family of seven. It had been a godsend, serving her family through many Sundays and birthdays and Thanksgivings and Christmases. And homework sessions and science projects. And pranks. And a few funerals. She had finally decided this year to give the old set to a struggling family and go modern with a gorgeous glass-top table set in a sleek black frame and lacquered black chairs that more fit her own decorating style.

Except it was gone. And in its place was a cedar log picnic table, five half-logs wide on top, with a half-log bench on one side and four chunky log chairs on the other. Next to them sat a matching cedar log sideboard, very simply constructed. Very cedary/mountain-cabin/lumberjack/where's-your-rifle non-kitsch.

A blond head flashed across the opposite dining room doorway.

"Harpo! Where is my dining set? And what grizzled mountain man owns this stuff?" she yelled. "And my sideboard! And where are my paintings? My gorgeous paintings! They'd better not be harmed!"

"Huh?" The head reappeared, looking as clueless as Alicia Silverstone.

"I had three post-impressionist works on the walls in here. A Matisse print and two expressionist paintings. Where are they?"

"Not those?" He pointed at the three dark paintings of dead ducks and hunting dogs which now completed the rustic atmosphere.

"This room looks like a freaking hunting lodge!" Xenia stomped toward the large room which flowed from family room to kitchen. Here again, things were not exactly as she had left them the night before. Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. "Good ... freaking ... grief!"

Harpo stood in the middle of the family room. All around him, the love seats, chairs, desk, and even the wastebasket had been turned upside down and suspended from the ceiling. Even the wall art and plasma TV were upside down.

"But you guys did this before! And promised never to do it again after ..."

Harpo cocked his head. "Come on. It's been five years! We didn't get to finish it then. Today we did. Isn't it cool?"

"But your father—that recliner fell on him and—paramedics—hospitals—life support —funeral service—take it down! Take it all down! Now!"

Harpo put an arm around her shoulders. "Mom. Get a grip. Aren't you over that yet? And we're better educated now. Nothing will fall. Trust us."

Four curly heads peered into the family room windows from the yard. Male snickers floated in on the breeze.

"I need a drink." Xenia went over to the (thankfully right side up) kitchen and opened a cabinet for a glass. And out popped a gallon of confetti and streamers, covering her hair, her sweatshirt and the countertop.

She heard a chorus of "Gotcha!" from the yard.

Wiping confetti-filled eyes, she shuffled over and opened the fridge, wincing against the possibility of a pig or goat jumping out at her. But no. There was just a glittery banner that sprang out across the inner fridge opening, shouting a glittery "Happy April Fools' Day!" and a Katy Perry song that blared from a speaker near the cheese—something about fireworks.

She reached past the banner, grabbed a bottle of cream soda, and slammed the fridge door. The firework song ended abruptly as a wastebasket in the family room broke free from its ceiling mount and fell with a loud clankety-clank thunk to the tile floor. Harpo's eyes went wide and the crew outside roared with laughter.

Xenia shook her head and marched to the front porch, where she sank down on the step.

In the front yard, the boys were now playing fetch with the dogs like fantasy children from Norman Rockwell paintings of the fifties. So sweet. So bogus. The dogs rushed up to greet her with waggly tails and the boys looked nearly angelic in their stocky, curly sort of way. Like all those statues of wickedly grinning satyrs and eye-rolling chubby cherubs she'd seen in Rome on her senior trip.

"Hi, Mom!" all four twins said, in complete unison. Oh, boy. This signaled huge frivolity to come.

"I have clients coming tomorrow." Xenia slugged back some cream soda. "You guys have to put everything back the way it was by then."

"Sure," Coyote said.

Nods all around.

"Well, that'll be a first, since you never have before." She belched. "Did you take any pictures yet? You're gonna want a record of this."

Huck and Puck looked at each other and raced upstairs for their cameras.

"Oh, snap." Harpo ran inside with his cell phone. A minute later, he returned. "Guys," he yelled at Coyote and Ferris, "Come on. Help me get the wastebasket back up for pictures." The younger twins walked inside, kind of slow for kids their age, like maybe their muscles hurt just a bit from lifting whole roomfuls of furniture to the ceiling.

Xenia turned to watch them go inside, which was when she noticed that the stuccoed front of her house was not the boring beige she had made the boys paint it three summers ago.

No, it was pink. Bright, Pepto-Bismol pink. Her house, the biggest one at the end of the street, the one with the wide yard on the end of the cul-de-sac, the one everyone who drove down the street could see, was pink. There were some pretty large trees in the front and side yards to conceal its full fuchsia glory, but it was still ... pink.

Her head sank into her hands as several of her neighbors exited their houses, headed toward their cars, turned her way, then stopped and cocked their heads in confusion. And then concern. Some laughed. Some didn't.

This she might never live down.

She ran inside to the living room for her purse. Hmm. This room hadn't been touched by the April Fools' gremlins. Yet. She yelled, "Going out for food! Clean this stuff up!" and ran back out the front door, knowing she was doing exactly the wrong thing.

She hit the front step and ... crap. On her walkway was her neighbor, Krishna Devgan. Why today of all days?

Kris was a shy, pensive guy—still a bachelor for all she knew—very neatly dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. The perfect example of a fossilized computer nerd. Tall, nearing forty, his thick black hair receding just a tad, he was pretty fit for a guy with a desk job. He had been Tom's best friend and partner in crime until Tom's disastrous death from the dumb April Fools' Day prank five years earlier. Since then, Kris had pretty much kept to himself, and though he and Xenia lived just yards from each other, the distance between them had grown as wide as the Pacific Ocean as they had carefully avoided speaking to each other all this time.

Of course, Xenia had once thoroughly enjoyed Tom's pranks, and had even colluded with him in pulling off some good ones. But his stupid death had left her with an acrid taste in her mouth for tricks. The boys' devotion to their father and his foolishness had softened her outlook some over time, but she had no clue how Kris felt about any of it. Well, he could just stew in it if he wasn't man enough to bring it up. She had no time to worry about him. She had children to raise. Well, sort of. Technically, two of them were still children. For two more weeks.

But here Kris came, with a small smile on his tan face, like nothing had happened. "Hi, Xenia. I never saw your boys work so hard for so long before." He had a slight Hindi lilt in his speech. "They've been painting for hours."

They both surveyed the wet paint and the tall ladder next to the house.

"Um. Interesting shade you picked." Was he holding back a laugh?

Xenia blushed. "I didn't pick it. You know what day this is."

Kris's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah! Duh. LOL."

"It's not that funny." She bustled down the walk to her orange Honda Fit at the curb.

He followed her. "Where are you going? You look upset."

"Wouldn't you be upset if your boys had nailed a bunch of furniture to your family room ceiling, replicating the same trick that ... well, you remember. Five years ago."

"What?" Without invitation, he ran up the walk and into the house, reappearing minutes later, looking relieved. "Wow. Did you see that? Amazing work." He came down the steps toward her. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

Xenia stared at him, her blood boiling. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, really. Xenia. Relax. It's like hands-on engineering school in there."

Xenia just stood there fuming in her car's open doorway.

Kris eyed her. "Hey, you want a ride somewhere? I took the day off for an appointment. I have some time."

"What? I'm ..." She was pretty damn mad. So damn mad that she slammed the car door. "Fine. I shouldn't be driving in this state. I shouldn't have left them alone all morning, either. They think they're immortal. Nothing is too dangerous for them! Nothing is off-limits. Hell, they'll probably put a dead fish in my car engine, too." She stalked over and joined him at his red Prius.

He opened the door for her and they got in.

"Nice car. New?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yep." He always had been terse.

She clutched her purse. "I probably shouldn't be going anywhere right now. God knows what else they'll do. But they got me. They really got me. I'm all emotional because they did all this ... stuff. Good grief!" She shoved her palm at her forehead, trying to make sense of her boys, trying not to cry in frustration.

"Yes. It's hard to ..." Kris started.

"I know. It's really hilarious," she said through clenched teeth. "I should be laughing my head off. Have fun, enjoy the gag. But it stirs up so many awful memories. Oh, God."

"Yeah. I ... uh ..."

Xenia shook her head and straightened up. "It all just makes me want to wring their little necks, every last one of them. And if I stay here, I will. Let's just go."

He started the car. "I guess kids will be kids."

"And mine will be monsters." She sighed.

"I'm sure they meant well."

"How do you know? They stole my dining room furniture and pictures and put some super rustic junk in the dining room. Ugh! It looks like a hunting lodge in there!"

"That bad, huh?"

"Horrible. I'm surprised they didn't bring in a moose head and a giant stuffed fish on a plaque!"

At the end of the street, Kris frowned. "Uh, where are we going?"

"To Starbucks and the grocery. I need strong coffee and a plan."

The strip mall was nearby. Both of them sat silent until Kris pulled into the parking lot. "Xenia. Don't be too hard on them."

Xenia turned toward him. "You obviously don't know what my boys are capable of. But then, you never married, did you? Do you have any kids of your own? Multiple boys who have physicists' and engineers' minds, and were tutored personally by a master prankster who they idolized for many years?"

Kris looked her in the eye and spoke slowly. "No, I haven't married yet. I don't have kids. But trust me. I've been around bad kids. Your kids are not bad kids."

"Yeah. I know." Xenia got defensive, her voice rising dangerously. "You don't have to tell me about my kids. What do you know about them, anyway? You haven't spoken to any of us for five years. What do you even care?"

"Well," he said, then started again. "Well, I was so ... so sorry when Tom ... died. I just ... couldn't ... talk to you about it."

Xenia was still fuming. "Well, a fat lot of good it did for you to avoid us for five years when the boys could have used a male role model. No wonder you can't find a wife if that's how you operate." And she left the car and stomped into Starbucks, where things were totally normal and the only trick was figuring out which Susan or Kelly a drink belonged to.

When she finished her coffee and sandwich and some shopping, she started to walk home through the parking lot, a large bag of gourmet groceries in hand. She didn't feel too bad about telling Kris off. In fact, it had felt good to vent a little in his direction, since he'd avoided her so completely for all this time. A complete cold shoulder from two houses away for five years was quite an achievement, but not one she could really applaud.

So she was surprised to find the red Prius sitting there in the lot with a door open for her. She bent down and peered inside. Kris was sitting there, listening to public radio, a hand on the steering wheel, staring off into space.

"Why are you still here?" she asked.

He looked up, face blank. "You need a ride home, don't you?"

Oh, hell. Why not? The bag was a bit heavy, and she was now at least caffeinated. She got in and he backed the car out.

She fiddled with her seatbelt. "Look, this is a difficult day for me, all the emotions running so high. Sorry I yelled at you."

"I know. For me, too." He looked left and right at the street and adjusted his mirror. "But I needed to talk to you. I've been meaning to say this to you for a long time. Way too long." He stopped at a light and glanced at her. "I'm sorry, too. And I know you're mad about all that happened. Trust me, I'm madder at myself. We should have been more careful."

"Mad? Me? About Tom? Leaving his five boys fatherless as young teenagers? With your help?" Her voice was rising again, and she couldn't quite control it. "Hey, where are we going?"

Instead of heading home, Kris had turned the car onto a main thoroughfare.

"You'll see."

"But I ... oh, never mind." Xenia slumped in her seat. "Me going back home right now wouldn't keep the boys from painting my bedroom black or filling the fridge with a hundred pounds of cheese. I guess I have to admit I can't control them anymore."

They were headed out of town, toward the coastal hills. Most of the year, these hills were brown, but there had been some decent rain since Christmas—the "Pineapple Express" had shown up twice, bringing warm rain and flooding the landscape.

He said, "Look. The hills are still green."

She said, "They'll be back to brown soon enough."

He said, "Your house looks good pink."

She said, "I'll have to call some painters tomorrow to come and repaint. The boys won't have time to do it before they go back to school on Sunday. We need to do a bunch of shopping."

He said, slowly, "Why do you need to keep such a tight hold on things, Xenia? Rein them back into the beige box so quickly? Is the house so bad pink?"

She turned. "You really need to ask that?"

"But you like pink."

"I did when I was young and didn't have a serious job. Then disaster hit and I'm the breadwinner now. I'm sending five boys to college, working from home. My clients expect—no, I absolutely need order and consistency and dignity to stay sane. I do!"

"But things change." Kris looked serious. "Always."

"Not much changes in your life, Kris. You're wearing the same shirt you wore at the memorial service."

He reddened. "Things change. Kids change." He stopped the car in a turnout and got out. She followed him. There was a little trail from the turnout down through a gulley, then up a green hill, and he started along it.

"What are we doing?" she asked, following him.

"Come on. You'll see." They hiked for a few minutes through brush and around ghostly live oak trees dripping with long fingers of moss. Finally, they reached the top of a small hill, giving them a view of the road and even more green hills dusted with yellow monkey flower and mustard, orange California poppies, and purple mint and thistles.

Suddenly, Xenia had a bad feeling. "Is there some sort of prank set up here?" Are the boys waiting behind a tree to jump out and carry me into a cave or something?"

Kris snickered. "No. I pretty much swore off pranks." He looked out at the wildflowers. "I just thought you needed a time out. I come here when I feel stressed or ... off. I thought maybe you could use a shot of nature."

"Oh. Thanks." She took in the scenery and breathed the fresh, cool air, then felt an old, primal urge. "Can I scream?" She didn't wait for an answer. She just hauled off and screeched high and long, loud enough to make birds take wing and squirrels scurry away. She stopped. Dead silence. Then she did it again.

His dark eyes were wide, his mouth quirked. After a quiet minute, he spoke. "Wow. You did need stress relief."

"You try it," she said.

He looked at his shoes and shook his head, but started chuckling.

"So where have you been for five years?" Xenia asked.

"Right at home. You saw me every day."

"You know what I mean. Where have you been? You checked out. You didn't show up. Where were you? The boys ..." She trailed off. Birds chirped and a hawk flew in circles overhead.

He checked his watch and gestured toward the trail. They started back down it past the eerie trees, swishing in the breeze. The two of them tromped silently through the tender green grass and around clumps of wildflowers. Xenia was right. All this green and yellow and orange and purple would give way to gold and brown in a month or two when the rains stopped for the year. But it was lovely and rejuvenating today. By the time they reached the car and got in, she'd forgotten her question.

So he answered it. "I don't really know. But I'm back."

She smiled. "Okay, Jeeves. Thanks for the field trip. Now I guess I have to go home and face the pranksters."

On the drive back, they chatted about general neighborhood activity. Then, as they neared their street, Kris said, "Xenia. They asked me to tell you something."

"Who?"

"Ferris and Coyote." He turned the car into their street and sucked in air. "This week, they ... um ... Xenia, they got accepted to UC San Diego in mechanical engineering. They intend to go there in the fall."

"What?" she shrieked. "They told you before they told me? What the heck? Oh, they are so in trouble!"

She sat there steaming until he parked at the curb by his house. Without a backward look, she jumped out of the car and ran to her own house, where she bounded up the front steps and into the living room. Which now had a yellow Volkswagen Beetle assembled in the middle of it. Huck's Volkswagen. Imagine that. Brilliant, really. A totally new one on her—and she was hard to surprise, prankwise. The furniture had been shoved to the side to make room for the Beetle. No one was around.

So she yelled to the house in general: "Is that what all this is about? You people are all going off to college far away this fall and you couldn't tell me? So you asked a neighbor, who I haven't spoken to for years, to break the news to me? And you produced a house full of problems to distract me from the real truth? That you're all leaving me? Every danged one of you?"

She sank down on the hood of the Volkswagen and started to cry. Suddenly, there were five pairs of arms around her. They had somehow recently morphed into rather large, hairy, muscly arms, but they were still the ten arms she loved most in the world. Maybe to replace them, she'd need a pet squid.

"Mom, don't sit there. That may not be too stable." Harpo guided her to the sofa by the wall.

"We'll be home for breaks, and maybe for weekends." That was two eighteen-year-olds in unison.

"From San Diego? It's a nine-hour drive!" She sniffled.

"Nah, seven or eight," said Huck the Mediator. "And these aren't problems, Mom. They're works of art."

"Yeah. They're our best pranks ever! We put 'em on YouTube!" said Puck.

There was general agreement about that.

"Besides," said Huck, "we'll all be home for more pranks on April first next year."

Harpo said, "Yeah. We still haven't gotten a car onto the roof. We're gonna need help with that one."

"Well," said Puck. "Maybe not next year. I'm probably doing a junior year abroad then."

"Huh? A junior year abroad? Where?" Huck was suddenly yelling and red in the face. "Without talking to me first?"

Ahh. Twin love.

"Italy," said Puck. "Siena. Maybe Florence."

"What the hell?" Huck was standing by a wall. He hauled off and punched it, hard, breaking the plaster and leaving a gaping hole.

Puck started laughing, and all the other boys chimed in. He ran to the door and said, "April fools, asshole. Got you back!" And he took off out the front door like the wood sprite he was.

Huck started after him with murder in his eye, and the rest of the boys ran after them into the front yard and down the street.

As he left the room last in his usual calm saunter, Harpo said, "Oh, come on, Mom. Give Kris some credit. He's been good to us. He gave us each a bunch of spending money for school the last few years."

"Huh?" she said. "I thought—"

"And he's got a lot of advice about the best pranks to do and how to do them. The car in the living room was his idea. Cool, huh? He's a good guy. Forgive him already. It's time." At her flabbergasted look, he finished with, "Oh, and I think he kind of likes you, too." And off he went.

The house became strangely calm and the room got amazingly bright with afternoon sun flooding in through the windows and bouncing off the front bumper and headlights of the Volkswagen, reflecting sparkly lights onto the walls. The prisms hanging in the windows sent dancing rainbows onto the opposite walls.

Xenia sat in the blinding dazzle of light and spoke to it. "Tom Marcks, if that's you, I am so ready to throw your ashes in the bay. I swear I'm gonna feed you to the sharks if you help them with one more prank!"

She got up and went to the kitchen for a gourmet cookie. Then she checked her hair in the mirror and marched over to Kris Devgan's house to give him a piece of her mind. At his door, she knocked hard. No answer. Oh, yeah. He had an appointment. She was about to go back home and start calling painters and plasterers when Kris came around the side of the house, looking flustered in a red chef's apron.

"Oh, Xenia. What are you doing here?"

"Kris, I ..." Words failed her. "Could we have a chat? Not on the porch?"

"Oh, sure." Kris motioned her around the side of the house to the back yard. On his back deck, a barbecue was going and a glass-top wrought iron table was set for two. A pretty, busty, thirty-something blonde was seated at the table. Some appointment he had. Her sweater was low cut and her eyes were glued on Kris.

"I'll come back later," Xenia said.

"No, please join us. We were just finishing up here. Laura does my taxes." Kris looked so clueless. Did men really not know when they were about to be gobbled up by a female?

"Laura Daniel." Laura smiled and shook Xenia's hand, but looked a bit skeptical about Kris's description of her relationship with him. She said warmly, "Actually, I've known Kris for years. We're old friends."

Xenia's boys had obviously been quite wrong about Kris being interested in Xenia. And it wasn't like she was ready to pounce on him, anyway. He wasn't that good-looking. Or desirable. Or anything. Except to Laura, who looked ready to eat him for dinner.

Kris pulled up a chair for Xenia. "Have a seat."

She felt like a fifth or sixth wheel. "I really ..."

Kris handed her a glass of wine. Which she really needed. And the steak and vegetables on the grill smelled absolutely fabulous. Xenia realized just how hungry she was, and here was home-cooked food being pressed on her.

He gestured at the table. "Hummus? Veggies? We have everything."

"I don't know," she said. "I have to call the painters."

"Today? The pink paint isn't even dry yet."

"Okay. Just for a bit." She sat down and felt relaxed for the first time all day. Well, until Laura sat up after filing a sheaf of paper in her briefcase and stared at Xenia. Xenia combed her hair back with her fingers and used her tongue to check her teeth for spinach. In a house full of engineers and scientists, no one cared much about grooming past that. They were more interested in how the toaster worked.

"Pink paint?" Laura said. "So your house is that pink one? Wow." She trilled a fake laugh. "I took this class about neighborhood consciousness. They said houses shouldn't be just any color, you know? Houses have personalities, like people, you know? That require you to feel for their correct color. Really feel it, you know?"

Kris spoke from behind the grill. "This was a prank by her boys, Laura. It's not usually that color."

"Thank goodness!" Laura smiled, relieved. "What a shocker in this woodsy neighborhood! Any house close to the hills like this shouts for a more earthy identity color, you know. That's what they call it—an identity color."

Xenia tried to tune out Laura's voice by focusing on Kris's pleasant back deck and garden.

Laura went on. "I mean, your house is so large. I'd guess a sagey-green or a fawn-brown would be its identity. You know?"

Ugh. Xenia actually preferred pink to fawn and sage. "It was beige before—for years."

From his place by the grill, Kris piped up, "Nice day, huh? Would you call that sky baby blue or azure?"

Laura made a face at Kris. "Well, I like it warmer. I hate wearing sleeves."

She's from Southern California, thought Xenia. And he's actually rather handsome, standing there in his red man-apron with his man-tongs.

"Wish I was back in L.A.," said Laura. "You know?"

"So what did you want to talk about, Xenia?" Kris returned to the table with plates. He seemed happy now. Hmm. Happy about Laura being there? Or just happy that Laura could act as buffer, so Xenia wouldn't end up screeching at him again that day? Or both?

Xenia took a carrot and dipped it in hummus. Was it okay to talk money in front of Laura? Well, if she did his taxes... "Kris. My boys said you've been giving them money for school."

Kris nodded, setting napkins and bread on the table.

She smiled. "Well, that surprised me. I had no idea you and the boys were in contact. I just assumed they were being really frugal. Honestly, I want to thank you. And pay it back."

Kris sat down. "Oh, no need. Glad to contribute. I felt I should, after ..."

Laura piped up, "Oh, Kris. That was a lot of cash. Your 401K would look a lot stronger if you took her up on her offer, you know."

Kris looked heavenward. "Hmm. It looks azure to me."

Laura continued. "I'm all for education, but they're not your kids, you know. You may want to have your own kids one day, and you'll already have put a lot of your savings into these kids. Five of them, no less. You should really think about it, you know."

Kris got up and ran to the grill. "Forgot something!"

Xenia smiled. "Kris, they also said you've been giving them advice about pranks to do and how to execute them."

Kris looked up fast. "They said that?"

"Pranks?" said Laura.

"Yep." Xenia finished her glass. "They said you told them to put the Volkswagen in my living room today."

Kris started chuckling as he brought two more wine bottles to the table and sat down. "Hah! They did that, too? Wow! They pulled out all the stops!"

Xenia eyed him darkly.

Kris's brown eyes danced. "Well, I confess I brought it up in conversation, but more as just an example of the stuff Tom and I used to pull off as kids about their age. I don't think I actually recommended it for them to do." He poured Xenia more wine.

Glass in hand, Xenia mused, "Funny. I wonder how they got that impression, then?"

Kris didn't quite pull off the classic deadpan trickster stare. "Hmm. I guess I did say how we did it, but more as an illustration of something else. It was just an old war story, you know."

"Been telling them any other war stories I should be aware of?" Xenia asked.

Laura said, "Well, I think pranking is mean. Why would anyone allow it in their house? It's disrespectful and shocking and messy. Confetti in the carpet and spiders on my arm? Ugh! Kris, don't you think kids need order and routine to make them feel safe? Strict bedtimes and meal times are important, you know? Pranking just makes fun of all of that, you know?"

Kris got up to fill plates with steak and veggies.

Xenia stood. "Kris, could I use your restroom?" Actually, she needed to laugh, and wasn't sure she could hold it in any longer. Kris was really going to have his hands full with Laura. She definitely had her eye on him, and Xenia could just see Laura organizing his life with great, big-busted, routine-filled zest. In the correct identity colors, of course.

"Sure." He showed Xenia into the kitchen and pointed down the hall.

On the way to the bathroom, Xenia passed his dining room, which looked empty. She poked her head around the door to see her dining room furniture—all of it. The table, the chairs, the sideboard, and her fabulous pictures were all stacked against a wall.

Oh, boy. Was Kris in for it for helping her boys with that prank when he claimed to be so innocent. And oh, boy, did he have terrible taste in furniture. And oh, boy, was Laura in for it when she tried to combine her (probably chromy or minimalist) furniture with his log cabin chic in future months. Xenia felt the pressure building up inside. She ran for the bathroom and got there just in time to burst out laughing.

As soon as dinner was over, Xenia excused herself and went home to her topsy-turvy house. The boys, sporting black eyes and bruises from the brawl, had brought in pizza, and they all munched while playing Catan on the cedar log picnic table in the dining room.

Coyote said, "Okay, I've got wood for sheep!"

Puck countered, "Eeeyuww. I don't want your stinking logs!"

Xenia cracked up. She was so happy she almost won the game. Almost. Then Puck stole her longest road and made his ten points just as she was about to build her last city. She got up to scrounge the kitchen for more cookies and came back to find Kris sitting at the log table with the boys, comfortable as you please. She raised her eyebrows at him.

Kris shrugged. "I could hear you guys laughing from my yard. Can I join the party?"

Xenia offered him the box of Thin Mints she had squirreled away behind the case of chili in the pantry. He took one.

They played one more game, and Xenia gave up all hope of winning, pitted against the five sly, evil minds she had spawned. Finally, the boys got restless and brought out the Wii U. She couldn't compete against them in video games at their level, so she gave up and poured herself a glass of white wine.

"You up for that?" she asked Kris, with a gesture toward the game console. The room started getting louder and louder with obnoxious, bleeping video game music and frequent outbursts of game commentary from the boys.

Puck yelled, "Ohhh, I hate this level! Look at that ..."

Kris winced. "I tried it once. Really hard. Not my thing." He eyed her wine glass.

"Want some?" She poured him a glass.

"White, I see."

"Don't Girl Scout cookies pair well with white wine?" she said. "I'm pretty sure I saw that on Facebook."

"Where should we sit?" he shouted over the noise.

"Let's see," she led him out of the room. "The family room has all its furniture on the ceiling. The living room is full of Volkswagen. Upstairs is probably booby-trapped again. Guess that leaves the kitchen."

They entered the kitchen, where four dogs had pulled the stack of dead pizza boxes off the kitchen island and spread them all over the floor. Now they were happily harvesting stray bits of cheese and pepperoni from the cardboard. Dog pranking at its best.

"Oh, good grief." Xenia, normally a neat person, shook her head in defeat. She didn't even try to pick up the pizza boxes, but gulped down her wine and set the glass on the counter. "Let's take a walk."

Kris grinned as Xenia picked up Lena, the curly labradoodle puppy, and left the room. She grabbed a jacket off the closet door knob as she passed, uncovering a black rubber tarantula hanging from the handle by a thread. She saw it and jumped before she realized it was fake.

Kris, right behind her, said, "I didn't think you allowed such amateurish pranks here. Isn't this the house of pros?"

Xenia scooted past the loud boys, into the front hall, and out the front door. Kris, chortling, was right behind her.

"It's a tradition to use that one every year." She handed him the squirmy pup and pulled on the jacket. "It was one of Huck's first trick spiders. And it still gets me every time." She found a dog leash in her pocket and hooked it on Lena's collar.

It was a cool clear evening. The scent of wildflowers from the nearby mountains wafted in on the light breeze. They headed down the sidewalk, Lena's fluffy blond butt wagging excitedly at every new smell.

"Say, Kris, why didn't you bring Laura with you tonight?" Xenia said, tongue in cheek.

"Oh, she left after dinner. She started quizzing me about pranking and found out my ... um ... history with it, then got kind of mad and split."

"Funny, that." She eyed him. "I also noticed my furniture in your dining room."

"Uh. About that." He shrugged in a rather cute way. "It was such a great prank. How could I deny the boys?"

"Whatever. I am so over today. You guys can and will do whatever you want on April first, and I can't stop it, so just whatev."

"Yes!" he yelled, pumping his fist in the air.

"So the furniture we just sat on for games ... is yours?" Xenia asked.

"Yep. The stuff you complained about."

"Seriously? I mean ..."

"Hey, my family has traditions, too. It was in my folks' mountain cabin for my whole childhood. I love that stuff." He sounded so earnest. "It's comfortable, too. And homey. You got the feel of it tonight. It's sturdy, nice."

"It's sturdy all right."

"Okay. It does say 'mountain cabin' quite loudly," Kris admitted. "But it was free. And it's comfy."

"Did it occur to you that 'free' is not necessarily attractive to women? I'm afraid that dining set may be the reason you're not married."

"What? Are you my dating consultant now?" He sounded peeved.

"Oh, God no." She tried, but couldn't keep herself from snorting.

They got to the end of the street and the dog dragged them left toward the hills onto a newer street that had just been graded for residences. It had no houses yet, just vacant lots and two construction sites among the weeds.

"Anyway, you guys better not have damaged my paintings today."

"Today was epic. Tom must be laughing hysterically in the ether around here." Kris paused. "Hear that?"

"Yes, I hear it. Guffawing is more like it." The dog pulled her along purposefully, nose to the weedy ground. "Over the years, I came to a sort of peace about his demise." She stopped to wait for a squatting Lena. "Oh, darn. I forgot my poop bags."

"How?" His voice in the darkness was sober now.

They walked on. She felt rather blessed by the wave of kind attention and support from this really nice guy, who had helped her and the boys more than she had ever imagined in her long, self-centered grief over Tom.

She took a big breath. "Well, it was all so badly timed. I mean, when is death ever well-timed? But he was gone just when I needed him most, when the boys were pulling away from me and needed a man. And he shouldn't have done it. I warned him not to do crazy shit, but he did it anyway, and I miss him like hell, and the kids miss him even more, and we'll never be the same again, and our lives were turned upside down. It was not pretty at all. It was awful and terrible and horrible and unforgivable and I'm just now getting my life back on track. But ..." She sighed. "I guess you could say that he died doing what he loved best. How many people get to do that?"

They had stopped in a dark patch at the end of the street. The calm, dark, empty street, void of people and light and movement, made it seem rather intimate.

Kris put his arms around Xenia and whispered, "I am so sorry, Xenia. We ran out of hardware inverting that huge chair. The boys and I made a Home Depot run. I wish I could go back, do it over, and make Tom come with us. But he stayed and fiddled with the chair."

"Why did it take so long for you to tell me this?" Xenia asked, feeling pretty good in Kris's arms. Was this a comforting embrace or something more?

He said, "Okay. I'd always had a ... bit of a crush on you. But I was hurting bad about Tom, too. If it turned out you hated me, it would have killed me. Shit! Coyote!"

Xenia laughed. "Kris! No more April fools pranks!"

But Kris lunged toward Lena, who had gotten ten or twelve feet behind Xenia on her retractable leash.

Xenia turned, expecting him to be back there laughing at her, and saw a coyote with its teeth sunk into Lena's back. Curly little Lena was under twenty pounds. The coyote, twice her size, was looking for a curly blond dinner.

Kris was now shouting at the top of his lungs, charging the wild animal, waving his hands over his head. Stunned, Xenia quickly pulled on the leash to reel her dog in.

The coyote dropped the dog and wandered off a few feet toward a construction site, a perfect place to hide. But then it sat down in full view, as if to say, "Dude, my home. I rule here."

Kris picked Lena up, but kept yelling. Xenia looked around on the ground for something to throw. She spied a piece of scrap lumber—a three-foot board—and picked it up.

"Shit, shit, shit! You get away from my dog!" She heaved the board at the wild animal. The plank didn't go very far, and the coyote only backed up a few feet, watching her like a dog playing fetch. She looked around again. There wasn't much else to throw, so she picked up a handful of loose gravel and got closer to the coyote before throwing it.

"Don't get too close. They can have rabies!" Kris yelled, retreating with the pup in his arms. "I'm calling the boys."

Xenia threw another handful of gravel at the coyote. "Don't you bite my dog, you son of a bitch!"

The coyote backed up and sat down again, looking bored.

Xenia found a small flashlight in her jacket pocket. The coyote's eyes gleamed red in the weak beam she shone on it. Then a second coyote appeared nearby.

"Another one! Let's get out of here." Xenia grabbed Kris's arm and they hustled back toward their street. Sweating and scared, Xenia reached in her pocket, digging around for a dog whistle among the Kleenex. Shit. It wasn't there. She looked back and gasped. "They're following us!"

She and Kris started running with the coyotes trotting after them, gaining on them.

"What are we gonna do against two of them?" she asked Kris, panic rising. They were still on the darker, deserted road, with quite a way to go before they reached their better-lit street where their neighbors would happily take them in.

"Yell!" he yelled.

Just then, her own Coyote drove up in her car, blasting the horn. He had the window open, and his arm stuck out of it holding an air horn, which he set off. The coyotes scampered away.

Kris and Xenia quickly got in back, Xenia getting a terrifying glimpse of Lena's nasty red wound in the process. "Take us to the emergency vet, kid. And you can change your name on your birthday. I give you consent. Screw your father's last wishes."

Coyote laughed. "You sure? 'Cause I was gonna change it to Groucho."

***

The next three days at the Marcks house were full of puppy care with hot compresses and repeat vet visits for little Lena's wound. In perfect Marcks fashion, she became a master at spitting out her antibiotic pills. Xenia also took the boys shopping for needed clothes, shoes, and dorm necessities. And of course, she was back swimming in tax returns for waiting clients.

Finally, on Sunday, the older three boys left for college, all stuffed into a roommate's car. Xenia, Ferris, and Coyote waved them off at the curb. The Ferris turned and said, "In August, it'll be all five of us going away. What are you gonna do then, Mom?"

Coyote said, "She'll need more dogs. Maybe she'll adopt some coyotes. They're tricksters, just like us, and they adore her."

Xenia punched him in the shoulder. "Don't be rude."

Then Kris appeared on the sidewalk, headed their way.

"Oooh. I know something she could do with her spare time." Ferris dodged Xenia's other fist.

The boys melted into the house to play their last video games of spring break as Kris strode up, looking rather more handsome than Xenia remembered him ever looking before. How had that happened? His clothes were similar, but something was definitely different.

"Need anything, Xenia? How's Lena today?" Kris said. When had his voice gotten so appealing?

"So far so good. Come in and see." They went inside the still very pink house—well, pink on the front. The boys had not had time to paint the beige sides. They found the puppy with the three other dogs in the family room, where the furniture had found its way back to the floor. Lena got up and wagged her tail when she saw them. The big, angry, shaved wounds on her shoulder looked awful, but didn't slow her down as she bounded toward them.

Xenia turned to him. "Kris. Thank you so much for your help on Wednesday. I don't know what I would have done without you. We took her to the vet again Friday and yesterday. They didn't even charge us to drain the wounds again."

"Wow. We were lucky. I've heard most coyote attacks on dogs don't end so happily." He sliced a finger across his throat.

Picking up the sweet little pup, she shivered. "I feel so stupid. I should have known to use a shorter leash at night."

"No problem." He produced a plastic bag from Petco. "I bought some new short ones for us to use. See? And we'll carry an air horn and a pellet gun when we go on walks at night."

Xenia smiled. "I notice we're using the word 'we' a lot here."

"Yes."

"No prank?"

"No prank." His eyes twinkled. "Oh. And bear spray. I got us some." Gazing at her with intense, smoldery dark eyes, he held a small spray can out to her. "For our walks at night."

She held his smoky gaze so long she almost burst out laughing. "So we're going on more walks at night? Despite the coyotes?"

"Oh, yes. We should. Lena needs her exercise."

"And this bear spray, which if I ever use it will probably blow back in my face and blind me forever is ..."

"A romantic gesture, of course."

"Well, okay then." Her arms still full of puppy, she reached up, pulled him close, and kissed him.

He set the dog down and took Xenia in his arms. "Xenia. One small thing I must admit."

"What?" She nestled in close, smelling his cedary smell, feeling wonderful.

"I like my log table."

"Fine. Keep it."

"But it fits so well in your dining room."

"I feel a double entendre lurking here. Or do you just want to trade your logs for my sheep?"

He laughed and kissed her. For a while. Deliciously. With video game sounds blaring and bleeping in the distance.

Sometime later, they took the dogs for a walk, this time armed for bear. At the end of the street, they looked back at Xenia's house, glowing a deep mauve in the late afternoon light.

Xenia said, "Hmm. With all the boys leaving, maybe I will keep the house pink for a while. It's kinda zippy."

"Yes, I like its new vibe," said Kris. "We could even paint the rest of it pink."

"We could." She cocked her head like a fashion diva. "You know, pink could be its real identity color." And she grabbed him and kissed him again.
Author Bio:

Amy Gettinger is the author of Roll with the Punches, a novel about plagiarism, Alzheimer's and roller derby, soon to be published as an eBook. She worked tirelessly for years as an English as a Second Language instructor for adults. Currently, she is writing and producing Reader's Theater plays with a cast of nonagenarians at her local assisted living facility. If you need a wig or a hat or a mustache, ask her. She is also the mother of two handsome young budding engineers and two small, piteous poodles. She lives with her husband in Southern California under a eucalyptus windrow full of crows and wild parrots.

Links:

Amy's blog, Raucous Eucalyptus, Piteous Poodles, is at amygettinger.com

Operation Tom Foolery

By

Suzie Jay

Dedicated to my own little band of mischievous fools' that have me fooling in love with them more every day. My children, Scott, Tahlia, Taylor, Mitch, Darcy and Brady. Thank you for loving me and for being so easy to love back.
Chapter 1.

Conspiring with the enemy.

Argh. Another perfect day in New York City. How annoying.

Maddison Leary limped along the busy street towards work. Her ridiculously high heels were blistering her feet already and she couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that had washed over her in the shower that morning. She really should get the plumber to take a look at that. It had been happening more and more lately. Maybe she could pretend to be sick. She lifted her hands and started to count on her fingers how many days she had taken off that year.

Bummer, way too many already. Looks like I have a date with the troll I can't get out of.

Maddison had worked hard to get through University to gain her dream job. Little did she know what a nightmare it would become. The work was great but her boss, Angela, was a real tyrant. It was no secret amongst those in the field that she was a disaster to work for. Maddison kicked herself for not researching the job offer more thoroughly. She had been so excited to be picked up, straight from NYU into one of the largest and most recognized fashion houses in the world that she had neglected to look any further into it. Now she was trapped with the beast and her yes men.

She pushed the revolving door that led into the building as she resigned herself to her fate. The skinny woman at reception eyed her suspiciously. Her grey hair was pulled so tightly into a bun that her eyes could barely open. Maddison tried not to giggle. The woman's lips were pursed so tight her mouth resembled a cat's behind. You would think after two years of working here, she would realize I'm not going to rob the place. She smiled and waved just to annoy the old duck further. She was rewarded with a look so stern it would have even scared Angela. Come to think of it, there were some resemblances there. It was probably Angela's mother.

Maddison darted towards the elevator and slipped her arm straight into the gap to prevent the door from closing. She stepped inside and looked nervously at her watch. Damn! Three minutes late. The elevator stopped and the doors flew open. Angela was standing with her arms crossed in front of herself and was tapping her foot impatiently. This woman was relentless. Maddison was convinced she had some sort of honing device that sent off a high pitched siren that only Angela and dogs could hear, whenever she was late.

"You're late" Angela snapped.

"I'm sorry, it's only three minutes. My alarm didn—"

"Do you realize there are approximately 250 work days in a year?" Angela interrupted.

'Umm, okay."

"If you are three minutes late every day for a year it means you owe me 750 minutes of labor. Would you like to stay back during the end of year holidays to make up that time or should I just deduct it from your paycheck?"

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I promise." Maddison looked at the ground and scuffed her feet.

"Oh, for Goodness sake woman, look at me while you're speaking. You aren't a child anymore. Meet me in my office in five minutes and bring coffee."

Oh, what? Could this day get any worse?

Maddison walked to her office, took off her jacket and contemplated jumping out the 8th story window.

Knowing my luck, Angela will be waiting for me as I hit the pavement.

She snatched up her clipboard and a pen and made her way towards Angela's office. Although she had worked for the company for over two years, she had never been inside the dragon's lair before. Angela was more often found lurking around the halls ready to pounce, or out at some lavish business lunch. There was a conference room that was used for most meetings so it was highly unusual for her to request someone's presence in her personal work space.

Maybe I'm going to be fired. She was unsure whether she should panic or be relieved as she tapped quietly on the door.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

She was just about to give up and scurry back to the sanctuary of her own office when the door inched open a crack. Angela's eye appeared in the gap. The door flew open and Angela pulled Maddison into the office and slammed it behind her. She strode across the room to her large mahogany desk that was devoid of any family photos, indoor plants or any other personal effects.

"Where's my coffee?" Angela had regained her composure and began to shuffle papers.

"Sorry. The coffee machine has broken down again." She improvised in an attempt to save her ass. This was turning out to be the day from hell and it wasn't even 9 am.

"Sit down."

She pulled up a chair. She was surprised to see that the room was light and airy. The walls were painted in a light dusky pink and large comfy couches lined the wall under the windows. Maddison was unsure what she had expected, but certainly not pink paint, throw cushions and sunshine. She had envisioned something closer to a dark, damp dungeon with the remains of ex-employees still chained to the bare brick walls.

"I have got a top secret project that needs your artistic flair." Angela began, and then glared at her like she was still deciding if she wanted to entrust such a huge mission to Maddison. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected her closely. Maddison moved about in her seat and busied herself, straightening her skirt and picking invisible lint from her cardigan.

"I want to play a little prank on my brother Tom for April Fools' Day. It hasn't escaped me that you have a real way with words. So I have a little task that will be right up your alley."

"A prank? How intriguing."

"Yes. Basically I want you to write him a love letter. Lay it on thick, but keep it believable. I want you to send him on one of those wild goose chases all over the city. Like a love hunt."

"Wow, that's so not what I was expecting, it sounds really fun. I would love to help you." Maddison babbled excitedly.

She looked up to see Angela smirking her evil grin and quickly realized there was much more to this than a harmless prank to tease her brother.

"I want him running around all day. You can leave him little clues. He will totally go for it. He's a complete sucker when it comes to romance. Let the adventure end at the restaurant across the street. I'll be there to meet him. I can't wait to see the look of disappointment on his face."

"Will he find this funny, do you think?"

Maddison was desperate to find out what Angela's motivation was, but she had to tread carefully. For her own safety, she couldn't cross her, but she didn't want to hurt Tom either. He was such a sweet guy. She remembered once when she and a small group of other workers had had to stay back past dinner time to get the summer line finished for an upcoming fashion show. Tom had turned up unexpectedly, armed with pizzas and soda for everyone. He'd rolled up his sleeves and helped get the job done. They'd all had lots of laughs that night and it hadn't hurt that Tom was a dead set stunner. Regardless of that, she had to remember the promotion she had been working hard for. Angela had been dangling the carrot for months and she couldn't afford to stuff it up now.

"No, not at all" Angela stated bluntly, "and that's the point. His heart is too big."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Maddison asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Not in business, darling. He needs to stop this bleeding heart crap and toughen up. Can you believe he wants to donate a percentage of our profit to charity?"

"Oh, I think that's lovely." She gushed.

"You would, and that's why I run a multi-million dollar company and you, my dear, are my coffee girl."

"I'm hardly a coffee girl, I graduated top of my class at—"

"I'm sorry. Silly me. Did I give the impression that I care about your life story? I really need to work on that." Angela interrupted in a sharp tone.

Maddison tried to hold her breath. If she passed out, it might stop her from punching this rat-faced woman, square in her pointy, stuck-up nose.

"Look the bottom line is, I need my brother out of the office for the day. The children's charity he is interested in rang back. They made an appointment for the 1st of April. I need to take charge of that and send them and their snotty-nosed kids on their way before he commits to giving them my hard earned cash."

"Oh, I see." The penny finally dropped for Maddison as she realized that sadly, her instincts were correct and there was no fun behind this prank at all.

"Breathe a word of this and you will be fired. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Angela."

"Since when have we been on a first name basis?"

"I'm sorry Ms. Pritchard You told me last week you prefer Angela."

"Well I've changed my mind. Now keep your eye on my pathetic brother and make sure he's occupied. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely. I will start straight away."

Maddison rose and walked towards the door.

"Ms. Leary. You have two days to get this organized. I am giving you the freedom to come and go for the rest of the week, and Dianna and the petty cash draw are at your disposal. Don't let me down."

As Maddison walked out of the office, she was glad of only one thing. She loved Dianna. They had been firm friends since they had started working together. If nothing else, she would enjoy running around the city, even if it was to plan Tom's defeat.
Chapter 2.

April Fools' Day

Tom Pritchard sat at his desk that over looked the city. His reflection stared sadly back at him as he reached for his brief case. It was a perfect day. Much too perfect to be sitting in a temperature-controlled office that smelled like disinfectant and the odd whiff of cheap perfume from Mrs. Bishop, his aging secretary.

I really need some excitement in my life. I want to get out and enjoy life instead of watching it pass me by under the glow of fluorescent lighting.

He leaned back into his chair and reached for the pile of mail that awaited his urgent attention.

Argh. Monotony. Design requests, fashion show invites, pink envelope covered in hearts. Hmm. I wonder what this is.

He flipped it over and slid his letter opener along the lip of the envelope. Pink glitter spilled out across his desk.

What in the world?

He lifted the pink paper to his nose and inhaled deeply.

Perfumed paper.

He unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Tom,

I have pondered over admitting my feelings to you for some time. I have imagined us together in a thousand different scenarios. When I look at you I see everything I have ever wanted. You are kind and sweet and have such a beautiful heart. We share so many ideals, but to you I am merely an employee. Well Tom, today is the day! I want more. I want a chance to win your heart. This is very out of character for me. I am usually very shy and reserved and I am sure you have never noticed me. But I have noticed you. The way you walk, the way you smile, but mostly the way you make the people around you happy. If you are interested in coming on an adventure, I have one planned for you. Follow the clues and they will lead you to me. I really hope you show up. It will be lonely without you.

Your secret admirer.

Tom smiled to himself. Well, I wanted something different. This could quiet possibly be the cutest thing I have ever seen. Do people really spray perfume on their love letters? Isn't that something that only happens in movies?

He checked the envelope. There in the bottom was a small piece of card. He dug it out and stared at the neat loopy hand writing.

Clue 1: This is one of the most filmed locations in the world. It has been used in many movies. It can be seen from your office window. Even your warm heart can't Trump such cold conditions.

He picked up his blackberry and checked his schedule. All clear. Just more boring housekeeping tasks. Nothing that couldn't be left until tomorrow.

No, this is stupid. It could be a 50-year-old man waiting for me. I couldn't possibly take the risk. But then it might be Maddison from down the hall. Oh, Maddison.

Now that is a woman he could see himself settling down with. She was the loveliest lady. He had seen her with the rest of the staff. They loved her and respected her. He had noticed the little dimple in her left cheek when she smiled and the row of perfectly straight teeth. She drove him crazy and she didn't even know it. She was too busy working hard and trying to impress his rotten sister. He had no idea why Angela refused to promote her. Her fashion sense was quirky and spontaneous. He never knew what he would get when she arrived at work each morning. One day it would be a 50's housewife-inspired ensemble and the next, the height of fashion. By the following week, she would have changed it up again. He liked that. Her look never had a chance to get stale, and he thought she was perfectly suited in the design team with him. Angela was just so darn stubborn.

Nope, I can't go. I will start working through my emails.

He spun his chair and switched on the computer. 582 unread messages. Not bad.

Central park, Trump ice skating rink. That's it, that's the answer to the first clue.

He checked it again. One of the most filmed places in the world. He had seen that on a documentary about Central Park. Even his warm heart couldn't trump such cold conditions. Trump Ice rink. He jumped up and grabbed his coat and threw it on quickly. He grabbed his brief case and reached back to snatch the letter and clue off of his desk. He all but ran out the door and started off down the hall.

"Are you alright, sir?" Mrs. Bishop called after him.

"I'm fine. Something's come up, and I'll be out for the day." He tried to act calm as he made his way to the elevator. It was difficult. As pathetic as it was, this was the most exciting thing he'd done in a long time. If all else failed, he planned to thoroughly enjoy his day out in the sunshine and avoid eye contact with any 50-year-old men in trench coats.

Dianna watched with interest as Tom made a mad dash for the lifts. He looked so excited, the poor guy. She glanced over towards the water cooler and saw Angela grinning menacingly at Tom as the doors closed behind him.

Argh. She couldn't stand that woman. No one could.

She watched as Angela retreated back into her office and closed the door firmly behind her. Dianna picked up the phone and rang Maddison's number.

"Hello." Maddison answered on the other end.

"Maddy, it's Dianna. He's taken the bait. He's on his way. He nearly flew out of here. He is such a romantic, I wish my husband was spontaneous and playful like Tom."

"Dianna, you're gushing again."

"Sorry, he is just so gush-able." Dianna laughed into the phone.

"Okay, I'm in position. You head out to Liberty Island and wait for him. I'll try to follow him through Central Park."

"Keep me updated." Dianna squealed just as Maddison hung up.

Maddison made her way to the ice rink and walked up to the booth. A staff member approached her immediately.

"Hi there. I have a bit of an unusual request and I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Do you need skates?" The young woman asked.

"No, not exactly. I actually have a little letter I was hoping I could leave here for a friend of mine. You see it's a little April Fools' Day prank. He will be here any minute. His name is Tom and he is tall and incredibly handsome. He will be wandering around here looking lost. If you could just hand him this envelope." She pulled the pink envelope titled CLUE 2, out of her bag.

"Umm, I'm not sure?" The girl looked hesitant and was looking around for backup.

Time to clinch the deal.

"I'll pay you $100." She pulled the money from her purse to show she was serious.

"Just to hand him an envelope?" The girl questioned. She couldn't believe her luck.

"Yep and don't give him any details about me. I want to surprise him. Is it a deal?"

"Sure." She took the envelope and turned it over in her hands. "It doesn't look like $100 worth of importance to me."

"Well it is and I really appreciate your help. Thank you." Maddison held out the money and the girl took it sheepishly.

Maddison darted away and hid behind a large tree that had branches that hung almost to the ground. She pulled out a pair of binoculars and prepared herself. Her heart was racing.

She should never have agreed to this. What if he got angry and fired her? She couldn't imagine him angry, but this was an extreme situation and she wouldn't blame him.

It felt like she had been standing under the tree for a really long time when she finally saw Tom approach. She adjusted her binoculars and zoomed in on him.

***

Tom wandered around the edge of the rink. What am I looking for, exactly? He nodded and smiled at a few people as they sped past. None of them seemed like they were waiting for him. Maybe he was supposed to skate. He made his way over to the skating booth with the intent of hiring some equipment when a young woman approached. She walked right up to him and held out her hand. In it was a bright pink envelope covered in hearts.

"I'm sorry if it's something bad. Someone dropped it off and asked me to give it to you." She stammered as she began to retreat backwards.

"It's okay. Thanks for your help." He reached out and took the envelope. "It must get cold working out here all day on the ice."

"It does a bit, but I love it. I have been skating since I was a child. Now I teach other people how to skate."

He noticed her eyes light up and he could see the passion she had for her job. He looked around and saw a coffee vender nearby.

"Be right back." He dashed over to the vendor and ordered a dozen hot chocolates. He waited patiently as the elderly gentleman carefully topped each one with a sprinkle of cocoa.

He thanked him and tipped him handsomely. He made his way back to the booth and put the trays of coffee down on the counter. This is for you and your friends, try to stay warm.

"Thanks Mister." She smiled at him as she reached for a cup.

"My pleasure. But tell me before I go, what did the person that left this look like?"

"I'm sorry but she said I wasn't allowed to tell you anything." She smiled conspiratorially at him.

Well at least she was female. He dipped his head and walked a few steps away to open the envelope.

Clue 2: Angela may be the Queen of Empire fashion house and I a mere pawn in her game, but I have made my move. Now you must make yours.

Hmm, Queen of Empire fashion house. Do I need to go back to work? No wait, Queen, pawn, making a move. I've got it.

He ran across the grass. He didn't care who saw him. This was the best fun he had had since he was a child.

***

By the time Maddison arrived at the Chess and Checkers house in Central Park, Tom was sitting next to an elderly man, intently discussing the strategic techniques involved in a game of Checkers. She was relieved to see that he had ended up where he was supposed to. She hadn't expected him to run off like that. She had no chance of keeping up with her high heels and a park full of people staring at her. She was trying to keep a low profile. Running like a mad woman would not have been the best idea.

Maddison had been here earlier and handed the next envelope to Mr. Greene. He lived across the street from her and she knew his granddaughter. He had assured her he would pass it on to Tom. She looked around, but couldn't see Mr. Greene anywhere. Oh, no, I hope he didn't forget and go off home. She ducked down behind one of the stone tables. She didn't need her binoculars and hoped Tom wouldn't see her.

"What are you doing down there love?"

Maddison nearly jumped out of her skin. "Oh. Mr. Greene, you scared me."

"Sorry love but are you alright? Why are you hunched over on the ground?"

"Mr. Greene, I'm hiding from Tom remember? You were supposed to give him the pink envelope."

"Yes that's right. I got called away on urgent business. I'll go and do it now."

"What urgent business? You're retired."

"Darn prostate keeps calling. Can't go more than a few minutes without needing to go."

"Oh, okay. I'm sorry to hear that. Remember please don't tell Tom anything about me and don't let on that I'm here."

"Okay love, I've got it."

"Oh, and Mr. Greene, I am cooking pot roast tonight. I know how much you love it and there is too much for just me. Would you care to join me at say 7:00?"

"You sure know the way to a man's heart little Miss. See you at seven." Mr. Greene scuffed his way over to Tom. "Excuse me young man. An extremely attractive young lady asked me to give you this." He held out the pink envelope and Maddison saw him quickly survey the area.

She ducked back down.

"Thank you sir. Mr. Cape and I are just about to play a checker tournament. Are you interested in joining us?"

"I would love that. Thank you. I'll play the winner."

Maddison watched as they busied themselves, setting up the board. It was really very sweet of Tom to stop and play. He was a busy man, and she knew he must be dying to know what was in that envelope, although he didn't show it. He acted like he had all the time in the world. She took the opportunity to give Dianna a quick call.

"Dianna, it's Maddy. You will never guess what he did?"

"Oh, no, he went the wrong way?"

"No, he is on the right path, but he is just so perfect I nearly can't stand it."

"See, totally and utterly gush-able." She confirmed.

"Okay, fine, maybe a little."

"So what exactly has Mr. Perfect done to make you see the error of your ways?"

"Well, first he stopped to chat to the girl at the ice rink. Then he went off and came back with a bunch of hot drinks for all the staff. Honestly Dianna, who does that sort of thing?"

"The perfect man."

Maddison could hear Dianna laughing on the other end of the phone.

"Stop it you. You're married."

"Yeah, but you're not. Anyway where are you?"

"We are still in Central Park. He is currently in the middle of a checkers tournament with my neighbor Mr. Greene and another gentleman wearing a flat cap. He is really enjoying this and I love that he wants to spend time here with the elderly. Wait a second Dianna, someone's trying to ring me. I'll put you on hold."

Maddison looked down at the screen. Argh. It's the beast. What does she want now?

"Hello, Maddison speaking."

"Maddison, its Angela. Are you successfully distracting my brother?"

"Of course. We're in Central Park at the moment. How can I help you?"

"Unfortunately, I can't be there this afternoon to meet my brother. I was really looking forward to it, but I've been called out on urgent business. It's not a complete waste, though. If this charity is on time, I should be able to deal with them before I leave. You just need to keep him out of the office. To reward you for your good work, you can meet him for the late lunch. I will leave it to you to tell him the good news about his precious charity."

"Okay, I'll--"

She hung up.

"Hello Maddison?"

"Oops sorry Dianna, I forgot you were on the other end of the phone. Angela is driving me crazy. She just rang and can't make the lunch with Tom. She's sending me to go and break the news to him about his charity. I just feel so terrible. He is going to hate me Dianna."

"Well, not if we tweak the plan a little."

"Dianna, what are you thinking?"

***

Tom had finished the tournament and Maddison had no idea if he had won or lost. But she supposed that wasn't the point of it really. He was just a nice guy who liked to connect with people. She watched as he ripped open his third clue. She hoped it wasn't too vague. It simply stated: You bring out my animal instincts. If he didn't head towards the zoo, she wouldn't know what she'd do. He might need to receive an intervention text from Dianna in an emergency.

Tom walked straight to the Central Park Zoo. It was a nice day for a stroll and Maddison was glad that he took it slower this time. He walked in through the gate, and she slipped quietly in a few seconds later. If he had thought to stop and turn around at any point throughout the day, she could have been in real trouble, although she doubted he would know who she was, even if he tripped over her. Besides, walking behind him was a great view. His backside in those black work slacks did something to her.

She decided to let him wander around for a while and look at the animals. She was an animal lover and could happily spend every day here at the zoo. Although she had to admit, it wasn't the same since Gus the polar bear passed away.

She had loved watching him when she was a child, swimming his laps. She'd heard he'd had to be put down because he was lonely and had died of a broken heart. It was very sad and romantic. She loved Betty and Veronica, the grizzly bears that had replaced him. She was a closet Archie comic fan, so she thought the names were very cool, although maybe they should have been named Veronica and Angela. They were both vicious creatures. The only bear that should be named after Betty would be the teddy bears in the gift shop. She was more of a Betty, she decided.

She hid behind a map of the zoo that she had picked up as she entered. She knew she must look ridiculous, like she was in a bad 1980's spy movie. He was looking at the penguins, and she was dying to go and stand with him and talk about their cuteness. She saw him smiling down at them. Argh. This guy was too perfect. How wasn't he married already?

A small boy nearby pulled away from his mother and ran off to get a closer look at the penguins. He stood next to Tom holding a bright red balloon in his hands. He looked up, and with bubbling childhood enthusiasm, began squealing in delight as the penguins slid around on their bellies.

"Look, Mister. They are skating on their tummies."

'I know. Aren't they funny?" Tom smiled at him.

"I want one as a pet."

"I think you will need to move to Antarctica then. Or you could grow up to be a zookeeper and then you could have them all."

"Yes, I want to be a zoo keeper and then I can have bears and elephants and tigers and everything."

"That's right. So make sure you study hard and always listen to you mommy." He reached over and ruffled the little boy's hair.

Maddison walked over to the boy's mother, who was searching frantically for her son, who was only a few feet away.

"Excuse me, if you are looking for your little boy, he is just over there with a friend of mine, looking at the penguins." Maddison pointed in the direction of Tom and the little boy.

"Thank goodness. Thank you." The lady raised her hand to her chest.

"That's alright. I was wondering if you could pass the gentleman a little note for me? It's a love letter and I'm much too shy to give it to him myself."

"Oh, that's adorable. I would love to give it to him." She reached out and took the pink envelope.

"Thank you. I had better go and make myself scarce before he sees me." She waved goodbye and went to seek refuge behind the edge of a brick building.

The boy's mother strode quickly over to retrieve her son.

"I'm sorry. He is so adventurous. I only turned around for a second and he disappeared. I hope he wasn't bothering you."

"A child is never a bother, Ma'am. We were just having a man to man conversation about future career options."

"Oh, really? And what was it this week? A fireman? Policeman?"

"A zookeeper." He laughed.

"Well that's a new one. Thank you for finding him."

"I think he found me, actually."

"One more thing before I go. A young lady gave me this letter to give to you."

"Thank you." He turned the letter over in his hands.

"You know it takes a lot of courage for a woman to put herself out there like that. Go easy on her."

"Well, she has already captured my attention. Time will tell if we capture each other's hearts, I suppose."

"Well, good luck." She nodded towards her son, who was impatiently pulling her away.

"Come on, Mom. I want to see the seals."

Tom ripped open the clue. Clue 4: Not long now. French fries are a great gift from the French to the USA but not as great as the gift of her.

Tom stood still for what felt like a lifetime. He was rubbing his temples and began to wander around in circles. He looked deep in thought. He pulled out his phone and started tapping away.

I can't believe it. I bet he's Googling.

He suddenly looked like he had won the lottery and took off out of the zoo. Maddison tried to keep up, but he lost her just before the exit. She broke into a waddling run. The high heels were really starting to leave their mark now. She got through the gates and looked around. She spotted him in the distance heading towards 5th Avenue. He was attempting to hail a cab. Maddison began to gain ground. When she was a few feet away, she saw a cab pull up. He jumped in and then he was gone.

Well, it was out of her hands now. Hopefully, he was heading towards the statue of liberty and hopefully Dianna had made the adjustments that needed to be made.

She should have a couple of hours to relax while Tom was busy sightseeing. She would dash home and have a quick shower, get changed and make her way back to the restaurant across the street. She felt as nervous as if this was a real first date. Even though she wasn't actually the prize and this was all a prank, she didn't think she could bare it if Tom looked too disappointed. Maybe she could close her eyes as he entered. That way she wouldn't have to see his reaction. Yep, that would win his heart for sure.
Chapter 3.

Overturning the Troll

Maddison was led to a corner table at the back of Regents Restaurant. She had booked the table days ago and still had to drop Angela Pritchard's name just to be considered. The place looked swanky and she instantly felt out of place.

"Will Ms. Pritchard be joining you soon?" The maître d questioned her suspiciously.

I'm surprised he isn't cross eyed, looking down his nose at people like that.

"No, there has been a change of plans. Tom Pritchard should be here shortly. I would appreciate it if you could show him to the table." She tried to sound as professional as she could, but the quiver in her voice and her less-than-sophisticated blue sundress was giving her away.

"Certainly, Ma'am." He shot her one last filthy look before he scurried away.

She got out her cellphone and keyed in Dianna's number.

"Oh, my God, Maddy. I was just about to call you."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I'm married. That's what the matter is. I tell you I have never known such a perfect man. You're one lucky lady."

"Umm, you're gushing again and you do understand he isn't really my date, right?" Maddison rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling a little at her over-enthusiastic friend. She knew Dianna was joking. She had never seen two people so in love as Dianna and her husband. Sometimes their public displays of affection could be nauseating. She was well aware that this sudden interest in Tom was all directed at her. She didn't need Dianna to point out how fantastic he was. She had been witness to it for two years and all day today.

"You may not be his date yet, Maddy, but once he sees you, he will ask you out for real. You wait and see."

"I hope you're right, Dianna."

"Uh huh! I knew it. You like him."

"Who wouldn't? I mean honestly, look at the package."

"You've seen his package?" Dianna squealed.

"Oh, God no, not that package. I mean he seems like an all-round great guy, handsome, rich, kind." Maddison blushed hot pink.

"Sorry, Maddy, but I do believe you are gushing."

They both laughed until Maddison became aware of the other dinners glaring at her and hissing at her to be quiet.

"Dianna, I have to go. Is he on his way?"

"He should be there any minute, unless he didn't understand the clue, of course. But Maddy, you should have seen him at the statue. It was the cutest thing. There was this couple trying to take photos of themselves in front of the entrance, so he went over and offered to take photos for them. Before I knew it, he was practically running a photo booth. At least a dozen couples had him taking photos. You know what? He did it with a smile and didn't appear like he had anything better to do."

Maddison sighed deeply. "He is just too wonderful. I'm glad we decided to do what we did, but if anyone gets fired over this, let it be me. I'll deny you knew anything about it."

"No one will be fired. Tom won't let that happen."

"I hope you're—Oh, no, he's here." Maddison had become so accustomed to hiding from Tom that she began to slide down in her chair.

"Okay, I want all the details later. Ring me!"

Maddison watched as the snooty man from earlier led Tom towards the table. She panicked. She looked for an escape hatch, an ejection button—heavenly intervention. Anything. Nothing.

She peered up through a curtain of hair and under the protection of her long lashes. Tom glanced up and saw her. They made eye contact, and he didn't run screaming from the building. In fact, he looked overjoyed.

Overjoyed to see her? Surely not. Could it be? No—yes!

He strode towards her, almost pushing Mr. Snooty out of the way. He leaned over the table and took her hand. He brought it to his lips and grazed his mouth gently across the back of her hand. "Maddison." He whispered, like he was finally privy to a lifelong secret.

He knows my name?

"Maddison, I'm so glad it's you. I was scared to hope, but now I see you here I'm relieved. I didn't want to see anyone else here waiting."

Say what? Her? He wanted it to be her? Oh, he was about to be pissed, big time!

"Mr. Pritchard, please sit down. I have a lot to say and not much time to say it in." She waved her hand towards one of the spare seats at the opposite side of the table.

He ignored her gesture and pulled out the chair that was right next to hers. He spun it to face her.

Oh, God.

"I need to tell you something. You aren't going to like it. In fact, I doubt you'll ever want to speak to me again."

"I doubt that could ever happen." He assured her.

Why does he have to look at me with such caring eyes? ARGH!

"Well do you know what today is?"

"Yes."

"You do?" She felt some relief. Maybe he knew it was a joke all along.

"Yes, it's the best day of my life to date. I got spared the daily grind of the office. I ran around outdoors and got to see some amazing things that I haven't seen for a really long time. But most extraordinarily, I got to meet you at the end of it all."

"Well, umm, that's great. I'm glad you had fun, but there is something else special about today."

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes, it's umm, April Fools' Day. April the 1st."

"So you mean to tell me that this was all a joke? You have no feelings for me and I just made a complete twat of myself? I can't believe you could be so cruel."

"No, Tom, it's not like that. Please don't be mad. I didn't want this to happen. It was your sister's idea to—"

"Of course my sister would be involved in this." He growled and pushed his seat back. He stood and began to storm out of the restaurant. He turned back to look over his shoulder. "You shouldn't play with people's feelings, Maddison."

The look on his face near broke her heart. He hated her. She actually could have had a chance with this man and she had blown it.

"Tom, don't go. I do have feelings for you. I have been crushing on you from the first day I saw you. During the interview process." She shouted it out as quickly as she could, like a recorder stuck on fast forward.

"I don't believe you." He stopped walking.

"I'm sorry. Angela said it—"

"What about my sister? How is she behind this?" He turned and walked back to the table.

"Please, Tom, sit down. Let me tell you the whole story and then you can fire me or never speak to me again or whatever you like. Please, just don't hate me. I couldn't bare it."

"You have five minutes." He pulled a chair out. She noticed it was the furthest away this time. He couldn't even look at her. She tried not to cry. This was exactly what she didn't want to happen. She hated Angela and this stupid job.

Maddison began to tell Tom all the sordid details. She told him of his sister's plan to fool him, she told him about the letters, and that she had been following him. She told him that Dianna had been helping her and saw him at the statue of Liberty and then she told him why.

"She wanted you out of the office," she confessed.

"But why?"

"The children's charity that you wanted to help. They rang back and made an appointment for today."

"What? Why wasn't I told?"

"Angela doesn't want you giving away your family's hard earned cash." Maddison was speaking in barely a whisper now. Her throat felt dry, like it was swelling. She was praying it would close over completely and she would choke to death. At least then she wouldn't have to suffer through this any longer.

"I should have known." He narrowed his eyes as if beginning to understand the depths of his sister's evilness.

"But it's okay."

"How could this possibly be okay?"

"I had Dianna call the charity and reschedule the meeting for 3:00 pm here in this restaurant. They should be here any minute."

"Really?" He smiled big. She was so relieved. She knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least his mood had lifted.

"We have a few minutes before 3:00. I have questions about us." He looked her straight in the eye and she couldn't look away, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

There's an 'us'? She fought against the urge to hike up her dress and tap dance on the table.

"How much of today was you and how much of this was my sister?" He looked at her like he had that first day in the interview room.

"I told you. I wrote the letter and I—"

"I know that, but how much of that letter was true and how much was just a prank?"

She sighed. It was now or never. She had kept her feelings for Tom at bay for two years. Things couldn't get any worse at this point, so what the hell?

"Tom, I think you are a wonderful man. I wrote in that letter all the things I would have told you if I had been brave enough. I took it as an opportunity to share my real feelings without the risk of getting hurt. Yet here I am, hurting. I'm so sorry Tom. I didn't want to get fired and to tell you the truth. Your sister scares the shit out of me. I'm sorry I went along with it."

"That's okay. She scares the shit out of me too. Most kids have nightmares growing up about monsters under the bed. I was more scared of the one in the room next to me."

Maddison tried not to laugh. She sneaked a peak at him. To her relief, he was smiling broadly.

"So what you're saying is that you love me, right?" He teased her.

"Well love is a strong word."

"So you don't love me?"

"Well yes I do but ..."

"But what?"

"But—well, I don't know. Maybe it's a bit early for that."

"Maddison, we have been flirting for two years."

"We have?"

"Well I have. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get this relationship started."

"Really?" She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face like ice cream on a toddler.

"Stop acting so coy. You knew I was crazy about you. Now come over here and let me kiss you before I give this charity a ridiculous amount of my sister's money."

She got up and practically skipped over to him. He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her passionately. When she came up for air, she felt giddy. The world seemed to spin and she wondered if it was possible to die of happiness. Her heart felt like it was swelling and might explode at any time. That could be messy, and she was sure the other diners would not approve. Speaking of other diners—she looked around and was confronted by disapproving looks and tsking from one of the ladies sitting opposite. Awkwardly, she slid off his lap and into the chair next to him.

Tom called over a waiter. "I want a bottle of your best champagne on every table. Charge it to the Pritchard account." He winked at Maddison. "More of the company money."

***

Later that afternoon, Maddison breezed into the office without a care in the world. This had turned out to be one of the best days of her life. Nothing could ruin the feeling she was currently experiencing. Not even—

"Maddison, where the hell have you been? I have been calling you."

"Oh, sorry Angela I was in a business lunch."

"What business lunch?"

"The one with Tom and the Rainbow children's charity. They were so grateful for Tom's very generous donation. Ten percent of all your profits for the next year. They were ecstatic."

"What? How? They never showed up?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention that we rescheduled the meeting to the Regent across the street? Lucky too, Tom happened to be there."

"What do you mean he happened to be there? I had you send him there."

"Oh, yes. That's right. You did. Oops"

"Why, you double crossing, two faced little snitch. You're fired." Angela's face had turned rage red.

"Don't set the fire alarms off with the smoke that's coming out of your ears, darling. I already have a new job. I'm just grabbing my things and I will be on my way."

"You will never work in this town again," Angela spat.

"I will do better than that. I will be working just down the hall. You see, I now work for your brother. He was very generous. I have a massive pay rise and I will be working on projects that I had set out to do when I graduated."

"You rotten little bitch."

Maddison pushed past her and walked towards her office. She looked back over her shoulder and shot one last remark before slamming the door.

"April Fools' Angela! It looks like the joke is on you."
Author Information:

I am mum of six who lives in Australia with my delicious husband and band of little misfits. I used to be a school teacher but escaped and now I am torturing the world by sharing what's inside my head. You may not come away more enlightened but I'm hoping you will come away, having had a giggle.

Author Links:

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzie-Jay/1517547845161295?ref=hl

Twitter: https://twitter.com/zeeyone3

Google+ zeeyone74@gmail.com

Blog/website: www.suziejayauthor.blogspot.com.au

April's Fool

By

Celia Kennedy

Love is the wisdom of the fool and the folly of the wise.

\- Samuel Johnson

This book is dedicated to all of us who are fools in love!

May we all find someone we can happily act the fool for, and know that the only thing we risk is a smile.

For Paul, with whom I can be completely foolish.

This is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialogue and characters are a product of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Copyright @2015 Celia Kennedy

(www.celiakennedy.weebly.com)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

April's Fool: a novella / Celia Kennedy

First Edition

Cover Art by Celia Kennedy

Edited by Wm. Miller Proofreading

http://williambryanmiller.com/proofreading/needProofreading.php
6:45 am, March 30, 2015, Los Angeles California

In a shrill voice, I exclaimed, "That's impossible! Tell me again, I need more details. What are they reporting?" Bewildered. I was bewildered and my voice echoed the confused state of my thoughts. I pressed my trembling fingers to my lips to prevent myself from gnawing them to bits.

Nadine, my best friend since childhood, repeated the latest celebrity gossip that was headlining TV, newspapers, and tabloids worldwide. She spoke slowly and repeated what was currently being reported. I could hear the announcer in the background, whom she parroted. She recited the same information she'd already shared twice. Third time's the charm. Not!

"But that just isn't possible! Three days ago, I drove Shane and Ashley to the airport. They were meeting Tyr and Courtney there, and then flying to Cabo for a week." I noted that my voice was less shrill, but was still heavy with confusion. I took it as a good sign meaning I was past the panic phase.

There was dead silence on Nadine's end. "Hello?" I called into the phone anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm still here. I'm just trying to suss the whole thing. You did all the usual, right?"

"Yes, I bought the tickets, booked the house, hired security, hired the caterer, booked the car and driver, and planted a fake story. All the usual stuff."

There was no hesitation on Nadine's end, "You need to call everyone and anyone who is connected with the trip to Mexico, and find out what they know. What if he didn't even make it to Cabo? You have a lot to deal with. Hey. Call me when you know something."

Thank god for Nadine. She had woken me out of a deep sleep when she'd called, and her news had left me so flummoxed that I was only just piecing together that I had people to call, a crisis to sort out. "You're right. I'm going to call Neil. Maybe he can tell me how my boss, my world-famous celebrity boss, ended up in an Australian jail, instead of lounging under a palapa, lying next to a mostly-naked, rail-thin actress on a sandy beach in Mexico."

Nadine grunted loads of 'un huhs,' which floated through the air since I'd put her on speaker phone while I paced the room, tugged at my hair, and flapped my arms around nervously, things I often found myself doing when faced with a major dilemma.

"Oh, crap!" Nadine exploded.

I stopped mid-step and turned to stare at the speaker phone sitting on my desk. "What?" I knew from the tone of her voice that what I was about to hear wasn't going to bode well. She shushed me, clearly trying to pay attention to the TV announcer. After what seemed an eternity, she spoke in an anxious voice, "It's getting worse, Talia. Are you sitting down?"

My eyes zeroed in on my desk chair. I lurched for it, and fell into it without the slightest hint of gracefulness. I closed my eyes and gripped the black leather armrests. "I am now." Was I ready?

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. A photo of you, topless, with your hand on Shane's ... er' thigh, with him looking ... relieved, shall we say, is on the telly. The caption is, 'Shane Clarke cheating on Ashley Rutherford with Personal Assistant, Talia Rhodes.'" She gave me a moment to absorb it all before she asked, "Sweetie, is there something you want to tell me?"

Speechless! I'm utterly speechless. Profoundly shocked. Calm down, Talia! Just breathe deeply, I thought to myself when I heard the horrific sounds I was making. I was having a bona fide panic attack. The fighter in me took charge, and forced me to try and breathe in and out regularly. "Good girl, good job," Nadine's voice echoed ghostly around the room. Clearly she'd heard the horrible wheezing noises also.

"Does it look like I'm ... ya' know?" I finally asked when I was convinced the answer wouldn't send me into cardiac arrest.

"Well ... yeah! Did you? No one would blame you if you did; he is Shane Clarke, for Christ sake."

My thoughts tumbled to a few weeks ago. We'd just returned to Los Angeles from Japan, where Shane had been promoting his latest action film. My job was to go with him everywhere he wanted me to, and take care of whatever he wanted taken care of. Knackered, he'd gone to bed. Completely wired from all the coffee I'd consumed, I'd taken advantage of the down time. After dropping my suitcase in the laundry room in the guest house where I lived, I'd put on my swimsuit, grabbed everything I needed to lounge in the sun. In one private corner of the lushly landscaped garden, I'd found a puddle of golden heat to relax in. Thinking I had complete privacy, I'd stripped my top off. I had a call-back the next day for a "girl-next-door" role, and wanted to look healthy and refreshed. Just as I was nodding off, Shane had stepped out the house and headed for the pool, wearing a skimpy speedo. I'd quickly reached for my bikini top, but was too late; the creak of the lounge chair alerted him. When he turned around, he saw me struggling and chortled.

I'd felt utterly humiliated. My humiliation only grew when, as I was flailing about, I'd flipped myself off the chaise lounge. With as much dignity as I could muster, I'd said, "If you were a gentleman you'd give me some privacy."

"Lighten up, Talia! Let me help you." In true Shane-like fashion, he'd sauntered over. I had put my hand up and firmly declined, "Stop right there! Turn around." He had thrown his head back and laughed uproariously, "I've seen them before. Well, not yours, but plenty others." That hadn't made me feel any less uncomfortable.

It seems some paparazzi had been perfectly perched to snap incriminating photos.

Returning to the present, I shook off my confusion and said, "Gotta go," without further explanation. Before Nadine could say goodbye, I hit the end button. I flicked open my cell phone and quickly dialed Neil Locklund, Shane's attorney. After two rings, Whitney, Neil's secretary, answered. After she ran through her spiel, I quickly identified myself and asked to speak to Neil. "Of course! He's been on the phone half the night. Just a minute ... and hang in there."

Two seconds passed before Neil greeted me. His voice was deep, calm, and reassuring, "Hello Talia. You've heard the news, then? I was hoping to have more information before you were tipped off."

I quickly glanced at the clock. It was only 7:00 am, which was reassuring from the perspective that most of the 'who's who' in LA had yet to find out about Shane, or Shane ... and me. Frustrated and confused, I leapt in, "I have—I'm completely confused. I took him to the airport three days ago to fly to Mexico. What kind of trouble is he in, and how did he end up in Melbourne? What needs to be done?"

There was a brief pause as he waited to see if I was done talking. "Talia, it's a long story and it would be best if you came here, on your way to the airport. We need to get you to Australia. So, pack a bag. Whitney has you booked on the afternoon flight."

After hanging up the phone, I sat in my inherited, garish, black-and-white zebra-print desk chair, dumbfounded. I had all of Shane's and my life to put on indefinite hold, and I needed to pack to fly halfway around the world for an indefinite amount of time. I quickly called the dog minder for Shane's Labradoodle, Beast. Then I called Shane's trainer—who ought to be known as Beast—and lastly, Shane's agent. Yay! Listening to him yell and curse was always so much fun—not, AND not in my job description, I thought to myself, five minutes later while he ranted.

Three hours later, I sat in Neil's swanky office on Wilshire Boulevard, where he quickly filled me in. "It seems that late in the evening, on the day they arrived in Mexico, there was some kind of dispute between Ashley and Shane. Apparently, they were quite drunk and shouting at each other on the beach, disturbing those in houses nearby. Tyr, who'd also had too much to drink, came out to investigate, only to get punched in the nose ... by Shane." He took a drink of water from a crystal glass before he continued, "To make a long story short, it seems that while Tyr iced his nose, and Ashley slept it off, Shane grabbed the essentials and left the house and flew to Melbourne." I started to speak, but Neil held up a hand, "He says that Tyr claimed he was going to call the police. Shane was afraid he was going to end up in a Mexican jail, so he fled the country. No one is pressing charges at this time, so there is nothing to worry about. Just a misunderstanding."

I nodded at varying speeds while he spoke. This was all typical Shane, so far. "How did he end up in jail in Melbourne, then?" It seemed the obvious first question to ask.

Neil tugged at his brilliantly white, starched cuffs, which poked out from under his caramel-colored, linen suit jacket. "It's a bit of a bungle really. After sleeping it off, the next morning, when Shane was nowhere to be found, Tyr—understandably upset—reported his disappearance to the Mexican authorities. When they came to the house to investigate, Tyr, whose Spanish leaves a lot to be desired, managed to convey they'd 'fought' the previous night. The police asked him if he wanted to file assault charges on Shane. He misunderstood, and said yes." He paused, waiting for me to absorb all of this ... ridiculousness.

Breathing deeply, I nodded, then dared to ask, "What's next?"

"Shane wants you to fly down there. He needs you. The paparazzi are all over him. I will monitor the situation from here, while we wait for the Mexican and Australian governments to sort this out. My guess is that, by the time you get there, it will all be settled, but if not, he'll need you to handle 'things.'" He noticed my obvious annoyance, "I'm sorry!"

My feelings were mixed. I was relieved Shane was all right and the issue was just a silly misunderstanding. However, I was supposed to be on vacation, and yet, once again, Shane and all his drama were the hub around which my life was built ... which made me think of the photograph. As I rose to my feet, I mumbled, "Er' Neil, what about the photo that is being circulated? There's nothing to it, more of a comedy of errors than a ... romantic ... tryst."

He stood up and walked to my side of the desk, a paternal smile painted across his tanned cheeks. "I'll ask Shane if he wants to do something, but my advice to both of you would be the same: just ignore it."

Before leaving the offices of Locklund and White, Whitney handed me a ticket for a non-stop flight to Melbourne, leaving in three hours. As I sat in traffic, ever so slowly making my way to the airport, I made the decision that I was going to tell Shane I was taking two weeks' vacation after all the legal drama was over... "Or I'll quit!" I said to myself with much more bravado than I actually felt.

***
12:45 pm, March 31, 2015, Los Angeles California

"Where are my bloody sunglasses?" I had been steadily talking to myself since I'd woken up this morning. I rooted around my carryall and found a cheap pair in the bottom, slightly mangled. Slipping them on, I realized that the only thing I had to be thankful for that day was that, in all the rushing around, I hadn't showered. Hence, my long, highlighted, caramel-brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a baseball hat was firmly tugged down on my head. My camouflage was complete.

I threw my shoulders back and ran the gauntlet. Every TV in the airport terminal, every tabloid in the shops inside the International Departure Lounge, had me on my knees in front of Shane, looking like I was drunk with lust. I continued my one-person conversation as I walked nonchalantly down the crowded passageway, "Seriously, how can lust and anger look the same? If I can't tell the difference, how can I convince anyone else? Well, it doesn't matter, since I don't have to prove myself to anyone. Shane has some explaining to do, though, on several fronts." I slowed my stride to avoid the two police officers who were peddling around the terminal on bicycles.

Finding my gate, I leaned against one of the many columns supporting the high arching ceiling and, looking out the massive skylights above me, I saw blue skies. I hoped they were a sign of things to come.

An hour later, not long after the flight had reached cruising levels, I was making my way back to my seat, in First Class ("Thank you, Whitney!"), when I saw the back of Ashley Rutherford's head. Fortunately, I was still clad in baseball hat and sunglasses, so I was somewhat inconspicuous. As I contemplated the possibilities of how to avoid running into a woman sitting twenty feet away from me while flying at thirty thousand feet for the next fifteen hours, she started stirring about, looking like she was going to get up.

I darted for my seat, dropped my travel-worn bag on the floor, and proceeded to pretend to search for something, anything! While bent over, I saw the shapely legs that she was known for pass by. I counted to thirty before sitting up. "Christ!" I yelled when I saw her standing just beside my chair.

"You better start praying, because once I get to Australia and find out what's been going on between you and Shane, you just might find yourself in the middle of a shit-storm. Nobody, and I mean nobody, makes a fool out of me."

I opened my mouth to speak, but when Ashley ran her fingers across her mouth, motioning that I had better zip mine shut, I decided to take her advice. As she walked away, I pushed myself back into my chair, fastened my seatbelt, and waved as friendly as I could muster, at the flight attendant. Her massive smile was soothing. Clearly, she has no major worries, I thought, just before ordering, "A Crown lager, please."

"My apologies, miss. We don't have Crown Lager, but I can offer you White Rabbit, 150 Lashes, or James Boags Premium."

Just after I ordered two 150 Lashes (it seemed appropriate), Ashley had returned to her chair, where I could blatantly keep watch of her. I ruminated over all the changes that had occurred since I'd left Australia three years prior, in search of my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I'd been back twice since, at Shane's beck and call, free to meet up with friends and family at odd hours of the day and night, when Shane hadn't needed me. Now, I found myself in the middle of a pity party, realizing once again that, if I didn't need this job so desperately, I could actually quit!

The beer and mental exhaustion took over. I felt my eyelids droop and flutter as I resisted sleep. I didn't want to take my eyes off Ashley. I didn't trust her. But finally sleep won out—just after the flight attendant wrestled the beer bottle from my grasp.

***
7:30 am, March 31, 2015, Roto, Cook Islands

I fought my way out of a deep sleep when my brain registered the captain speaking, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are halfway to Melbourne and are presently flying over the Cook Islands. It is reputed to have the most beautiful lagoon in the world. Many Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Editions have been photographed there. Please contact the flight attendant for your parachute now." I registered him chuckling at his own joke before he quickly returned to droning on about the islands. I might have cared if it weren't for the pressing need to visit the toilet. The two beers I had quickly consumed earlier were making themselves painfully known to my bladder.

The First Class facilities were in use, and for a moment I contemplated making use of those in Business Class, but just as I parted the curtain dividing the space, one of the passengers held up a tabloid with "the" picture on the cover. Quickly beating a hasty retreat, I parked myself a discreet distance from the much-needed toilets. One minute, and then another, passed before the door creaked open. None other than Ashley exited the small space, looking perfectly rested and quaffed.

As we passed each other, she gave me the once-over, and took a delicate sniff, before making her objections to my appearance and body odor very clear. A few minutes later, as I stood looking at my reflection in the dim yellow light, my appearance in the mirror spoke volumes. Sadly, Ashley was right. Not only was my hair a mess, and my mascara smudged under my eyes, but also a massive crease from where I had rested my cheek against my shirtsleeve, while I slept, distorted the right side of my face.

When I made my way back to my seat, the flight attendant arrived, telling me, "I have your meal available, if you'd like it. You were sound asleep when we served dinner." At the mention of food, my stomach growled violently. Nodding my thanks, I dug my overnight bag out of my carryall, planning to make use of it after I ate.

I was staring out the window, the early morning sun shining brightly on the South Pacific Ocean, when the attendant returned with a tray laden with elegantly presented dishes. I dug into the steaming bowl of hearty chicken noodle soup that had a definite Indonesian zing to it. The smell of lemongrass and garlic perfumed the air.

While savoring my last bite of rice covered in red curry sauce, I watched Ashley saunter towards me. The lump in my throat made it harder to swallow. She carefully sat down in the empty seat beside me. While we stared at each other, me contemplating her next move, I realized she must have been watching me. The rather dapper, grey-haired businessman who had been sitting beside me for the last eight hours had only recently vacated his seat, and was stretching his legs while looking out the small window adjacent to the plane door. She broke her silence, "I decided I want to hear your version first. I'd really like to know how long you and Shane have been having an affair."

Bold as brass! The woman was intrepid. "You aren't going to believe anything I have to say, so what is the point in denying it?" I asked her.

"So you admit to having an affair?"

"I am neither confirming, nor denying it. What I said is that you will only believe what you want. In other words, why bother? In other words, why are you sitting here?"

She spoke while staring straight ahead, giving the impression she hadn't heard a word I'd said. "How the two of you must have laughed while planning the 'romantic getaway' for us. All that bother so he could break up with me where I couldn't cause a scene." Finally looking at me, she spoke in a vicious voice, "People like me rise to the top; people like you don't. You will never make it in Hollywood, not as long as I have breath."

I could see storm clouds gathering in her normally bright blue eyes, and just as she was gathering enough steam to unleash a hailstorm, I interrupted, "The gentleman would like his seat back."

A frown spread across her face. Confused at first, she followed my gaze, which was parked over her shoulder, and looked to see what she had missed. There stood my newfound best friend, the businessman, smiling politely. "Ms. Rutherford, while I see you are pleasantly engaged, I've been told I must return to my seat. Something about turbulence."

With no option but to vacate his seat, which was reminiscent of an egg (an oval pod), she rose to her feet just as turbulence bounced the plane about. She crashed hard into the rigid shell of the pod in front of her. While she tried to hold onto the smooth plastic frame, the businessman quickly sat down in an empty seat, which had been occupied by a buxom blonde, who, at this moment, was nowhere to be seen.

Once danger had passed, everyone tittered with nervous laughter, looking about to see how others had fared. Ashley cradled her left arm with her right hand and whimpered. Realizing that she was genuinely injured, I quickly rushed to help her. "No! I'll ask a flight attendant for help." Shocked that she would prefer the help of a stranger to that of someone she knew, I realized the depth of her dislike for me. I stepped away, leaving her to struggle.

I kept my eye on her dramatic portrayal to any and all, while the man moved back into his space. I dashed a quick look at him, seeing he too was riveted by the starlet. Soon, a plethora of flight attendants hovered around Ashely—extra pillows, an ice pack, soothing tea, and packets of aspirin were offered to her. She melodramatically accepted them all.

"You, young lady, have quite an enemy," the dapper gentleman said.

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye before turning my full gaze on him. "It looks that way," I said grimly.

Nine hours later, as I gathered my belongings, preparing to disembark the plane, I let out a huge sigh of relief, glad to be on solid ground again. No further incidents of turbulence or incursions with the lovely Ms. Rutherford had occurred. I assumed the arm injury had kept Ashley in her seat for the rest of the flight. Guiltily, I let out another sigh of relief.

***
1:15 am, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

Baggage Claim and Customs had been a breeze, thankfully. Amongst all the details that Whitney had sorted out, a driver was supposed to meet me at Arrivals and take me to Shane. As I walked through a sea of people, I heard people chatting as they craned their necks, looking for loved ones coming through the Arrivals Gate. As I searched for a sign with my name, I suddenly felt ... nostalgic; it took a second for me to realize that it came from being in a throng of people speaking with the same quirky accent I had. "To hell with voice elocution lessons!" I said to myself. I was going to let lose my Australian-ness!

A tall, muscular, tanned man in a black suit, held a card with my name on it. He had a rugged look to him, which made me wonder how on Earth he'd become a driver when he looked like he ought to be wrangling cattle. I noted, as I walked up to him, that his eyes widened quite a bit. A good sign, I thought. "Hi, I'm Talia Rutherford."

"Hello, Miss. I hope your flight went well. My name is Cooper. Let me take your luggage." His greeting seemed a bit rehearsed. I was hoping for something more like, "Good day, how you going, hey?" I relaxed my throat a little more. I think I still sounded too American. "Cheers, Cooper. Where are we off to, hey?" A sparkle lit in his eyes - I think I made my Aussie-self known.

He reached for my two rolling suitcases, while I kept ahold of the all-important carryall. "I'm to take you to Mr. Kent." Confused, he paused when I snickered. Trust Shane Clarke to pick the fictitious name Kent to be his pseudonym. Cooper continued hesitantly, "It shouldn't take too long to get there." I wondered if Cooper knew he was driving me to meet one of Hollywood's highest paid actors.

I followed him to the curb, where he had some kind of special dispensation to park his black Mercedes limousine. I climbed in while he put my luggage in the boot. Once he climbed in and pulled away from the curb, he asked, "Been gone long, Miss?"

"A few years actually. It's lovely to be home."

Looking at me in the rear-view mirror, he smiled politely while asking, "Are you back permanently, or on holiday?"

As we drove south, I took in the dense city where I'd grown up and found myself pondering his question. I loved acting, but in this moment, I wondered if my quest for a Golden Globe or an Oscar was realistic; three years and a handful of call-backs for background characters was all I had to show. "Temporarily. I'm here for work, actually. Who knows, maybe something will happen while I'm here to persuade me to stay." For the next few minutes, I settled into a fantasy of me quitting my job for Shane and getting a job at a café on a beach somewhere nearby.

Nearby? I sat up straight and looked around. Cooper had just turned onto Bendigo Avenue. The street I grew up on. Why were we here? I couldn't give anything away to Cooper. Maybe Whitney had told Cooper's firm to take me to my parents' home. Hold it. How would she know where I grew up? The fog of the jet lag was wreaking havoc on my logic skills.

As we pulled up to the curb, I looked at my watch and saw that it was nearly 2:00 am. Why were all the lights on in the house?

"Here we are," Cooper announced, leading me to believe he had no idea how familiar I was with our location.

"Er', cheers."

Before he could get out and open the door for me, I was planting my feet on the grass verge. Before he could open the boot to get my luggage, my mum was standing at the front door and my dad was rushing down the brick path to the low white gate. Before my dad could swing it open, I hopped the low brick wall, as I always had, and leapt into his arms. "Oh, Dad, it's so good to see you!" I planted a kiss on his cheek, just before letting go, so I could hug my mother, who was bouncing up and down beside us. Tears filled my eyes as I looked at her—I had no choice, she held my face in her hands, examining me carefully. "Struth Talia, I've missed you!" I grabbed them both in my arms and hugged them tightly.

I think I could have stood there like that for hours if a polite cough hadn't interrupted our reunion. I turned to see Cooper standing on the sidewalk, with my two massive suitcases beside him. He seemed reluctant but, to be fair, it was the wee hours of the morning. "May I take these in for you?"

My dad chuckled, "I can manage! Thanks for getting her home safely." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Cooper was quick to decline. "I'm not allowed, sir, but thanks all the same."

As he headed back to the car, I managed to make it to Cooper before he climbed inside. "Thanks for the lift." I could hear the nervousness in my voice. "Of course, you had to, but thanks nonetheless," I cringed at the crap that was effortlessly surging out my mouth. He smiled at me; a genuine one, not an 'I have to because it's my job,' smile. I continued on bravely, or foolishly, "If you happen to be in the neighborhood, on your day off, stop in and have a coldie." I tucked some stray hairs behind my ear as I spoke, a nervous gesture, I guess.

"Thanks! I'm off Monday, think you'll be home?" Hope glimmered in his eyes and I floated away on his smooth but twangy voice.

I quickly dug through my bag and found the case with my personal business cards. Handing one to him, I said, "Call or text me."

"Will do. Goodnight ... Miss."

"Talia."

"Goodnight, Talia."

While my parents and I covered all the basics—how the flight had gone, was I tired, was I hungry—we made our way past the wheelie bins and into the house. Tripping along happily behind them, I was accepting my mother's offer of a bedtime snack when Shane stepped out of the dimly lit living room, and into the bright and friendly kitchen, scaring the complete crap out of me.

***
2:45 am, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

"What in the hell are you doing here?" I asked him, fright racing through my blood. Anger reared its head, when I realized his being here was going to steal my reunion with my parents away from me.

My indignation must have been obvious, because he held up both hands and took a step backwards before speaking with a frown on his face, "I just waited up to make sure you made it alright. I'm going to bed now. We'll talk in the morning."

I stood in the cozy kitchen with my jaw dropped, staring at him as he walked backwards out of the room. Sounds like, 'wha,' 'huh,' 'how,' and 'hm' trickled out of my mouth as he slowly eased himself from the room. I turned my body in the direction he had disappeared and was scratching my head when his face popped back through the doorway.

"Welcome home Talia," his face lit-up with a smile, then he disappeared again.

My mother acted like everything was normal, "Vegemite sammi alright?"

I glanced at her over my shoulder, "Lovely. Ta," I managed.

Once my dad made it back down to the kitchen and we were seated around the round white table—scarred and stained from years of use—I tossed my head in the direction of the stairs, "How long has he been here?"

My parents exchanged looks, probably trying to decide who had to explain. When my mother cleared her throat, I realized she'd been elected. "A few nights ago, just after tea, he called. We thought it had to do with you. You can imagine the fright! Well then, when he asked if he could come and stay for a few days, after reassuring us you were all right, how could we say no? It wasn't until the next morning and all the bother was all over the telly that we realized that his hiding out on Bendigo Avenue was a far sight better than him being held captive at that posh hotel, Crown Towers." She looked at me worriedly, for approval.

I reached over and patted her hand. "You're right Mum. It was the best thing to do. You're both lovely. I'm just confused, because I thought he was in jail since the Mexican Police were originally told he'd assaulted someone after he disappeared."

Something I said led my parents to exchange a very confused look. "I'm sure he can fill you in on all the details later. Zonked are you?" I'd just yawned the size of the Grand Canyon. "Dead tired," I answered. As we all staggered to our feet, my dad pronounced, "To bed we go."

At the top of the stairs, I stopped abruptly. "Which room is Shane in?"

"Guest room, only room in the house with a bed big enough for him," my dad informed me.

I nodded, agreeing with him. I made my way to my old room, to find it much as I'd left it. My two suitcases were parked next to the apple-green dresser, just at the foot of the bed. I contemplated brushing my teeth and whatnot before going to bed, but instead, I dragged my clothes off before falling face-first onto the sun-bleached white sheets that were loosely covering the bed, just how I liked them. As I fell asleep, I couldn't help but smile with joy at being somewhere where someone knew what I liked, for a change.

***
10:45 am, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

Shrieks of laughter woke me. I could hear my two sisters carrying on with someone whose voice I didn't recognize. Then I heard mum shush them, "Let your sister sleep." Rolling over onto my back, I stared at a spot on the daffodil-yellow walls, and waited to hear what Olivia or Jessica had to say.

"Sorry Mum," Jessica answered in a breathless voice, "but he loosened the lid on the salt shaker, and when she went to put some on her eggs, it went everywhere." My mum laughed good-naturedly, which meant only one thing. She was being polite to Shane. I should have known. I bolted out of bed, ready to take on my boss—as soon as I said hello to my sisters.

Five minutes later, after changing into sweatpants and a T shirt, I stealthily approached the kitchen. I saw Shane unscrewing the pepper shaker lid. Fortunately he must have felt me willing him to stop. He looked up, and smiled, "Talia, good morning. How are you feeling?" My two sisters popped out of their chairs when he spoke. I ignored him while the three of us jumped up and down, shrieking like mad things.

Amongst giggles and squeals, we made our way to the table, my mother cheerfully calling, "Brekkie?" over her shoulder.

"Please, Mum. Anything's fine." I reached across and candidly tightened the salt and pepper shaker lids while I answered Shane, "I'm great." I could feel my two sisters watch us. Clearly they were star struck, but I wasn't. "After breakfast, I think it would be best if you and I had a quiet chat and you brought me up to speed."

In a flawless Australian accent, he replied, "How about take-away, while we sunbake and watch some surfies?" Now I knew who owned the mysterious voice. I should have guessed.

When he was charming, it was impossible not to smile at him. But. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the mere mention of sunbathing would remind me of the photo currently plastered on the cover of every tabloid in the world. "Ashley was on the same flight as me. Have you heard from her yet?"

He blanched noticeably. "Crikey! No, not yet." I grinned when he managed to stay in character.

A few hours later—it took that long to get my sisters' hooks out of him—we headed out to Elwood Park and The Bay Trail. Fortunately, it was cool and cloudy, so his clothes disguised him. We skirted the mums in the park who were watching their kiddies play while they chatted.

"You're wearing mum out!" I said as soon as it seemed safe.

His handsome face registered surprise, "What'd I do?"

"Salt in the eggs, cling-film on the toilet, whoopee cushions ... Shane, its only 1:00 in the afternoon. Forget the fact that she's cooking and cleaning for you. I know you love April Fools' Day, but you need to let up."

"I'll apologize. I promise. Your sisters seemed to enjoy it; I thought we were all having fun." This comment alone explained Shane to a T.

"Good! Now, tell me what I need to know." I never presumed what I needed to know. We lived together (sort of), traveled together, and ate together, but I never forgot he was my boss.

"Long story or short?" he asked as a cool wind blowing off Port Phillip riffled his short brownish-black hair and he squinted his bright blue eyes against the sun. "It's gorgeous here," he continued, as he stared at the tall buildings of Melbourne, in the distance.

A sudden gust of wind blew my hat off head, causing locks of my hair to flick up and bitch slap me. My LA Lakers hat tumbled down the path, and I took off after it, dodging bicyclists and mums pushing prams. Shane passed me and scooped it up before it had a chance to get airborne and blow over the thick plantings and rocky shore into the bay.

When I caught up to him, I was slightly breathless. He was fine. Training with The Beast was paying off. He tucked a few strands of hair that were stuck to my forehead behind my ear, and then gently settled my hat on my head. All of this was weird. I looked up at him, frowning.

"Cheers," I said, while looking at him questioningly.

"Ask me for the long story," Shane prompted me.

I looked down the path and saw an empty bench. "Let's go down there, and then you tell me whatever you think I need to know."

Twenty minutes later I was flabbergasted.

***
2:10 pm, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

"You're in love with me? How is that possible? I work for you. Besides, you have a girlfriend."

"I had a girlfriend until we came back from Japan, where I realized I was in love with you. I ended it. I took her to Mexico so we could talk without the paparazzi watching. It didn't go well."

"You didn't mention me, did you?"

"No! Of course not. I know what Ashley is like. She'd make life for you unbearable." I quickly filled him in on the conversation we'd had on the plane. His handsome features collected in a frown, "I suppose I do need to talk to her, while she is down here, and explain 'things.'" The whole time he spoke, he looked at me, while I looked out at the water.

I honestly had no idea what to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind, "This isn't an April Fools' Day joke is it?" Suddenly full of suspicion, I swiveled around, looking for someone with a camera. A full visual sweep of the area later, I didn't see anyone suspicious. When I looked at Shane, he looked horrified, "That would be awfully cruel, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would."

"Do you really think I am that terrible?"

I'm sure I still looked confused, but I answered honestly, "No, no you're not. This is all coming as quite a surprise."

"You had no idea? Dinner at China Blue in Tokyo—because you like Chinese food, or when we stayed in that capsule hotel, Green Plaza Shinjuku, because you like weird and quirky hotels—all the things I invited you to do? The Shibuya Crossing, karaoke at Smash Hits, shopping ... instead of asking you to organize them ... you, my personal assistant?"

A long "Oh!" slipped out of my mouth.

"You don't have any feelings for me? You're not attracted to me?" He sounded wounded.

I raised my finger at him, poking it at him, suddenly on the defensive. "Shane, two-thirds of the free world are attracted to you." I drew an imaginary line from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, "You're all sculpted, quaffed, polished, shiny and perfect! That's hardly an indication of whether a person is genuinely attracted to you."

"Am I to infer that you are attracted to me?"

When I didn't respond, he continued, "Do you enjoy spending time with me?"

That was easy to answer, "How do I know? You're my boss. I don't spend time with you voluntarily. You pay me to spend time with you." Ouch, that sounded bad, even to me.

Instead of being daunted, he smiled boldly, "So, if you were able to choose to spend time with me, you could decide whether or not you enjoyed my company?"

"Yes," I said hastily.

"Fine. You're fired."

"What? That isn't how you dazzle a girl! Fire her, leave her without income, so that she can decide whether or not she's interested in you?"

He rubbed his dimpled chin, pretending to look pensive. "Alright, you're not fired, but you are on a paid vacation for the next ... how much time do you think it will take?"

I stared at him, completely and utterly bewildered. I shrugged my shoulders, but as I spoke, the answer came to me. "At least ... a month, and I want to be here, coming and going as I please."

"Fine. We'll stay in Melbourne for the next month."

"You have obligations."

"Not to worry. My assistant can handle all that."

"She must be pretty incredible."

His piercing look, filled with warmth, startled me. In an intimate whisper he softly said, "She is."

Without missing a beat, I declared, "You have to move out of my parents' house."

"Oh!"

"After I handle your obligations for the next month, my last task as your personal assistant, before I go on vacation, will be to find you somewhere tolerable to stay."

He tentatively reached over and took my hand. Squeezing it gently, he said, "Thank you." Much was implied with those two words.

***
4:10 pm, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

"Shane!" Upstairs and through a closed door, I could hear my mum raise her voice. I let out a deep breath. Stupid, this is really stupid, right? I mean, I'm only doing this so I can stay in Australia for a month, right? I thought to myself while I listened to elevator music. "No, I'm not that cruel."

A knock on the door startled me. I pulled the phone away from my ear, "Yes?" Shane stuck his head in the door, "Can I come in?" When I nodded, he entered quietly and sat down on the twin size bed with me. There was tension between us, which I avoided by asking, "Why is my mother irritated?"

"Olivia put salt in the sugar bowl. She's blaming me, but I swear it wasn't." Just then we both jumped when there was a loud bang. I looked at him, while I thanked god I was on hold, "What was that?"

Guiltily he fessed up, "I put a confetti popper in the kitchen drawer." As I went to yell at him, he quickly said, "I put it there before I knew it was bothering her, and with everything that's been happening—" Here, his eyes became melty and pleading, "—telling you I loved you and all." Then he returned to looking innocent. "I forgot to take it out of the drawer. Sorry!"

"Go tell my mum."

"I came to tell you I am on my way to see Ashley." I shot him a worried look. "God speed," was all I could think to say. I really didn't want to think about the future until the past and present were sorted.

He looked stressed as he blew out a deep breath, "I'll call you on my way back, alright?" He asked.

"Don't forget to apologize to my mum."

***
7:45 pm, April 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

"You look very nice," Shane complimented me when I reached the bottom of the stairs where he waited, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a black suit and bright blue shirt, open at the neck.

"Thank you," I said more firmly than I intended. I slid my hands over the boho chic dress I wore—a water-colored floral-pattern on silky fabric. My stomach was in knots. I was still wondering what I had gotten myself into, but wanting to soften my words, I added, "So do you."

We drove to the restaurant, which was only five minutes away, because of the torrential rain. While I drove, he quietly sang along with Ed Sheeran while I negotiated the roads. At first he had protested my driving, but when I'd refused to call a car service, and explained that now that I was on vacation, I would be driving wherever I wanted to go, he quickly acquiesced.

Since walking down the stairs, he had been treating me like a date, which I have to admit, freaked me out. Doors held open, 'after you's,' pulling out my chair, 'would you like wine or something else?' It was all getting to me. I looked at the waiter, then at him, and said, "Wine, please." We should have gone to a dive where I could consume large amounts of beer.

While Shane and the waiter interacted, I took in the very sleek and modern environment. Most of the walls were charcoal grey; a few were sapphire blue. The bleak night sky was hidden by sapphire blue curtains. The floor was dark as well. Everything else was shiny and white. Crisp. He must have been watching me, because he asked, "What do you think?"

"I'd like to know how the conversation with Ashley went."

He smiled broadly, "I'll take that as a good sign." Before I could object to his interpretation, he continued, "It went well, I think. Especially when I said, 'It's me, not you.' She asked if you were involved in the breakup, and had we been having an affair. I assured her that we hadn't, that you were completely innocent."

"That reminds me, what do you know about that photo?" The look on my face had him staring at his lap.

The first of the eight courses arrived, along with the paired wine. We both drained our wine glasses, shocking the waiter when he returned moments later to make sure all was fine. He brought more wine. "Please listen, and try not to be angry," he pleaded. He soldiered on, "I hired a photographer to follow me, to take photos of anything I could use to drive a wedge between me and Ashley." As my face went from ashen to beet red, he finished, "She's tenacious, was in love with some fantasy about us being the royal couple of Hollywood. It had to end in a blaze. She was obsessed." He stared worriedly at me the entire time, and finally, bravely, he reached for my hand, "I'm truly sorry I've hurt you. It's all mad, but I wanted to be free of her, so that I could find out if you and I had a future. You would never have believed me if someone else was in that photo."

'True,' I thought.

***
1:00 pm, June 1, 2015, Melbourne Australia

"Are you enjoying your book?" Shane whispered in my ear, startling me. I'd been peacefully sitting inside The Turtle Café, reading while sipping a cup of coffee.

Carefully, I marked my page, and closed the book. While he sat down in the chair opposite me, and picked up the book, "Venus Rising—any good? Beautiful cover," I swatted at my ear; his warm breath had tickled me.

"I'm really enjoying it. You should read it. It's about self-discovery. Anyway, what's up?"

"Just wondering what you were up to today."

"I'm sticking with the plan."

"So, you're certain then? You want go look for a place to live?"

"Yes, and yes."

He set his jaw and looked down at his splayed fingers. "Well then ..."

"Uh hmm."

Without looking at me, he pushed back his chair, announcing, "I'm getting a coffee, want another one?"

"That would be lovely ... and Shane—" He quickly interrupted me, and said with a smirk, "Yes, I know. No salt."

He leaned down and stared at me with his piercing blue eyes, before pressing a divine kiss on my lips, which sent a quiver straight to my toes, which then ricocheted throughout my body. God, he was sexy!

While in Australia: over dinners, out walking alongside the bay, on outings with friends, and on spontaneous trips to various Australian landmarks, I had begun to realize that all the right things were there between us. I just hadn't perceived us as equals. As I did, our relationship began to change. We began to talk about everything, and I was surprised to learn there was much more to him than the celebrity I'd worked for. He offered an awkward excuse, bashfully—he'd felt aimless for quite some time, and hadn't felt able to figure out what he really wanted to do. It turned out he'd been fulfilling his contractual obligations, and hadn't accepted any new work. Surprisingly, he wanted to take a long break from acting, and focus on his personal life.

When he'd suggested another month in Australia, I was thrilled to bits.

In the midst of falling hard for him, I had also realized my dream of acting was an undeveloped fantasy. After several long talks about what I wanted to do, I realized what I loved about acting was telling a story. So right after we returned to LA, I was going to hire Shane a new personal assistant, and I was going to investigate writing courses, perhaps screenwriting.

During my time in Melbourne, I'd had yet another epiphany. I wanted to spend much more time in Melbourne. A steady feast of LA lifestyle had worn me out. Reluctantly, I'd mentioned it to Shane when we had gone for a long stroll along The Bay Trail a few weeks ago. I had been worried that things would crash and burn before there was real liftoff in our relationship. I'd been stunned when he'd suggested looking for a house—together. When I gave him a sidelong glance, he appeared genuinely hurt. "Aren't we in this for the long haul?" It took me a few days to say yes, mostly because I still couldn't quite process that we were a couple.

From that moment on, everything had changed. A different life was set in motion. He wanted a place we'd pick out together, somewhere we could get away from it all. When I mentioned a house near my family and friends, he diplomatically responded, "Let's see where you want to go to school. Australia is a big country."

So now, here we were, waiting for Nadine, my best friend and realtor. When he returned with the coffee, he set it down on the table, before hauling me to my feet and into his arms. Locked in the warmth of his embrace, as those around us whispered, "Isn't that Shane Clarke?" he gave me a kiss that spoke volumes, which told me that our future was as bright as any star.

"I'm so excited," I admitted, smiling up at him. His blue eyes gazed deeply into mine and he said in his perfect Australian accent, "Me too!"

The End
Author Bio:

Celia Kennedy was born in Wurzburg, Germany on a military base. Her parent's penchant for traveling has stuck with her, she's lived in and traveled through several countries.

The imagined world has always fascinated Celia. She has studied Art History, Interior Design, Landscape Architecture, and Architecture. Her thirteen year career at UW in Seattle ended in 1996. Not wanting to be homeless, she left the academic world and worked as a Landscape Architect, married the love of her life, became a mom, been PTA President, and both Boy and Girl Scout Leader.

The unimaginable wealth in her life is the most fascinating thing to her.

Her love of travel, the designed and natural world, friendship, self-discovery wine, chocolate, AND love are the foundation of her books.

Celia Kennedy's other work includes: Book One, The Accidental Series: Charlotte's Restrained, The Accidental Stalker, and Book Two, The Accidental Series: Kathleen's Undressed, The Accidental Enigma, Venus Rising, Sugar, It's Cold Outside (Cupid on The Loose Anthology), Tears in The Rain (May The Fourth Anthology).

She is currently working on Book Three in the Accidental Series: Marian's Misdirected, The Accidental Roadie and Moonbow.

Authors Links:

Website: www.celiakennedy.weebly.com

Blog: www.womanreinventsself.blogspot.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CMKAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KennedyCelia

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/celiakennedy/

Google +:  https://plus.google.com/u/0/106475224814075459757/posts

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6965584.Celia_Kennedy

Fool's Luck

By

Engy Albasel Neville

This book is dedicated to my husband who finds the silver lining in every situation. I love you Brian.
Chapter One

Another late night at the office. Amy sighed with exhaustion.

Standing to grab the large folder from the cabinet behind her, Amy was surprised by the empty office. Not a single cubicle was occupied. Either everyone but her was traveling for business, or she was the last one to leave tonight. Both were equally possible. Amy shrugged her shoulders and sat back down to tackle the last of the emails. Amy was the marketing manager at Glitz, the lifestyle magazine she'd devoted every waking moment to since college graduation. She loved her job and loved that until very recently, she had been recognized for her hard work and contribution to the magazine.

Amy's world had turned upside down when Sarah Mitchell had joined the department. Sarah was the niece of the magazine's very influential investor, Clifford Hardy. Some questioned whether she really was his niece or not. No one would ever really know, or dare to question it. Bottom line, Sarah was hired as Amy's boss right after college without a single internship or job on her resume. That decision had a few tongues wagging at the office, and despite her best efforts to take the high road, Amy couldn't help but feel a little resentful too, especially when Sarah began delegating her own work to Amy. So why was Sarah in Miami while Amy was back in Los Angeles doing Sarah's job? Because Sarah's uncle's money funded many of the magazines' projects and some speculated he'd had a hand in landing the Tom Cruise exclusive, putting the magazine on the map in the publishing world. Overnight, Glitz had gone from a run-of-the-mill lifestyle magazine to a highly sought-after one. You didn't mess with Mr. Clifford Hardy or anyone related to him.

"I'll be running this magazine within the year," Sarah had said snootily one morning. "And when that happens, I'll be cleaning house, starting with the mediocre marketing team."

Amy had opted to keep her mouth shut and put feelers out in case a similar position somewhere else became available. She had no doubt Sarah would do exactly as she had promised. Amy might have been powerless in winning the battle against Sarah, but she wasn't powerless about looking for a new opportunity for herself. The ax was going to fall sooner or later. Sarah would make sure of that.

It was already eight o'clock in the evening when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, tucked securely in the large bottom drawer of her desk. Another long day spent not only doing all her projects, but also the pile of work Sarah had dumped on her desk before she left for the airport. This was not how she'd imagined her career would unfold. The once fun and creative position of marketing manager was quickly turning ugly with daily verbal assaults from Sarah. Amy had mastered the art of smiling and bearing it because she couldn't afford to lose her job. Deep down, she felt battered and defeated. Sarah had very quickly been inserted into every key meeting and decision, confirming Sarah's proclamation of running the show within the year.

Amy's phone buzzed angrily, reminding her to answer the persistent caller.

"I'm glad you're not dead. I've tried calling you a million times," Miranda snipped on the other end.

"Hello to you too. I'm sorry! It's been a little busy around here. I didn't even hear the phone ring. You okay?"

"I'm okay. Sorry for the attitude, it's just really hard to get a hold of you lately and I miss you. Look, I get that you're busy, and you've clearly dumped us for your career, but can you at least check in every once in a while?" Best of friends since freshman year in college, Miranda was the poster child for a California girl. Long, wavy blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, with an equally bubbly personality to match; she was every guy's dream date. Unfortunately for them, the tree hugging, yoga teaching, daughter of Mother Earth never so much as noticed the unrelenting attention from the opposite sex. Funny how that worked out.

The loud music overpowered Miranda's meditative, soothing voice that oozed with Zen. Years of practicing and teaching yoga would do that. Miranda was a well-sought-after yoga instructor at Yoga For The Soul, a popular studio in Santa Monica with a seriously strong cult following. Men and women yearning for that feel-good hour-long sweat-fest called days in advance to register for the class. That was some dedication.

"Lisa and I are at McFarley's. Come meet us for a drink and dinner." Miranda screamed a little, the background music deafening.

"Oh, ... I would love to but I can't," Amy said, exhaling heavily as she stared at her disheveled desk, still cluttered with open folders that needed immediate action. She'd made a fair amount of headway today, but was still buried in work. She cursed Sarah under her breath for the tenth time.

"You haven't gone out in months. Just one drink and then you can go back to your cave," Miranda pleaded, not ready to take no for an answer.

"I can't. I have so much to do. The wicked witch dumped all her work on me again before she left for Miami this morning. She knew I would have no choice but to do it," Amy grumbled miserably, self-pity taking over her normally even-keeled self. With most of the staff out of the office for various events, Jessica, Editor-In-Chief, wanted Amy to stay behind and hold down the fort. Fort? Ghost town was more like it, but Amy had smiled and nodded her acceptance, wanting to come across as a team player, not a resentful employee who dreamed of Sarah's well-deserved demise.

"Don't be such a drip. The wicked witch will be out all week so you have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow. We'll be here. Hurry, Lisa is already dancing on the table." Miranda hung up before Amy could respond. Lisa was dancing on the table? Now that she had to see for herself. Amy giggled. Lisa was Miranda's roommate and good friend. They'd met her shortly after graduation and the trio had become inseparable. Lisa was an uber-conservative attorney working for the city of Los Angeles. Dancing on tables wasn't exactly part of her repertoire.
Chapter Two

Amy was excited to have something to look forward to besides loads of work. Just as she stood up to stretch her achy back, her elbow knocked over her water bottle, drenching the desk and everything on it. "Oh, no," she wailed. Why was she always such a klutz? Damn it. Tearfully, she spent the next thirty minutes wiping her desk down and salvaging as much of the soaked paperwork as she could. She locked her laptop in the top drawer; no need to tempt fate. She walked towards the lobby to the elevator banks on the 24th Floor. The usually brightly lit lobby with a circular reception desk was dim now, the lights set on a timer to conserve energy. "Save the Planet" flyers were plastered under all the light switches. Miranda would be very pleased. On most nights, Amy was the last one to leave the office, and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed this break.

Amy smiled to herself, imagining Lisa dancing at McFarley's.

While the elevator zipped down to the main floor, Amy scrolled through her phone one last time; no missed calls. Not a single one. She stashed the phone back in her bag and latched it closed, rolling her eyes at Miranda's dramatic proclamation of calling her a million times.

The short distance from her Westwood office to Brentwood was a breeze. Amy rolled down her window, preferring the fresh air to the air conditioner of her silver Jetta convertible. Only in Southern California could you roll down your window and enjoy the warm weather in March. Grateful for the traffic-free streets, Amy took a deep breath, her to-do list still running through her mind. Shaking her hair out of its clip, she felt free, more like herself again. Working side by side with Sarah was draining because Sarah's presence was overwhelming and her meanness unbearable on most days. And yet Sarah always managed to be mean in a refined, polished sort of way. Amy was no less attractive and certainly much smarter and more likeable, but she was a magnet for calamities. Next to Sarah, who dripped of elegance and poise, Amy looked like a complete schmuck. Her luck needed to change, and quickly.

Parking around the back of the pub in the heart of Brentwood, Amy checked her make-up in the rear view mirror, crinkling her nose in disapproval at how tired she looked. Even her hair was tired, hanging like limp noodles from the top of her head. Maybe a fresh coat of lip gloss would perk her up. She carefully applied the Pink Petals gloss, pressed her lips together and smeared another coat. Ugh! "It'll take a lot more than lip gloss," she muttered. Carefully swinging her legs around, keeping her knees together until she had a good footing, she stood, straightening the purple wrap dress, running a hand to smooth out any wrinkles from sitting all day. If her mother had taught her anything, it was to color coordinate to perfection and the art of getting in and out of the car. "You don't want the world seeing your business, dear," her Mom had said, repeatedly drilling the thought into her head. And she was right.

The music was practically vibrating the sidewalk. What the hell was going on at McFarley's? Briefly hesitating at the large carriage-style wooden doors, she took a deep breath and walked into what looked like the party of the century. A cluster of dancers jammed to the music by the bar, and another seemed to encircle a wild woman swinging around a poll, one leg wrapped around it for dear life. The uncoordinated woman was attempting to twirl her body around, but somehow wasn't gaining any speed or momentum for take-off. It didn't stop her from trying, though.

Wait. Lisa? Shit!

It was darker than usual and Amy squinted her eyes in search of Miranda. Had McFarley's changed ownership? Granted, she hadn't been here in almost two months, but this on a Wednesday night? A pole?

Her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she'd skipped lunch again, for the third day this week. Amy stood still for a second at the large double wooden doors, letting her eyes adjust to the subdued lighting, scanning the tables and booths for any sign of Miranda. Please God, don't let there be another pole somewhere.

From the corner of her eye, she could still see Lisa attempting to catch air unsuccessfully, again. Oh, boy.

"Amy, Amy, over here." Miranda waved her arm high over her head in an effort to get Amy's attention. Amy waved back, covering her ears as she dashed by the DJ's table, squeezing into the booth next to Miranda.

"What the hell is going on? I didn't expect a full rage party." Amy leaned in for a quick hug hello before grabbing the menu to scan for specials, her twisting stomach reminding her of how famished she was. She needed to eat something if she had any hope of keeping up with these two. The music was earsplitting around her, borderline obnoxious.

"What's with the DJ?" she finally complained.

"Oh, ... yeah, Sam wanted to try him out. If he's a hit, he'll be a regular on Saturday nights." Miranda danced in her seat, her eyes fixed on Sam, the owner of McFarley's, helping out at the bar tonight. The good-looking surfer had somehow succeeded where the others failed; he'd managed to get Miranda's attention and keep it. Good for Sam.

"Sam? What else have I missed besides Lisa humping the pole over there?"

Miranda cut her off impatiently, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, not much," Miranda answered, blushing slightly. "Only that Sam has come to two of my yoga classes this week and wants to schedule a private with me." She sipped her cocktail, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, then. I had no idea you and Sam were interested in each other." Was Amy so preoccupied with work that she'd completely missed the budding crush between Miranda and Sam? She felt slightly hurt for being out of the loop, but more so, she felt really bad for not being a part of something that typically would be the highlight of their conversations for hours.

"So ... in other news, Lisa and Tim broke up. Don't say anything. Let her tell you. Okay?" Miranda leaned in, glancing at the open menu in Amy's hands.

"What? They broke up?" Amy's large brown eyes welled up in sympathy. Lisa and Tim were college sweethearts, destined for a happily ever after. Not a breakup on a random weeknight. "I feel so horrible for not being there."

"It's okay, she understands. Besides, she's been working late hours, too. I think it helps her cope. They've been fighting for a couple of months, so it wasn't a total shock when he broke things off a few days ago. Anyway, she's a little better today. Not sobbing is a step in the right direction."

Before Amy could ask anything else about the breakup, a giddy and very drunk Lisa flounced over.

"Hiya." Lisa joined them, staggering into the booth. The waiter was at their table immediately, his eyes glued to Lisa's unbuttoned blouse that revealed a black lace bra.

"Burgers and fries all around, and I'll have a strawberry margarita please." Amy screamed their order, deciding a carb overload wouldn't be a bad thing, considering the amount of alcohol consumed tonight. Besides, she wanted the pervert gone.

Can the damn DJ go home already?

The food couldn't come fast enough. Amy's stomach growled loudly in grievance. The food at McFarley's was to die for; fresh, delicious, and not the typical greasy fare from the other pubs in town. The cheeseburger topped with fresh avocado was a crowd favorite, shamelessly adorning McFarley's Twitter and Facebook accounts. It was that good. Amy's mouth watered thinking about the juicy burger, crispy fries, and warm brownie smothered in vanilla ice cream. While they waited for their burgers, they attempted to talk about Miranda's upcoming yoga retreat, but it was too loud to hear each other. Instead, they people-watched and cheered on the slew of enthusiastic pole dancers attempting a new activity. To their credit, they were undeterred by their lack of skill or coordination. Good for them. Amy giggled, feeling the happiest she'd felt in a while.

The same sleazy waiter brought out their food thirty minutes later, but left rather quickly, sparing Amy the need to kick him where it hurt. They wolfed down their burgers in record time and settled the bill. After a brief discussion in the parking lot, they piled into Amy's car and headed to her apartment a few blocks away for an overdue catch up.
Chapter Three

Over a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, they talked about the breakup, Tim's cold feet over taking things to the next level, and Sam. Amy got the sense that the relationship was a tad more serious than Miranda let on.

"I think I'm ready for a change, a new job, and maybe a new city," Amy confessed to her best friends. "As long as the wicked witch is there, she'll continue to treat me like her personal assistant, and with her uncle bankrolling our marketing initiatives, she'll always have the upper hand. I've reached a breaking point and I just can't do it anymore."

"No, don't go. You'll never be as happy anywhere else. And you wouldn't have us," Lisa slurred, pouting her disapproval.

"Don't let the wicked witch drive you out of a job you love. Unless you get your dream job at Condé Nast, you should stay put. There are wicked witches everywhere. At least with this one, you know what you're dealing with." Miranda lay on the couch, leisurely eating another slice of pizza. No one would ever guess she had the appetite of a rugby player and the metabolism of one, too.

From the wreckage of the apartment with food everywhere, it was hard to imagine they'd all consumed cheeseburgers with fries just a few hours before. The kitchen counter was cluttered with empty wine bottles, half eaten bags of chips, and a Domino's pizza they managed to order right before closing. When Lisa started to rummage through the freezer, looking for the Tequila bottle, Amy winced, knowing the night had taken an ugly turn.
Chapter Four

The alarm blasted loudly, piercing the quietness of the morning. Covering her eyes, Amy groaned, the hangover kicking in with a vengeance. She rolled over, the room spinning, her stomach lurching in response; no doubt the after-effects of last night's tequila shots. Why had she let the night get so out of hand? Her fingers blindly found the snooze button, grateful to silence the beeping. "Just another twenty minutes," she murmured.

Two hours later, Amy screamed in horror when she realized it was already nine o'clock. Damn! Damn! Damn!

She moved as quickly as her achy body allowed. Grabbing her iPhone out of her bag, she scrolled through her work inbox for new messages. It was largely empty, and she was glad she hadn't woken up to another slew of delegated tasks with action needed. Phone still in hand, she turned on the shower, skimming her personal emails while the water heated.

Reading through the emails more carefully now, her heart beat rapidly as her eyes zeroed in on the unopened email from Joan Allison, as in the Joan Allison, Head of Human Resources at Condé Nast.

Dear Ms. Amy McKinsey,

I received your resume for the position of Senior Marketing Manager at Diva, our leading lifestyle magazine here at Condé Nast and I would like to speak to you immediately.

I called your mobile several times yesterday but failed to get you. Please call me as quickly as possible so we can schedule an interview. If I don't hear from you by end of day, I will assume you're no longer interested in the position.

Regards,

Joan Allison

Head of Human Resources & Recruitment

Forgetting her hangover, Amy screamed, her voice ringing excruciatingly in her ears. Condé Nast wanted to interview her. Oh, happy day. Maybe her luck was changing after all. Wait. Did the email say Joan had called her mobile several times yesterday? How did that happen? She had checked her mobile on the way to McFarley's and there were no missed calls. The fog lifted slowly from her throbbing head, remembering Miranda had the same complaint.

At her shrieks of excitement, Miranda and Lisa walked in, looking like they'd been run over by a truck and then dragged behind it through hell and back. Still in their clothes from yesterday, they stumbled in, bracing themselves on the doorway for support, half-asleep or drunk. It was hard to tell.

"Well, we're awake. What the hell is going on? Did the wicked witch decide to stay in Miami forever?" Lisa's sarcasm only made Amy adore her more. Miranda and Lisa had never met Sarah, and yet they gladly cursed her just the same.

"No, even better," giggled Amy, throwing her arms around Miranda and then Lisa, who looked like she was about to puke.

"I got an email from the Head of HR at Condé Nast, and she wants to set up an interview," Amy said, barely able to contain herself.

"Oh, Amy, that's amazing. You better call her back. It's already noon in New York." Lisa hugged her tightly before collapsing on Amy's bed, pulling the dress and shoes from under her and throwing them on the floor. "Sorry, I need to lie down. I feel like crap. I've already called in sick so don't bother waking me up."

"Hurry up and call her back." Miranda beamed, biting her lip to hide the sadness.

"All right, all right." Amy's shaky fingers dialed Joan's number and waited for a response.

Within a few short minutes, Amy had secured a phone interview for nine o'clock in the morning, Eastern Standard Time the next day. Crap. It meant she needed to get up at the crack of dawn, literally.
Chapter Five

With the interview the only thing on her mind, she had showered and dressed robotically, mulling over the possibility of actually moving to New York. She had dreamed of this moment for years, and even considered it right after college, but then she'd been hired by Glitz, and leaving didn't make sense anymore. So Amy waited, worked hard, and kept her eye on the prize of one day moving to the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps, the home of the New York Yankees and the best pizza in the country.

Leaving Glitz would be harder than she was willing to admit. This place had been her second home since college. She'd landed the position of marketing assistant right after graduation and had worked her way up the ranks to marketing manager. It meant something to her. Aside from dealing with Sarah, she loved working at Glitz, and enjoyed seeing the lifestyle magazine expand into a wider market, gaining a broader readership every day. After their recent exclusive with Tom Cruise, Glitz had finally made its mark in the magazine world, going toe-to-toe with the best of them. All the long tireless hours put in by the staff had paid off. All except Sarah, of course, who never worked a minute in her spoiled, entitled life. Ever. If there was such a thing as reincarnation, Amy wished for Sarah to come back as a mosquito in the deep swamps of Mississippi in the hottest of summers. Amy stifled a giggle at the image of Sarah as a pesky little mosquito, buzzing around without gratification. Never mind her.

Amy flipped her long hair to the side, feeling fabulous already, determined to stay focused on the long list of to-dos. If she landed this job, in less than three weeks, she'd be looking out the window in Times Square, leaving all the pettiness, and hopefully bad luck, behind.

The next morning, Amy was up and caffeinated by five o'clock, her nerves running rampant with excitement.

"Good Morning, Amy. How are you?" Joan's authoritative voice greeted her at 6 a.m. sharp.

"I'm doing great. Thank you for ... hiccup ... giving me ... hiccup ... this great opportunity." What the hell was happening? Where had the damn hiccups come from? "I must apologize, I seem ... hiccup ... to have ... hiccup ... the hiccups ... hiccup." Fuck!

God, please. Is my bad luck ever going to run out? I'll do anything, Amy silently prayed, pleading with the interview gods to spare her further humiliation.

"Yes, I can hear that. Would you like a moment?" Joan didn't sound amused, though she wasn't as nasty as she could have been. Maybe there was hope. Gulping a mouthful of coffee, Amy returned her attention back to the interview.

"I'm all right, thank you. Again, I'm really sorry." As soon as she felt another hiccup bubbling up, she slapped her hand over her mouth, moving the receiver away from her contorted face. Damn it! Why was this happening?

Twenty agonizing minutes of pure torture later, Joan ended the call. "I'll get back to you in a few days if we choose to move forward with another interview."

Great! That basically meant, don't call us, we will call you if we decide to hire you.

Amy couldn't believe her ears when Joan called a few days later, wanting to schedule an in-person interview for the following Monday in New York City.

Shopping for the perfect outfit consumed every minute of the weekend. Amy needed to be polished, professional, and yet stylish and trendy. A black suit just wasn't going to cut it. She was interviewing at Condé Nast, not the Mayor's office.

Monday morning, Amy arrived at the Condé Nast offices, excitement pulsing through her veins as she waited in the posh lobby of the 20th floor, gazing at a spectacular view of Times Square. If she nailed this interview, this could be her view every single day. She forced deep meditative breaths in an attempt to calm down before her scheduled 9 a.m. interview with Janet Callaghan, the Head of Marketing.

A size zero, perfectly coifed and dressed woman sashayed over to her a few minutes before nine, introducing herself as Megan, Janet's executive assistant. Amy followed happily enough down the long hallway, a giddy smile plastered on her face. She was actually here at Condé Nast, in the flesh, to interview for a job. Her confidence soared past any high-rise in this city or any other city for that matter. No catastrophes today. This was her day!

In typical office floor layout, and not unlike the offices at Glitz, the perimeter along the floor accommodated the executive and senior management offices, with medium-size cubicles taking up the majority of space in the middle. The clacking sounds of fast fingers on keyboards droned in the background, reminding Amy that although she was floating on a fluffy cloud, everyone around her was experiencing a typical workday. A few heads curiously popped up to give her the once-over, and Amy smiled confidently, knowing she looked amazing in her new outfit that had set her back at least a month's salary. The light gray pin-striped pencil skirt with a matching vest layered over a gorgeous cream-colored silk blouse complimented her to perfection. A long string of pearls entwined with a silver rope necklace dangled to her navel, and the cream Louboutin high heels finished the exquisite ensemble to Vogue flawlessness. With each step, her heels click-clacked pointedly on the polished hard wood floors, drawing more eyeballs in her direction. Amy felt like a million bucks. That alone made the hefty purchase well worth it.

Halfway down the hall, the butterflies in her stomach kicked into high gear, excitement pulsing through her veins. Whether it was nerves or a too-polished floor, her foot felt a little wobbly in her shoe, but she dismissed it, determined to not let a-ny-thing distract her. One foot in front of the other, she followed the silhouette of the size zero down the hall, grinning like a fool.

"And here we are." Megan stopped a few feet short of the corner office and stepped aside, motioning for Amy to go in.

A mini mental pep talk and a meditative deep breath later, Amy took a step into the office that she hoped would soon change her fate from a Southern California beach girl to a glamorous employee at Condé Nast in New York City.

What happened next would be documented in Condé Nast history as the most mortifying experience ever. There were hardly words to describe the humiliating and embarrassing horror that unfolded in the mere seconds before Amy stepped into the interview of a lifetime. So unfair! By some unexplainable force of jinx, the fabulous Louboutin heel got caught on the seam separating the hardwood floors of the hallway from the plush carpet in Janet's office, pulling Amy and every shred of dignity down with her to the floor, nose pressed into the carpet. A few gasps and shudders could be heard up and down the hallway as Amy struggled to regain her footing. The fall happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that Amy didn't have a chance to reach for the doorway or hold on to the leather-engraved bound folder containing copies of her resume. The folder flew out of her hand and landed with a crash on top of a potted shrub against the wall, crushing the delicate greenery. Loose copies of her resume floated like leaves in the wind before landing in scattered disarray around the office, along with her shattered self-esteem. Why God, why?

Amy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. Damn it! Was this a glimpse of what her life would always be like, a series of humiliating mishaps? The hell with that, she thought stubbornly, determined to nail this interview. It was going to take a lot more than a fall to sink this dream. Amy took a deep breath and pulled herself up, wiggling her sore ankle in her shoe before smoothing out her clothes and turning to face Janet, a smile in place, ready to re-start the introduction. Thanks for nothing, Universe.

"Well, not many make such a grand entrance. Are you all right" Janet rushed around her desk, looking genuinely concerned.

"Yes, thank you." Fake courage was a wonderful thing when desperate to impress the hell out of a potential new boss. Extending her hand, Amy shook Janet's firmly, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her and the damn Louboutin shoes. Amy whispered a thank you to Megan, deeming her worthy of camaraderie. In fairness, Megan was on her hands and knees collecting the dispersed papers for her.

"Thank you, Megan. Please hold all my calls for the next thirty minutes." Janet oozed authority and class, from her perfectly manicured Wicked Essie nail polish, one of Amy's favorite colors, to the black pantsuit with fire-engine-red Chanel heels. Janet might as well have bounced from the very pages of the magazines they published. She sat on the long beige couch facing the window and motioned for Amy to join her. Amy assumed that this interview would be more conversational. If she dared speculate, Janet's mind was already made up about her, although Amy was in the dark about the verdict.

Amy sat with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes leveled with Janet's. She hadn't noticed Janet's beauty or age with all of the drama her fall had caused. Now that she took the time to center herself, she noted that Janet's brown bob and corky glasses made her look older than she was. Not many people could pull off blue-rimmed frames and still look this chic.

"So tell me, Amy, why do you want to work at Diva?"

"For as long as I can remember, I've been a huge fan of Condé Nast and their magazines. From the content to the beautiful fashion spreads, I read the magazine from cover to cover. I've dreamed of working here since college graduation, but wanted to wait till I had something to offer." Whatever alien had abducted Amy's body and was channeling this poised and confident woman had her permission to stay forever. And while she was at it, this new person could abolish the clumsy hiccupping fool from her life.
Chapter Six

Just over a week later, the girls enjoyed a lazy Saturday afternoon at McFarley's for a late lunch of salads, wraps, and smoothies to celebrate Amy's new job offer and pending move to New York City.

"Amy, I can't believe you still got the job. They clearly saw past your quirks and right to your ... ahh ... qualifications," Miranda said, covering her mouth to hide the giggles tumbling out.

"Shut up." Amy playfully swatted at Miranda.

"Thank goodness you wore a pencil skirt and not a dress. You were in serious danger of mooning your potential colleagues." Miranda clutched her sides now, laughing so loud, she snorted.

"You got the job regardless of being a complete disaster disguised in trendy clothes. That should make you feel good." Lisa raised her smoothie in a toast.

"Well, thank you, Lisa for your continued support." Amy stuck her tongue out at Miranda, raising her own smoothie to clink glasses with Lisa.

"We love you, Amy, and we will miss you." More serious now, Miranda joined the toast; unshed tears glimmering in her bright blue eyes.

"Don't make me cry, it's not waterproof mascara," Amy joked, trying desperately to maintain her composure. Truth was, she was a little heartbroken about leaving, knowing it would be gut-wrenching to say good-bye.

"We already bought our tickets to come see you in June. You'll barely miss us," chimed Lisa, sounding more cheerful than she looked, her eyes glassy and red from crying.

"Really? Aw, you guys are amazing. The timing is perfect. I move into my new apartment on March twenty-eighth, start my new job on April first, and head to Pittsburg in early May for business. By the time I get back, you'll be coming to visit me." Amy prattled on, determined to keep an upbeat mood during their dwindling time together.

"All right, just don't sign anything during the last week in March or first week in April. Mercury is in retrograde and all communication goes a little batty." Miranda took a gulp of her strawberry banana smoothie, eyeing them seriously.

"Mercury what?" Amy laughed out loud. Miranda was notorious for the eccentric, and somehow she was in the loop with all these crazy spiritual calendars that made no sense to anyone but her and her fellow enlightened friends from yoga. She had once taken a Tarot reading class at the local Psychic Eye on Ventura Boulevard in hopes of connecting with her dead aunt. Or was it connecting with her higher self? The details were blurry. The worst part was that Miranda had begged and pleaded till Amy and Lisa signed up for the class as well, an experience none of them would ever forget. Chanting and blowing candles in a southern direction wasn't exactly Amy's cup of tea. On second thought, maybe she should have taken the class more seriously and blown the candle in the right damn direction. Maybe then, the Universe wouldn't be punishing her with hurdles along the way.

"Remember, I told you before, Mercury retrograde will really screw you up if you don't pay attention. Just don't sign anything or start something new. Okay?"

"Are you kidding me? You know I'm moving next week, as in moving during the last week in March and starting my new job on April first. Call me crazy but I don't think my new boss will be too understanding about pushing my start date to another week because of Mercury retrograde." Amy stifled a giggle. One glance at Lisa's pinched face and the two of them erupted into uncontrollable laugher, and in spite of herself, Miranda joined them.

"How did the wicked witch take the news?" Lisa asked.

"She congratulated me, barely. And then she casually mentioned that only a small percentage of people ever enjoy real success there. Most just fail and return home, broken and defeated. I swear, her exact words." Miranda and Lisa rolled their eyes in unison. Amy felt sorry for Sarah. She was too young and inexperienced to realize that her uncle's influence wouldn't last forever.

Stuffed with food and thoroughly exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the previous week, the three girlfriends hugged good-bye, leaving Amy to walk the short distance home. The warm March breeze danced in the tree branches, rustling the leaves, and in spite of wanting to maintain a cheerful attitude, Amy's eyes glassed over with tears.

Brentwood had always been one of Amy's favorite towns, close enough to the beach and far enough from the frenzied traffic of Beverly Hills. An added bonus was that she didn't always need a car to get around here. Within a short distance from her apartment, she had her pick of privately owned grocery stores and cafes. She loved Brentwood. She loved sunny California, and for the first time since dreaming of NYC, Amy wondered if the long dreary winters would suit her.
Chapter Seven

With the pending move days away and an apartment full of furniture, five years' worth to be exact, Amy gladly agreed to store everything that wasn't being shipped in a storage unit to be dealt with later. Everything had happened so fast with interviewing and getting the job offer, she'd barely had time to pack, let alone try and sell any of her furniture and random household items. Besides, moving to NYC wasn't permanent. As much as she was enamored with the urban lifestyle, glamorous job, and potential fabulous friends, her heart belonged in Los Angeles, her first true and only love.

Miranda was a godsend in finding her a storage unit for a sweet deal. Amy gladly signed on the dotted line. Her dear friend, queen of connections from the beaches of Los Angeles to the alligator infested waters in Florida, somehow knew a guy who had a connection with the Hawthorne storage facility and finagled an unbelievable deal on her behalf. Who knew the yoga community was such a resourcefully connected bunch? Namaste.

Bright and early the following Friday, a big yellow moving truck arrived at her door. Four burly men, looking like they hadn't showered in days or even weeks, knocked at her door, ready to transport the carefully labeled boxes containing linens, books, kitchenware, and clothes to her new home. The men walked in and out of the rooms, scanning everything in silence before one of the men grunted something inaudible to the others, clearly communicating in a secret language, prompting them to strap the protective belts around their waists and begin taking boxes out. The grunter stayed behind, sizing up her belongings with a few glances, shifting pieces of wrapped furniture, and taking notes on his clipboard.

At the sound of crashing porcelain, the grunter scurried past Amy, taking the stairs two at a time to the bottom landing where her kitchen box lay, its contents no doubt smashed to pieces.

"I can't believe you just broke all my dishes. Those were from my Mom," Amy shouted from the top of the stairs. She stormed back into the apartment, wanting nothing more than to hurl something at the idiot who destroyed her plates. More grunting and erratic hand motioning later, the grunter handed Amy fifty dollars in exchange for the broken dishes. Clearly a joke. Fifty dollars? The soup bowls alone cost more than that. She'd take it up with management. Arguing with the grunter was useless, as she couldn't understand a damn thing he said anyway.

Fifteen boxes in total, not including the destroyed one, were loaded on the truck, and to Amy's surprise, a bulge the size of a grapefruit wedged itself in her throat, forcing the emotions to bubble up and spill over. She wiped the salty tears with the back of her hand, just as the truck pulled away with her belongings, leaving her breathless in the empty apartment.

Amy loved her life in Los Angeles; she loved her friends, and she even loved her job, minus Sarah. Moving to New York City had never been about escaping or needing a fresh start, it was about chasing a dream, fulfilling a deep desire to spread her wings as far as they would go. The timing couldn't be more perfect as her career was on the cusp of transitioning to the next level. The fact that it was a mixture of scary and exciting was exactly why she needed to do it.

Now if only she would get this lucky with finding an apartment. Downsizing was part of the deal; she only prayed it didn't include rooming with cockroaches and a sloppy roommate who left dirty dishes and empty food containers everywhere. Amy shuddered at the thought. She was far from being a neat freak, but she'd never been mistaken for a slob either.

She sighed, already missing the spaciousness of her two-bedroom, high-ceilinged apartment, with its enormous living room and dining room in the private tree-lined neighborhood.

The apartment hunt had begun as soon as Amy received the offer letter from Condé Nast and not a minute sooner. No reason to jinx anything. When she'd received the offer at noon on a Tuesday, she'd immediately set out to find an apartment in the city. Being a newcomer to Manhattan, Amy felt strongly about wanting the full Sex and the City experience.

Janet and Megan each directed her to a few listings that proved worthwhile and fruitful and she couldn't dial the numbers fast enough to speak with anyone that picked up on the other end. It was risky to commit to an apartment based on pictures alone, but she didn't have much of a choice. Not if she wanted to start her new job on April first.

Amy spent the better part of the week searching for an apartment, calling potential landlords. Some never bothered to return her call. Rude bastards. Didn't they sense the urgency in her voicemails?

In the short amount of time searching, her inbox was flooded with spam emails. It was fascinating how quickly that happened. How did one's information from an online apartment application somehow get shared with the relentless sales force pushing Viagra? Amy contemplated responding back to the Viagra team asking about their sales methodology as they had clearly missed the mark with her, but decided against it. Thankfully, there were legitimate responses to her inquiries about apartments, and those she gladly opened, reading every word.

Just when she was about to give up, feeling defeated and begrudgingly willing to widen her search to include a sublet with a roommate, she came across a listing for a one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. It was a second floor walk-up with ample room in the living room and a decent amount of closets. And it was within her budget. Yes! The apartment gods were finally smiling down on her.

With shaky fingers, Amy dialed the number. The phone rang repeatedly with no answer and no answering machine. She hung up and dialed again. This building came highly recommended and she wasn't about to let this apartment go because some guy on the other end of the line decided to go for a stroll. So maybe the apartment gods weren't quite smiling, more like taunting.

Finally, a generic voicemail greeted her, prompting her to leave a message at the end of the tone. Huh? Had she dialed the right number? Feeling a little weird, she left a voicemail anyway. Maybe the management company had a new phone system and didn't have a chance to record a friendly, welcoming voicemail greeting. That was possible.

Wringing her hands as she paced the length of the apartment, much more sparse and sad-looking now that her furniture and boxes were gone, the cordless phone rang, startling her.

"Hello?" During the five years that she had lived in this apartment, Amy could count the number of times her home phone had rung on one hand. The only reason she kept the landline was for emergencies. Should an earthquake wipe out all cellular phone towers, she needed a reliable method to reach her family and friends.

"Can I speak with Amy? I'm returning a call about an apartment vacancy," a low growling voice answered from the other end.

"Yes, it's Amy. I left a voicemail ... about the apartment." Her voice sounded shaky.

"This is Dave. I'm filling in for the building manager." He paused briefly before he continued, "Do you still want it?" He wasn't the most pleasant person: impatient, borderline rude, and rushing the call. But he did have an available apartment that looked really nice, and for that reason alone, Amy turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the barbarian's mannerisms on the other end. For her own sanity, she quickly scanned her notebook, confirming that the number she'd dialed was indeed the same as the one on the other end, and breathed a sigh of relief when they matched digit for digit.

"Yes, I was interested in the apartment and wanted to ask ..." Rude Dave cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"Listen, if you want it, you need to put a deposit on it, otherwise, I'll keep showing it. First come, first serve."

"But I can't see it, I'm in California. I probably wouldn't see it till my actual move in day. I was hoping you could tell me ..." Again the Neanderthal cut her off.

"Well, then you need a deposit with first and last month rent and it's yours. You can move in on March twenty-eighth." Not only was Dave rude, but he was a heavy breather too. He was clearly a smoker, and an inconsiderate one at that. She could almost smell his stinky cigarette wafting through the phone receiver.

"Fine. Do you take cards?" She felt like a naïve ass. If the building hadn't come highly recommended by both Janet and Megan, she would have hung up on this jerk, acting like he had more important places to be. As if.

With her credit card number in his shady possession, chain smoker Dave assured her, "Call me when you arrive and I'll meet you at the building to let you in." He hung up before she could reply. Argh.

So maybe this wasn't the orthodox way of looking for an apartment, but then again, she was moving her entire life cross-country within two weeks of landing a job. When Joan had called to offer her the position with a start date of April first, just a little over two weeks away, Amy hadn't had the courage to negotiate a start date that allowed her to move her life at a more realistic speed. Amy wanted this job more than anything, and had dreamed of this job for almost five years. On some level, she wanted to prove to everyone at Condé Nast, and maybe to herself, that she was up for the task, no matter the challenges. It's not like she made a fantastic first impression on Joan with the hiccup attack or on the entire 20th floor by falling flat on her face, literally, in Janet's office.

This wasn't the time to move at the speed of a glacier. This was her time to conquer the world. Well, maybe not the world, maybe just Manhattan, or just Condé Nast ...well ... Oh, hell, she would be happy to conquer her cubicle without further embarrassing incidents.

Amy took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her middle for comfort. Holy crap! I just rented an apartment in Manhattan.

Squeee! She yelped in delight.

Images of Sarah Jessica Parker hurrying past her apartment in her fabulous Jimmy Choo shoes danced promisingly in her mind. In all seriousness, there was a strong possibility of running into Sarah Jessica Parker or any of the gals. They lived in Manhattan. Maybe if Sarah Jessica saw her often enough, she would know she was a local and somehow they would bond over shoes or a Martini. It was possible. Amy could see the budding friendships blossom in her mind. She needed to revamp her wardrobe immediately, and while at it, invest in a good anti-frizz. A crunchy bird's nest perched on top of her head was a no-no, especially for Sarah Jessica Parker's new BFF.
Chapter Eight

The chill in the air was still biting, despite spring being around the corner. Amy's heart thumped loudly in her ears as she sat in the yellow taxi from JFK to her new apartment on the Upper East Side. She called rude Dave as she was boarding to re-confirm their appointment at 4 p.m. It was Friday afternoon, and traffic into Manhattan was hell on wheels, but even that didn't dampen Amy's excitement at seeing her new neighborhood and apartment. Pulling out a tube of lip gloss, she carefully applied a fresh coat over her lips, rubbing them together before examining her face in the small compact she took out of her purse. She smiled at herself, satisfied with her efforts.

An hour and half later, the taxi pulled up in front of a picturesque brownstone building with a gorgeous brick stoop. She'd always wanted a stoop. Double doors were flanked by two miniature shrubs in large decorative planters. It was everything she'd imagined and more. The cab driver was kind enough to help unload her two large suitcases and duffel bag before driving away, leaving her on the tree lined street of her new home.

Heaving the suitcases up the short stack of stairs, she ran back down and retrieved the duffel bag before she buzzed the button labeled #1 as Dave had instructed. A few minutes later, a short, balding, round man appeared at the door, looking as grumpy as she had imagined from his voice. The grump was a dead ringer for Danny DeVito; Amy prayed he at least had his sense of humor. Doubtful.

"Hi, I'm Dave. You must be Amy," he said, extending a hand. He smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

"I'm Amy." She shook his hand and regretted it almost immediately. A dirty, sweaty palm awaited. Subtly, she wiped the germ-infested hand on her jeans, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Let's go see your apartment." He surprised her by grabbing a large suitcase, extending a hand to take the duffel bag from her shoulder, and she gladly obliged. "You're on the third floor."

"I'm sorry, you said third floor?" Amy could have sworn it was a second floor walk-up.

"Aha, come on." He began climbing the stairs, hauling her bags with him. Thank goodness she had the sense to wear sneakers today.

Three flights of stairs later, Dave unlocked the door, making a grand gesture, motioning for her to walk in, bowing at the waist with his arm pointing to the open door. She hesitated briefly before going in, leaving her suitcase at the door. A dingy odor attacked her nostrils almost immediately, robbing her of clean, non-toxic air. Had something died in here? She started coughing violently, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's been so cold, I haven't had the chance to air out the apartment." He almost sounded apologetic, the cad. Walking quickly around her, he flicked on the light switches in the living room before hurrying to retrieve the bags. Something small and black scurried across the room in search of a dark corner. Was this a horrible joke?

Amy blinked several times in hopes of improved surroundings, but no such luck. The one-bedroom was actually a disgusting, smelly studio. The hardwood floors were covered in thick, grimy filth, months' worth of dust bunnies claiming permanent residency floated around the empty space without a care in the world. This shithole should be doused with bleach and then fumigated before it was deemed livable. The cough subsided slightly, giving Amy the opportunity to look around the filthy shoebox; her stomach heaving at the possibility of what awaited her in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry but this is the wrong apartment. When we spoke on the phone, I specifically asked about a one-bedroom on the second floor, not this ... prison cell." She waved her arm, motioning to the studio. The shrill in her voice and temper on the verge of exploding got Dave's attention and he actually took a step away from her. Damn right! She didn't move cross-country to live here.

"This is the only vacancy we have," he stuttered before she cut him off. Her screaming at him actually chipped a few pieces of crusty paint from the wall. Amy glared at rude Dave, not ready to give up this fight. Years of working with the wicked witch had taught her a thing or two about getting her way, and this battle was far from over.
Chapter Nine

Unfortunately for Amy, she either needed to accept her misfortune with the apartment or look for something else. A two-hour screaming fight in the hallway with rude Dave hadn't yielded her a new apartment. If anything, it had earned her a few dirty looks as other residents passed her, clearly unhappy with the chaos she was creating. A slim brunette in a long overcoat had the audacity to mutter, "This isn't that kind of a building," as she passed Amy and rude Dave.

To Dave's credit, he apologized profusely for the mix up, telling her the one-bedroom apartment had been rented over the weekend. He'd confused her name with the new tenant that showed up; admitting that managing the building on behalf of his brother was a nightmare and overwhelming. If it weren't for the strong temptation to beat him senseless, she would actually feel sorry for him. At the very least, he agreed to give her the entire deposit back if she chose to leave. The problem was, she had nowhere to go, her boxes and the day bed that she'd ordered the previous week were being delivered on Sunday morning, which meant she had twenty-four hours to either clean this germ-infested shithole or look for another place immediately.

Emotionally drained and defeated, she started sobbing, right there in the hallway.

"Listen, I don't know why the apartment is in such horrible shape. To be honest, I hadn't looked at it till I unlocked it for you. I'll talk to my brother as soon as he comes back next week about knocking off your rent for the mix-up. At the very least, your rent will be cheaper. In the meantime, I'll help get your place ready for you. I'll call some buddies and we'll clean it and paint it in time for Sunday morning. You just need to stay at a hotel tonight and tomorrow night. I'm really sorry." His sympathy only pushed her over the edge further, the sobs turning to hiccups. Like a skilled bomb squad team member diffusing an explosive, Dave moved quickly. To her surprise, he booked her a hotel for two nights, on the management company, called her a cab, and sent her on her way so he could get her apartment ready for her.

At the hotel room a few blocks away, Amy collapsed on the bed, fresh tears drenching the duvet. How could something so wonderful go so very wrong? And then she remembered Miranda's words: Mercury retrograde. That's what.

She cried herself to sleep that night and opted to stay in bed the majority of Saturday too. As much as she tried to relax, she was too anxious and upset to check out her new neighborhood. Barely eating and sleeping since arriving in NYC, she once again felt like a fool. By the time Sunday morning came, she was a bundle of nerves on the brink of an emotional meltdown.

She nearly fell over when Dave greeted her early on Sunday, pleasant and clean. Guilt was an amazing catalyst.

"Hope you had a good night's sleep. Ready to see your new and improved place?" He practically ran up the stairs, clearly pleased with himself. Amy nodded silently, not daring hope for anything.

At her door, he unlocked it and stepped aside, his yellow grin a little less offensive. Or maybe the caffeine hadn't kicked in yet. She inhaled deeply, prepared to cut her losses and look for a new apartment when the lease ran out. Her jaw dropped with shock at the incredible transformation before her eyes. The small studio had been scrubbed from top to bottom, not a single crevice overlooked. The freshly painted taupe walls almost made the room look bigger. Even the blinds were replaced with pristine new ones, drawn open to the let the sun in. The studio was still small, but it was more than livable, it was great. Delighted with her satisfaction, Dave showed her the kitchen, pointing out the newly-painted cabinets, and then led her to the bathroom, scrubbed to shining perfection.

"I can't believe it." She choked back tears, relieved that she'd be spared having to share her space with roaches. "Thank you."

"It's no problem. Again, I'm sorry. I felt really bad ... anyway; I'll go downstairs to wait for the moving truck. You stay here and get settled. I'll bring up your suitcases in a few," he muttered sheepishly, leaving her to her devices.

The next morning, Amy woke up early, a mixture of excitement and nerves at starting her new job. Dressed in black slacks, ankle boots, and a pink cashmere sweater, she grabbed her coat as she walked out of the building, happy the tide had changed in her favor with the apartment.

The fresh cold air stung her cheeks, reminding her that she was officially a New York resident. She giggled to herself as she walked the short distance to the yellow line, hopping on the downtown N for Times Square. The early morning hour didn't deter locals and tourists from swarming the streets, and tears of joy stung her eyes at the realization that she was actually here.

Walking towards the revolving door just off Broadway, the foot traffic lessened; there was nothing intriguing for tourists on this block. Amy checked into reception, and with her new employee badge in hand, she stepped into the elevator to her new world.

"Amy, good morning," Joan greeted her as she walked out of the elevator, looking a little surprised.

"Good Morning. I'm so excited to be here." Amy beamed, looking around the floor, eager to be shown to her desk.

"Yes, but we weren't expecting you till next week. I'm afraid we don't have a desk or phone ready for you today," Joan stated grimly.

"What? How can that be? The offer letter said April first. I don't understand." Panic rose in her throat. Had she misread the offer letter? Scanning the quiet floor in disbelief, Amy spotted Janet with Megan on her heels walking towards the elevator, clearly on their way to a meeting. Dread washed over her. This couldn't be happening.

"Amy, what are you doing here?" Janet looked as surprised as Joan. Amy sighed deeply, determined not to cry on her first day. Maybe a spiritual cleansing was in order. Hell, she'd blow a candle in every direction if it would rid her of these mishaps.

"Amy." Janet's voice was full of concern and ... was she smiling? "Happy April Fools' Day. We all felt so bad about the incident in my office; we wanted your first day to start on a fun note. Come ... let me show you to your new office." Janet smiled sweetly, putting a gentle hand on Amy's shoulder.

"Thank God. I was seriously contemplating hiring a shaman or something," Amy joked, relieved that another blunder wasn't mocking her cruelly. And did Janet say office? She was getting an office at Condé Nast?

This Fool's luck had finally changed.
Author Bio:

Engy Albasel Neville is the author of, A Leap In Time. She started her career in the entertainment industry, a continued inspiration for storylines and characters. She's mom, a brand consultant and a certified yoga teacher. Her favorite hobbies include traveling, gardening, cooking and writing, with the latter more of a necessary creative outlet than hobby. Engy lives with her husband, two toddlers and dog on Long Island, New York.

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Fooled Around and Fell in Love

By

Connie Stephany

This book is dedicated to the one and only love of my life, Bob Stephany. We've been married almost 16 years and I love you more each day. Thank you for your support and always believing in me. To Steven Paul Carlson, thank you for your fabulous magic trick!
Fooled Around and Fell in Love

Tom Parker was in love with his best friend. There. He finally said it...out loud...to himself...in his car. He was on his way over to her house for their weekly Sunday morning routine, donuts and Caribou coffee in hand. He knew everything about Colleen Toogood, and as her last name suggested, she really was too good for him. Tom loved everything about her, but they were best friends, nothing more.

As he pulled into her driveway, Colleen opened the front door and yelled, "Hurry up! I want my Mint Condition before it gets cold!" She said it with a huge grin on her face. As he looked up, he couldn't help but notice she was still in her fuzzy pink pajama pants and bright pink tank top that hugged her luscious curves. Her dark hair was in a messy ponytail and her blue eyes were sparkling. God, she's beautiful.

Shaking his head at himself, he grabbed the goods and walked up the driveway, saying "Pushy, pushy! Aren't we impatient today?"

Tom handed her the drink and then watched in appreciation as Colleen took her first sip of the chocolaty, minty goodness. She closed her eyes in delight and her smile got even bigger. "Ahhhh, thank you."

"Well, that's a little better." He replied, still teasing her, pretending to be offended.

"Sorry! You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago. You cannot keep me waiting when it's your turn to bring the coffee. I was going crazy!" She replied, laughing.

They walked inside Colleen's house and made themselves comfortable in the living room on her super soft microfiber couch. They sat facing each other, sipping their coffee.

"What kind of treat did you bring today?" Colleen asked him, staring at the bag from the pastry shop.

"For madam, we have a chocolate croissant." Tom said in a horrible French accent. He reached in the bag and took out the pastry, handing it to Colleen. "For monsieur, we have an apple fritter." He continued, grabbing the donut and taking a huge bite.

"Thank you, monsieur." Colleen told him, and then took an equally large bite of her yummy treat. "Ready to start the movie?"

Tom shook his head and Colleen looked at him, raising one dark eyebrow. He loved when she looked at him that way. So. Damn. Sexy.

He took another bite of his donut so that he could just keep staring for another minute while he chewed. It was all he could do not to stare down at her lovely mouth as she devoured her pastry. Finally, after chewing slowly, he answered, "Before we start the movie, we have to iron out our plans for this weekend. You're coming with me to my mom's birthday party, right?" He asked her, hopeful that she hadn't changed her mind. No matter, even if she had he'd just change it back.

"I'm planning on it, yes." Colleen told him, nodding her head.

"Good, because I thought of the best prank to pull on my mom for April fool's this year!" Tom told her eagerly, rubbing his hands together in an exaggerated motion.

"Yeah? It better be a good one. She really got us last year." Colleen replied and looked directly into Tom's gorgeous green eyes, which were twinkling with excitement.

Tom thought back to the joke his mom had played on them the year before. She had tripped prior to their arrival and had gotten a huge goose egg on her forehead. So, being the conniving woman that she was, she made the best of her injury by pretending she couldn't remember any of them, freaking out and leaving the house, claiming she said she didn't belong with them. It ended with a trip to urgent care, a CAT scan (since it really did look horrible) and assurance from the doctor that her memory loss should only be temporary. They had finally convinced her to go home with them, and she had fessed up over her birthday cake. The woman was merciless.

"That's why I want to get her back!" Tom replied, smiling like a mad man.

"Okay, then let's hear it." Colleen prodded and waving him on in encouragement.

Tom looked at Colleen, a huge grin on his handsome face. He was thrilled for what he believed to be the ultimate hoax. "I even have the perfect prop!" Tom replied and continued before she could ask what it was. "You know my mom always bugs me about getting together with you, right?"

Colleen didn't answer right away, but finally said, "Uh, yeah...?"

Tom leaned in close, so close that he could smell her perfume and it almost drove him insane. He explained his brilliant plan and shoved the prop in her face.

Tom saw Colleen's blue eyes widen when she saw the sparkling diamond ring and then she looked back up at him with a questioning glance. "Is that what I think it is?"

Tom nodded, grinning. "It was my great-grandmother's wedding ring, which was passed down to me. They'd never guess I'd play a joke with that!" he said, laughing.

"Are you kidding?" Colleen finally asked.

"No, why? It's perfect!" He replied, a little nervous by her reaction. She couldn't turn him down – it was too perfect!

"Are you nuts?" She asked him, a skeptical look on her face. "I mean, they won't actually believe it, will they?"

"Why not? I think it will be good to finally get her back." Tom told her. "Trust me; this will be an awesome prank."

They sat in silence while his best friend appeared to be thinking. He could almost see the wheels turning in her pretty head and he smiled at her.

For the millionth time he thought about how beautiful she was. She had very dark brown hair, to the point of being almost black, bright blue eyes and pale skin. In the past, when she'd had boyfriends, he just tried to push aside his jealousy and tried not to let it show. He'd also had plenty of girlfriends, but no one ever compared to Colleen.

Luckily, they were both single now, and had been for almost a year, so he figured the prank would be harmless. Seriously, what could go wrong?

***

Colleen looked into her friend's gleaming eyes, and simply took the opportunity to stare at him. She pretended to contemplate his proposal. He smiled at her and she was glad she was sitting down. That smile got to her every time.

His blonde hair, dark skin and green eyes made him the subject of many crushes from various women over the life of their friendship. He was hot as hell, had a body to die for, one that he kept in shape with multiple trips each week to the gym, and to top it all off, he was a genuinely nice guy.

"Well? What do you say?" Tom pushed her. "Want to give my mom a run for her money?"

He looked entirely too excited and she found that she couldn't turn him down. "I guess we could give it a try. I mean, she totally deserves a joke on her for once."

Tom smacked his hands loudly together, and said "Yes! You won't regret this! Now, let me tell you how it's going to go down."

Colleen listened to Tom further explain his master plan, which although was quite brilliant, left her with an uneasy feeling. Her gut told her they shouldn't really be doing it. She pushed the thought from her mind and told herself his mom deserved a joke on her for once.

She tried on the ring to see how well it would fit and looked down at her hand. To her utter surprise, the ring was exactly what she would have chosen. It was old fashioned with tiny diamonds surrounding the large princess cut diamond in the middle, and there was intricate detail on the sides of the platinum band. She sighed deeply and wondered how she would manage to pull it off without showing her true feelings.

"Well, does it fit?" Tom finally asked Colleen, drawing her eyes back to his gorgeous, smiling face.

"It's perfect, actually." Colleen answered, surprised. "It's really beautiful, Tom."

"So you like it?" He asked her.

"A girl would be crazy not to like it." Colleen answered him, giving him a small smile.

"Good." He told her, and then grinned widely, "I can't wait to get my mom back," and then jumped up to turn on the movie.

As they settled in to watch the movie, Colleen found that she had a hard time concentrating. She kept glancing at Tom while thinking about the joke and the beautiful ring, wondering how she'd feel when she had to give it back.

***

Two days later, Colleen found herself in Tom's car, driving towards the restaurant where the grand scheme would take place and she was nervous as hell. They were going out for his mom's birthday, which happened to fall on April 1st. It would perhaps explain why his mom loved playing pranks so much on her victims.

Colleen was barely listening to Tom's excited chatter as they drove into downtown Zimmerman, which was had one main street. It was a small town and she loved it. He hadn't stopped talking since he picked her up just ten minutes earlier from her country home, a few miles outside of Zimmerman.

What the hell was she thinking? This was a bad, bad idea. She wanted to scream, Stop The Car, but she didn't want to look like a raving lunatic so she kept her mouth shut and tried to sit still.

The thought that she'd just end up getting hurt kept running through her mind. Even if she did get hurt, it wouldn't be Tom's fault. It wasn't like he knew she was head over heels. She hadn't ever told him. Now she had to pretend to be engaged to him. She sat there, pulling on her seatbelt. Why was it so damn tight?

"You're awfully quiet, Colleen. Getting in the zone?" Tom asked her, grinning his almost-famous knee-weakening grin, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Yeah, something like that." Colleen murmured and squeezed back before reclaiming her hand. She wondered if his hand was tingling the way hers was.

"You look great, by the way. You don't wear dresses often, but I like it." Tom told her, glancing over at her.

Colleen looked back at Tom and turned pink at his compliment. "Thanks. I figured maybe I should look the part tonight." She had gone shopping with her other best friend, Abby, who helped Colleen pick out a little red wrap dress, which hugged her curves in all the right places. She also picked out a pair of black heels with red soles, which she had to admit were sexy as hell and just the look she was going for to knock Tom's socks off. The look Tom gave her when she opened her door had her smiling again. Even if he didn't like her that way, he certainly had taken a good look at her tonight!

"You look pretty good yourself, Tom." She told him, noticing he had let his stubble grow since she'd last seen him, wearing the look she loved best on him. He smelled divine, too, as usual.

"Thanks, pretty lady." Tom said to her with a smile.

Before she knew it and definitely before she was mentally prepared, Tom had parked the car in the little corner lot and they were walking towards the entrance of the Whistling Pickle, aka the WP, a bar/restaurant with the best chicken wings in town.

The coolest part of the WP was that they had a hired magician, Peter, who walked through the bar on weekend nights doing cup, card and coin tricks which were absolutely mind-blowing.

They walked into the front entrance, and saw that the rest of his family was already there, waiting for them. She spied Tom's mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law and their kids. She had a quick attack of guilt, thinking about how she just loved the kids and that they'd be upset that it was just a joke. She pushed the thought out of her mind.

The family had agreed to a late dinner because Tom's parents had other plans during the day, so by the time they arrived it was already 8:00 pm.

Colleen was like family and was invited each year to celebrate Tom's mom's birthday, so no one thought twice about Colleen being with Tom that night.

"Happy birthday, mom!" Tom said to his mom, giving her a hug.

"I see you convinced Colleen to come with you!" She told Tom, and then turned to Colleen and said, "Hi honey! How are you?"

"I'm great, Jan! Happy birthday. Thanks for letting me crash your party." Colleen replied to Tom's mom as she hugged her.

"Oh you hush. You know you're always welcome." Jan told her, waving the notion away with her hand.

They both exchanged pleasantries with Tom's dad, Thomas, as well as Jason, Sarah and their four kids. Everyone was clearly happy to be together, celebrating Jan's birthday, and no doubt waiting to see what type of joke she pulled on them that year.

"We all just got here too." Jan told them.

Colleen watched Jan turn to her grand kids and say, "Come and give gran a hug for her birthday!" The kids each stood up and gave their grandmother a hug, saying happy birthday to her. Their ages ranged from eight to twelve, with the middle two being ten year old twins and completely identical.

Jason, Tom's brother, was forty so quite a bit older than Tom, who was twenty seven.

"Who's up for chicken wings?" Tom asked the group. It was clear to Colleen he was excited to get the party started.

After ordering the chicken wings, Jan went up to get pull tabs and brought a whole stack back for the table to open. Colleen would have thought it was a prank if she didn't watch her walk up and talk to the woman running the pull tab booth. She even watched the woman count out the pull tabs, just to be sure.

"Jan, are you nuts? Why do you spend money on those things when we always lose?" Thomas asked her when she got back to the table, shaking his head with a look of exasperation on his face.

"Oh hush. You know I like trying one time. It's my birthday after all and I can do what I want." She told him, defiantly. Sometimes she acted like a toddler, Colleen thought to herself. She wondered how she'd take the prank they were about to play on her.

Jan handed each person five pull tabs, and they each took turns opening them.

Jason opened one and screamed almost like girl. "I pulled a winner! It's $500.00!"

Sarah then opened one and her mouth fell open. "I did too! It's $250.00!"

Around the table, there were five winners, totaling $1050.00. The group couldn't believe their luck.

"Tom, you go on up and get them cashed in. Don't forget your license." Jan instructed him.

"Why do I have to? You got them, mom!" Tom complained, but walked up with the winning tickets and handed them to the lady at the pull tab booth.

Jan started laughing silently, and. Colleen looked at her suspiciously.

All of a sudden there was a commotion up at the pull tab box and then entire table looked up to see Tom waving the tickets in the air and the woman shaking her head no, pointing to the boxes. Colleen had a sinking feeling that they had just been the victims of Jan's latest prank. It made her extremely satisfied that they had one of their own to play on her later that evening. Forget the guilt. Game on!

Tom finally gave up and Colleen saw him walk back to the table with a scowl on his face.

"She says they aren't real." Tom told the group, a suspicious look on his face.

Jan just sat there laughing hysterically. "April fool's!" she said, and then laughed even harder.

"That's cruel, mom, cruel." Jason told her, chuckling. Even the kids were laughing at their uncle's expense.

Colleen laughed along with the rest of the table and then finally met Tom's eye. She nodded slightly to him and he gave her a grin that just about stopped her heart. Oh yeah, she was going to get it after pulling this one.

After everyone stopped laughing at Tom and had finally gotten over the loss of their short-lived riches, the group had a very nice dinner, followed by a fabulous layered lemon and cream cheese cake, made by Abby. Colleen's best friend had just opened a shop called Dessert First in the next town and she was one of her best customers.

As they were finishing up the cake and gifts, the bar's magician, who had been walking around doing tricks for tables, stopped by their table.

"Hello, folks. What brings you here tonight?" He asked the group.

"It's my birthday." Jan replied, smiling at the magician, who was wearing a tux and top hat.

"Well, then, here's a flower for the lovely young lady." He said to Jan, and made a red rose magically appear out of thin air. Then, he said, "Pick a card, any card." He fanned out the cards in front of him and Jan chose a card.

"Now write your name on the card." Peter told Jan, handing her a red Sharpie.

Jan wrote her name on the card.

Peter, the amazing magician, proceeded to do a card trick that astonished the entire table. He actually made the card Jan had chosen disappear and then show up in a stack of cards that he hadn't even touched!

When everyone had recovered from that trick, he took out three coins, and made the three coins turn into one. It was another mind-blowing trick!

The magician then walked around the table, and stopped in front of Colleen. He took out three cups from his red velvet bag of tricks, along with a small ball. He set them up in front of Colleen, putting the small white ball under the middle red cup.

"The white ball is in the middle cup, correct?" Peter asked Colleen.

"Yes." Colleen replied, while nodding her head.

"Now keep your eye on the cup with the ball. I want you to tell me which cup it's under. I will move it slowly." Peter told her, as moved the cups around.

It was pretty easy for Colleen to keep track of the ball, or so she thought. She was positive she knew where the ball was when he finally stopped moving the cups.

"Well, which cup has the white ball?" The magician asked her.

"That one." Colleen answered quickly, pointing to the cup on the right.

Peter lifted it up and the ball was not under the cup there. Instead, it was still under the middle cup.

He proceeded to try it again, moving the cups a little faster that time.

Again, she attempted to keep track of the ball and guessed when he quit moving the cups, and again she guessed wrong.

"How are you doing that?" Jan asked the magician.

"It's magic!" Peter replied, with a sly look on his face.

"This is amazing." Tom said, clearly impressed.

"Okay, one more time, Colleen. This time try to keep track of the ball!" Peter told her, laughing.

"I'm trying!" Colleen answered back, giggling in delight.

Peter again moved the cups, this time even faster. He finally stopped moving them. "Well, which one is it under this time?"

Colleen looked at the cups, and guessed the one in the middle.

This time, the magician decided to show them the cups Colleen hadn't guessed. He picked up the left cup, and it was empty.

"Look! Empty. Now, let's check the right cup." He picked up the right cup, and again, it was empty. "Looks like you got it this time!" He told her, with a big smile on his face.

After a few seconds, the magician lifted the final cup, the one Colleen had guessed. She was expecting the little white ball to be underneath.

It was an astonishing trick so it wasn't clear if the gasps around the table were due to the magician's amazing talent or the fact that in its place was Tom's great-grandmother's beautiful diamond ring.

Perfectly timed with the cup being lifted, Tom had gotten on one knee in front of Colleen. He looked directly into Colleen's bright blue eyes and said, "You are my best friend. You are the love of my life. Colleen Helen Toogood, will you marry me?"

Colleen sat there with a shocked look on her face, while Jan yelped in joy and the others around the table had their mouths wide open in surprise. Colleen hadn't expected the fake proposal to feel so real or that he was going to say it in a way to absolutely melt her heart.

As Colleen looked at Tom, kneeling before her, her heart sank into her chest, knowing this was only a trick. She forced a smile on her face and looked at Tom, nodding and said, "Tom, I love you, too. Yes, I will marry you." She saw him smile up at her and then he slipped the ring on her finger, eyes still glued to hers. Colleen's eyes filled with tears as he gently placed the ring on her finger. His smiling face turned to surprise at her tears, so she winked at him and smiled. She should get actress of the year for this performance, Colleen thought to herself.

"Kiss her, Tom!" Jan said, grinning wide and clapping her hands loudly as the magician slowly backed away.

Oh, crap! She hadn't thought of that possibility! She'd be a goner if he kissed her.

She looked at Tom, who seemed to be silently asking for her permission. Oh, what the hell. She gave him a slight nod of her head giving him consent. God help her beating heart.

Tom grabbed her with both hands and pulled her in close for their first kiss. How awkward for it to be in front of his family and how sad for it to be fake. She didn't intend to allow it to be more than a peck, but once Tom kissed her, she couldn't seem to pull away. Tom gave her a bone-melting kiss, the likes of which she'd never experienced before that moment. She tried to push against his chest to stop the kiss but he held on and she wound up putting her arms around his neck. She felt that kiss all the way to her little toes!

Tom finally ended the kiss, pulled back and looked into Colleen's eyes. She stared back at Tom, eyes wide. He seemed almost as affected by their kiss as she did, and had a look of surprise on his face.

Their stare was interrupted by Tom's dad, saying, "It's about time, son." He turned to Colleen and said, "You've always been part of our family. Now it's just official."

Tom and Colleen looked back at each other. Colleen was swirling with so many emotions – shock, desire, guilt and fear – and the questions were buzzing through her mind.

How could Tom kiss her that way and have it be a joke? She knew she loved him, but the electricity between them was still flowing as they stared at each other. How would they tell Tom's parents, who were thrilled, that this was all just the ultimate April fool's joke? What would happen to their relationship?

Colleen blinked a few times and tried to look away from Tom, but his eyes were still glued to hers. She picked up her wine and took a huge gulp, staring back.

"You two didn't tell us you were actually dating now! Although I'm not exactly surprised." Jan told them, smiling widely.

Colleen couldn't speak, so she just shrugged her shoulders and looked over at Tom, willing him silently to be the one to explain.

"Yeah, we didn't really tell anyone, mom." Tom answered for them. "We wanted to see where it would go first."

"Well, it's about time!" Jan said to Tom, and then turned to Colleen. "Call your mom and dad!" She practically shouted it at her.

Colleen almost spit out the drink she had taken, and choked it down instead. "Um, I think I'll call her later!" She told the group. "I want to be able to tell her all about it privately." She continued, not sure how it would look.

"I insist!" Jan demanded.

"Mom, leave her be. She'll call later on tonight when she isn't in a loud bar, okay?" Tom told her.

"Okay, but if I was her, I'd want to know immediately!" Jan told them both.

Colleen gave a small smile. What had they done? To get back at her was one thing but it seemed this maybe was going a little too far. Colleen felt Tom put his hand under her chin and he gently lifted her face to him, a questioning look on his face. She smiled at him, hopefully to give him reassurance that she was fine, all the while she felt like her heart would pound out of her chest.

Congratulations went around the entire bar once everyone heard what had happened and the restaurant owner, who they were friends with, brought over champagne on the house. There were even a few of their friends in the bar, all of whom were congratulating them. They didn't even seem all that surprised, which was a little unexpected to Colleen.

Through her guilt, Colleen continued to play along and act happy since she didn't know what in the hell else to do. She certainly wasn't going to break the news that it was just a joke.

***

Tom was a goner. One kiss and he knew the feelings he had for Colleen were the real deal. He had always known it but the kiss sealed it. He hadn't wanted to let her go, but had finally ended the kiss before people told them to get a room. It could have just been him, but she seemed just as affected as he did. He wanted to kiss her again, but if he did they would have to get a room.

After what his mom had pulled on him tonight, he didn't feel bad at all about tricking her. Unfortunately the joke still seemed to be on him because he just wanted to figure out how to make it real.

He looked at Colleen for the hundredth time since the kiss that knocked him off his feet. She was acting a little strange, so he reached over before he had a chance to think twice and lifted her chin to make her look at him. Colleen gave him a smile. Yup, he was hooked.

"You okay?" He asked her quietly, willing his eyes not to drop to her mouth.

She stared back at him for a few seconds and said in a whisper, "I'm fine."

Okay...he knew women well enough that those words could mean she was in fact fine, or they could really mean she's not fine at all. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

***

They kept up the ruse for the rest of the night. Tom stayed by Colleen the entire time – wouldn't leave her side. He'd grab her hand and hold it once in a while, and occasionally even give her a little kiss! She wasn't sure how much longer she could take it. She wanted to grab his face and show him just how much she wanted this whole thing to be real.

It was finally time to call it a night and she felt like she was going to vomit, thinking about what they would say but also not wanting the night to end and the joke to be over. She decided to leave it up to Tom and plead the fifth.

"Well, this has been the best birthday ever!" Jan told them. "I am so happy for you, Tom and Colleen. Thank you all so much for the amazing night. I love you all."

They all got up and started to say their goodbyes, which in Minnesota takes at least ten minutes. You have to hug multiple times, saying goodbye. Just. One. Last. Time. Then, you must tell each person it was great to see them, painfully prolonging the inevitable.

As they started to walk away, Colleen was wondering when he'd end the joke. Tom finally stopped half-way to the door and turned back around, snapping his fingers. He said, "Oh Mom, just one last thing."

She smiled up at him and said, "What's is it?"

"April fool's!" He practically shouted at her.

"What do you mean?" Jan had a very confused look on her face.

"Colleen and I aren't actually engaged. April fool's! Ha! We got you!" He told her, doing a little dance around the bar floor.

Colleen watched as realization sunk in on all of their faces, one by one.

His mom's face went from confused, to shock and finally to anger.

His dad just went from confused straight to being mad as hell and his brother and sister-in-law just shook their heads.

The kids didn't get it and Colleen heard Jason tell them they'd explain in the car on the way home, but that Tom was in big trouble with grandma and grandpa.

The last thing Colleen thought before Tom's mom stormed out of the restaurant was, Oh Crap.

***

As they drove home, Tom was trying to talk to her, asking a million questions, while she just wanted to crawl in a hole.

"So, that was crazy, huh? My mom can sure dish it out but she can't take it, huh?" Tom asked, and Colleen saw him glance at her out of the corner of her eye.

Colleen was silent for a while, trying to figure out what to say.

"Don't feel bad, Colleen. She'll get over it." He tried to reassure her.

She looked over at Tom and muttered, "I guess."

"That magician sure was something, wasn't he? How in the hell can he do that?" Tom asked her. "So impressive!"

"Yeah." Colleen replied, barely a whisper.

It seemed to Colleen that the drive back to her house took forever, but at least it gave her time to think things through. His mom was acting a little silly after pulling her own stunt, but still, she hated the reaction from all of them, especially Tom's dad. Most of all, her heart was felt like it was breaking apart and she was trying to hold herself together.

They finally pulled up into her driveway. Tom shut off the car and turned to Colleen. "Hey, you okay?"

She sat there and she felt like she was going to throw up. She knew what she had to do, but she was so nervous she felt ill. For her own sake, after that proposal and especially after that kiss, she had to tell Tom how she felt. If it blew up in her face, so be it. She'd at least always have Abby, even if Tom bailed on her after her admission.

"You know what, Tom? No. I'm not okay." Colleen said, turning to him, tears in her eyes.

Tom stared at Colleen. "What's wrong?" He asked her, and a look of panic crossed over his handsome face.

Once Colleen began, she couldn't stop. "You're my best friend, I know, but I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember, Tom. I've watched you have girlfriends who didn't deserve you and I've seen you get your heart broken and I've been there to help pick up the pieces, but none of that compared to what I feel like tonight. Having you FAKE being in love with me."

She choked on a sob, but kept going. "All of the boyfriends I've had, I wished was you, every single one of them! Tonight was awful. Seeing your family get so excited. And that kiss. What was that?" She looked at Tom, who was starting at her eyes wide.

Colleen took a breath and then continued. "I was stupid to think I could do this and not get hurt." She poured her heart out to Tom, slipping the ring off her finger and holding it up. "I want this to be real! I don't want to give this back, but I have to and it's breaking my heart." Colleen told him as her tears slowly fell down her cheeks, putting the ring in Tom's hand.

Tom looked down at the ring, and then back up at Colleen. He remained silent, just sat and stared at her, shock apparent on his face, and she wasn't sure what he was thinking.

She decided she wasn't sticking around to find out. Colleen took his silence to mean he didn't feel the same way. She choked down a sob, and before he could say a word, she opened the door and flew inside her house.

As soon as she was safely inside, Colleen collapsed on her couch and sobbed her ever-loving heart out.

***

Tom sat in his car and looked at the clock. It was 11:57 pm. Still April Fools' Day. If this was a joke on him, it would be a very cruel one, and he probably deserved it. But if she really loved him, then this entire night would be worth it to find that out.

Tom waited for three minutes, which felt like an eternity considering he knew Colleen was inside, either crying her eyes out or laughing hysterically, if this truly was a joke on him. He slowly got out of his car, ring clutched in his fist, and walked calmly up to Colleen's door. He stood on her doorstep, took a deep breath and rang her doorbell.

It took Colleen a minute to open the door. Colleen just stared at him, with her tear-streaked face.

Tom took one look at her and with relief knew she wasn't joking about her feelings. He was never really one for words and didn't know how to tell her how he felt, so he decided to show her instead. He grabbed Colleen, both hands holding her face, and kissed her with everything he was feeling.

When he finally ended the kiss, he held up the ring and said, "You forgot this. It's yours. I don't want it back." She looked at him with a question in her eyes, so he continued. "I love you, Colleen. I have always loved you and I want this to be real too. Marry me."

"Are you serious? Is this your idea of a joke?" Colleen asked him.

"It's after midnight, Colleen. It's no longer April fool's. Do I have to show you?" Tom told her. He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he grabbed her again and kissed her even longer this time. He backed her into the house, kicked the door shut and kept kissing her until she had no doubt in her crazy beautiful mind.

"Well? What do you say? Will you marry me, Colleen?" Tom asked again, his body pressed against her as close as he could get.

"Yes, yes, YES!" Colleen answered finally, a huge smile on her face, tears still falling down her cheeks.

"Thank God." Tom told her. "I was starting to sweat it there."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Colleen asked him.

"I was too scared. Why didn't you?" He asked her back.

"Ditto." She replied, laughing through her tears.

"God, you are so beautiful. Every moment I've spent with you I just wanted to kiss you, but I always held back. I didn't want to ruin what we had. But you know what?" He continued, by answering his own question. "I now realize that we can be even better as a couple. A husband and wife should be best friends. We have that covered. And this..." He leaned in to kiss her gently. "We definitely have chemistry."

Colleen nodded her head. "Yeah, I've always wondered how it would feel to kiss you. I've never felt anything like that kiss before."

Tom smiled and said, "Good. You're mine. When I proposed, those words were all true and I meant everything I said so I'll say them again. You are my best friend and I love you."

Colleen replied, "I love you too," and then to his delight rose up on her toes to kiss him again.

When they finally took a breath, Colleen asked him, "Should we call your mom and dad and tell them that we really are engaged?"

"I think we'll let my mom sweat it out a little longer. Let's tell them tomorrow." Tom replied with the grin that made Colleen weak.

At that answer, Colleen jumped up and wrapped her legs around Tom's waist. He kissed her and held on for dear life while he made his way to the back bedroom, a place he'd wanted to visit for as long as he could remember.

The End (Or Really, The Beginning)
Author Bio:

Connie Stephany, who lives in Zimmerman, MN, is a wife, mother of three amazing children, and full-time Solution Architect. She reads in her spare time, which is not much, unfortunately. Her dream one day is to write full-time and have a novel made into a Hallmark movie.

Author Links:

Author Website: www.conniestephanybooks.com

Author Facebook Fan Page:  The-New-Beginnings-Series-by-Connie-Stephany

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cesstephany
