Shaking my head, I lock the door behind him.
I used to say I liked older guys because they were less complicated, but Jamie?
He’s the flashing neon light of complicated.
* * *
Classes are over for the day, and I want nothing more than to go home, dive into my bed, and sleep for days.
But, alas, adulthood calls.
Grocery shopping is a must. Especially considering the only things in my refrigerator are a container of yogurt, a pack of English muffins, and a bottle of mustard I’m certain was expired when I bought it.
Behind the wheel of my car I stifle a yawn, and drive to Food Mart.
I’m convinced grocery shopping is the most mundane thing to ever exist. You have to browse the aisles, pile your cart full, check out, and then go home, carry it all in, and put it away. This isn’t a one step process. It’s more like a million.
I push the cart through the store, getting things necessary for meals I’ll probably never make, and a smorgasbord of snacks. Snacks are a college student’s fuel. That and coffee.
I pause in the bread aisle, scanning for the one I always get.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
Lou: Abel and I are going to Griffin’s tonight. A couple of bands are playing. You want to go?
Me: No. I have a date.
Lou: OMG! WHAT?! A DATE?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!
Me: With my bed. I have a date with my bed.
I find the right bread and add it to the cart, moving on to the next aisle.
Lou: That was mean. You got me all excited for no reason. How rude.
Me: Okay, Michelle.
Lou: Jeez, you must be tired. It was Stephanie who always said how rude.
Me: Whatever. I’m getting groceries and then I’m going home to sleep.
Lou: All right. Fine. If you change your mind, just come.
Me: Have fun.
I put my phone away so I can finish shopping and get home. I don’t like being this tired, but I know I can’t half-ass anything. I want to get the best grades I can, and hopefully have an awesome student teaching position next semester. I need everything to go smoothly, so I can get a job no problem. The last thing I want to do is graduate with a mountain of debt and no job, but realistically that seems to be what happens to a lot of people these days and then you end up with a minimum wage job that has nothing to do with your degree.
“Come on, Dad, they’re Spiderman cupcakes. You have to get them for me.”
“No. No, I don’t. The last thing I need is you hyped up on sugar.”
My cart comes to a screeching halt, banging into a table of freshly made bagels. One pack topples onto the floor and hazel eyes turn in my direction.
I wish I could back the fuck out of here and not be seen, but it’s too late.
Jamie stares at me and I stare back. Neither one of us makes a move closer and everything else dulls around us. I can’t even hear anything. It’s as if most of my senses decided to shut down.
I went months never seeing Jamie, and now he’s everywhere.
At my apartment.
At Michaels.
Now at freaking Food Mart.
What. Is. Happening.
“Fancy running into you here.” I finally find my voice and of course it’s something stupid to leave my mouth. Where’s Ursula to steal my voice when I need her?
Jamie says nothing, but his mini-me pops around the corner.
“Oh, hi. You’re the lady from the store.”
Panic clogs my throat looking at the boy. It’s still crazy to me that Jamie is a father. It doesn’t suit the preconceived notions I have about him.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me.”
So smooth Miranda.
“Dad, it’s your friend. You should say hi.” Mini-Jamie pokes Big-Jamie’s side. “Dad.”
Jamie shakes his head. “Right … um … didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Well, it is the grocery store closest to my apartment.”
Why can’t I rein in my sarcasm just once in my life?
“Do you paint?”
My eyes drop to Mini-Jamie. The kid is wearing dress pants, a button-down shirt, and red suspenders. “Uh…”
“You dropped paint at Michaels.”
“Oh, yeah.” I shake my head rapidly. “I’m an artist.”
It always feels weird to label myself an artist. I feel undeserving of the title. With every project I always see things I feel need improvement and it seems wrong to call myself an artist when I can’t achieve perfection. That’s the thing about art. It isn’t perfect and it’s always a little messy. Kind of like life.
“That’s cool. I like to paint too. I like lots of things.”
I look from Big-Jamie to Mini-Jamie. “What other things do you like to do?”
“I’m a boy scout,” he says proudly. “Just like my dad was.”
Jamie groans. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus, son.”
“You’re welcome.” Mini-Jamie grins at his dad.
Jamie shakes his head back and forth, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Boy scout, huh?” I arch a brow, fighting a grin.
Picturing a young Jamie in a cub scout uniform is actually pretty adorable.
“Yeah, he made it all the way to Eagle scout,” Mini-Jamie exclaims in praise.
My eyes widen and I fight a grin. “Wow, Jamie. I’m impressed.”
Jamie mumbles, “I was a dorky kid.”
I laugh. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Mini-Jamie interrupts, clearing his throat. “Since you’re an artist, do you think you could teach me sometime? I want to get better, but my dad can’t even draw a stick figure and Grandma Jo says she’d rather teach me how to cook instead.”
“Um…” I bite my lip.
“Tobias, I think Miranda has other things to do besides teach you how to paint. She’s very busy.”
“Oh.” His face falls and he toes his shoe against the floor.
My heart pangs and I feel bad. “Actually, I’d love to if it’s okay with your dad.”
Mini-Jamie lights up and Big-Jamie looks panic-stricken.
“Can you come now?” Mini-Jamie asks. “You can ride in our car. There’s plenty of room.”
“Son—” Jamie begins, but I cut him off.
“I actually can’t right now. I’m really tired, so I need to go home and take a nap, but your dad has my number so he can let me know when it works in his schedule.”
Mini-Jamie scrunches his face. “A nap? Only babies take naps.”
I laugh. “You’ll reevaluate that statement when you’re older.”
He shrugs. “I doubt it, but whatever you say.”
I lift my gaze to Big-Jamie. “I really don’t mind, if it’s okay with you.”
He nods, jaw clenched, but no response is uttered from his lips.
Somehow, I feel like I’ve stepped on his toes even though I didn’t intend to.
“Well, um, I guess I’ll be going then.” I back my shopping cart up to skedaddle awkwardly away.
Behind me I hear Tobias ask, “So, cupcakes?”
Jamie sighs heavily, a weary, exhausted kind of sigh. “You can have the cupcakes.”
I smile to myself.
The ice man isn’t so icy after all.
12
Miranda
Yoga normally relaxes me.
It’s something I look forward to, especially when Lou and I can attend class together. Tanner tags along sometimes too. He’s ridiculously good at it, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of his downward dog. I look more like a llama having a seizure. You’d think after all this time I would’ve mastered such a simple position, but regrettably, I have not.
“You guys are making me look ridiculously horrible at this,” I hiss to my friends, over the voice of the instructor in front of the room.
Lou turns her eyes to me. “You need to get out of your head. That’s your problem
.”
“She’s right,” Tanner pipes in. “You look awfully distracted.”
“I am not distracted.”
Defensive? Yes.
Distracted? ...Perhaps.
I was surprised to get a text from Jamie this morning. I thought after the grocery debacle a couple of days ago that I wouldn’t hear from him again until he magically showed up looking for a one-way ticket straight into my vagina. Which, let’s be real, he already has the all access pass.
Jamie: If you really don’t mind teaching Tobias, could you come over this weekend? Either day is fine. If you’re free. Which you’re probably not.
I don’t know what exactly he was trying to hint at. My social life is severely lacking. Tanner, Lou, and Abel are really the only three people I know around here, except for Jamie. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dated while I’ve been at college, gone to some parties, but look where that’s gotten me.
Basically, I’m a certified cat lady minus the cat. When I’m not at school, I’m at home either doing homework, painting, or watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210. My mom watched the show religiously on repeat when I was growing up. To this day I still have a major crush on David Silver. I’m convinced Brian Austin Green is a god among men. Megan Fox is one lucky lady.
See, clearly you’ve had a thing for older guys right from the start.
“Are you constipated? Because you look like it.” Tanner looks me over carefully.
“That’s her thinking face,” Lou tells him before I can reply.
“That’s your thinking face? Are you sure?” Tanner’s brows scrunch. “You really need to work on that, because you look like you need to take a shit.”
I snort and fall from my position, face planting onto the mat.
“You okay back there?” The instructor asks, and before I can even right myself I know every eye in the room is on me.
“I’m fine.” I raise my hand waving it, and she gets back to instructing.
“Do you need a laxative?” Tanner hisses under his breath. “There’s a Walgreens across the street.”
“Oh my fucking God, Tanner, I’m not constipated! My bowel movements are just dandy!”
If I thought everyone was looking at me before they definitely are now.
Lou busts out laughing, falling spread eagle on her mat as she rolls around clutching her stomach. Tanner presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his own laughter.
Maybe I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
I look around at everyone staring at me. “What? You guys don’t talk about your poop with your friends? Think about it, are you really even friends if you can’t talk about this kind of shit? Literally.”
I stand up, brushing my black leggings off, and walk out of the room.
Yoga is pointless when I can’t get Jamie off my brain and know I need to reply to his text message instead of continuing to put it off.
I put my sneakers on and hang out in the front area waiting for Tanner and Lou to finish up.
Bringing up Jamie’s text I stare at it for a while longer before I finally respond.
Me: I don’t have plans. Whichever day is better for you works for me.
His reply is almost instant.
Jamie: Saturday at 3?
Me: Perfect.
My heart tap dances in my chest. It’s silly. Technically I have plans with Jamie’s son, not him, and yet I’m excited at the prospect of being around him. I’m baffled by the fact I even want to be near him. Emotions and feelings are weird, pesky things. They get all tangled and knotted like a yarn ball and there’s no making sense of them.
Tanner and Lou join me a few minutes later.
“Wanna grab lunch?” Lou asks, pointing across the street to a café.
“I have time.”
“Yeah, I’m starving.” Tanner wipes sweat from his brow with the edge of his shirt.
The three of us head across and sit outside at one of the tiled tables with an orange umbrella.
“You really did seem distracted today,” Lou remarks, pretending to look at her menu, but I can feel her eyes on me.
“Just thinking about school.”
“School or Jamie’s dick?”
I choke on my tongue, coughing like a beached whale.
“School, definitely school,” I tell Tanner, holding up a hand in a please have mercy on me gesture.
“I feel like there’s a lot you’re not telling me.” Lou sets down her menu and when I reluctantly look her way I wish I hadn’t. I can clearly see the hurt she feels. It’s not that I don’t want to confide in her, but it feels impossible when I can’t even comprehend my own thoughts.
I get a small reprieve to think about what I want to say when the waitress drops off waters and takes our order.
“I’m not intentionally trying to hide things from you, or leave you out, but I don’t know how to talk to you when I barely know how I feel or what I think. It’s made worse because you don’t even like Jamie.”
“So, this is about Jamie?” She raises a brow. “And I might not like him, but I don’t really know him. Obviously you know him better than I do. But I can’t begin to understand things if you don’t talk to me about them.”
I stare at a loose tile on the tabletop. “That’s the thing, though, I don’t understand it myself.”
Her lips downturn and she’s quiet. Tanner is busy checking out a guy at the next table.
I’m surprised when I feel her hand grab onto mine.
“Remember, no matter what, I’m your best friend and I’ll always have your back. I only want you happy. That’s the most important thing.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand back.
I don’t know how I got so lucky having a best friend like her, but I know what Lou would say it is.
Fate.
13
Miranda
“Arrived! Your destination is on the right,” my navigation system says in a too pleasant tone.
My car rolls to a stop in front of a sprawling brick front suburban home.
It doesn’t scream Jamie to me, but I guess he’s not just Jamie anymore.
He’s Daddy Jamie.
Okay, that’s fucking weird.
I park my car against the curb, but leave it on so the AC can blast my heated skin.
“Why am I sweating so much?” I groan, fanning my pits and contorting my body to get them closer to the vents.
I cannot roll up to Jamie’s front door drenched in sweat. That’s not an attractive look.
I pull down the sun visor and wipe smeared mascara from beneath my eyes. I grab some chapstick from the cup holder and swipe it on.
I’m acting like a complete crazy person.
“Get over yourself, Miranda.”
I’m so good at giving pep talks to myself.
I give myself one more moment to catch my breath before I grab supplies from my car, walk up the fancy walkway past flowers I’m sure his mother lovingly takes care of because I can’t imagine him doing it, and finally stop in front of the cheery robin’s egg blue door.
One, two, three. On the count of three I push the doorbell.
I don’t have to wait long before the door soars open.
“You’re here!” Tobias exclaims, giving a little hop. “Dad, she’s here!”
“Tobias,” I hear Jamie grunt from somewhere nearby, “what have I told you about opening the door?”
Tobias looks up at me and rolls his eyes as Jamie appears around the corner.
My breath catches. It should be illegal the way he makes a pair of jeans, simple white tee, and bare feet look absolutely sinful.
“That only murderers and Jesus freaks ring the doorbell.”
I snort and Jamie’s expression is amused behind his son.
“Man, I’m totally failing at this already. I left my crowbar at home and my ax is stuck in a tree. But I can do this.” I stand up straight and clear my throat. I knock the air and Jamie tilts his head curiously. “Hello, such a beautiful day.
Can I tell you about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
And then Jamie does something I never, not in a million years, thought I’d bear witness to.
He laughs.
Not a simple manly chuckle.
No, he tosses his head back, his whole body shaking with laughter.
I give myself a mental pat on the back for a job well done.
“My grandma is making cookies,” Tobias says, grabbing my arm and urging me inside. “Do you like cookies?”
“Who doesn’t?” I scoff in disbelief.
“What is in those?” He nods at the bags in my hands, tugging me along to the kitchen I presume.
Jamie follows behind, now a silent guardian. I mentally picture him in a suit of armor and I hate to say, he could even rock that. It must be a curse to be that good looking.
“Grandma Jo, this is Miranda,” Toby introduces me as we reach the kitchen, a light and airy space.
Grandma Jo sets a tray of cookies on the counter and pulls off her oven mitts.
“It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Mama Jo.” I can already tell she’s a warm, caring person, and probably as ooey gooey sweet as the chocolate chip cookies starting to cool.
“Nice to meet you too.” For a moment I want to joke about how Jamie came from someone so sweet, but I think better of it. It’s becoming obvious to me that his ex did a number on him, completely altering him. “Not going to lie, I would love to have some of those cookies.”
She laughs, her cheeks flushed. “I’ll bring you and Toby some in a bit.”
“Mom,” Jamie groans, and I turn to find his tall frame leaning against the refrigerator with his arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t spoil his appetite.”
“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” she sighs his name with a shake of her head. “A cookie has never hurt anyone. Don’t think I haven’t figured out that it’s you who steals the cookies, not Toby.”
Jamie’s lips twitch. “False accusations get you nowhere.”
His mom shares a conspiratorial look with me. “He thinks he’s so clever. A mother always knows.” She taps the side of her forehead.
“Is there somewhere I can put these?” I hold up the heavy bags that are beginning to take a toll on my hands and arms.
Desperately Seeking Landlord Page 6
