Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

“So, I looked up the fire stations around here and I Googled how to safely have my car break down on purpose. Jameson is picking the kids up from school tomorrow, so I’ll use that free time to see if I can snag the attention of a hot firefighter.” I got a little thrill just thinking about that one.

  This was another reason I’d made up my mind to try this little husband-finding experiment. I wanted to have some adventure. I wanted some old-fashioned, innocent ways to meet a man. Well, mostly innocent. Aside from my fake car problems. What would a little white lie matter at our fiftieth wedding anniversary, you know?

  At my advanced age of thirty-two I didn’t even care so much about looks. I mean, I did, let’s be real. But what I really wanted was a good, solid man to make me his everything. And what better place to find a selfless man than at a fire station?

  “Oh, Lils. I sure hope this doesn’t backfire.” Gabby barked out another laugh. “Get it? Backfire?”

  I snorted. “You’re a legit comedian, Gabs.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” I asked when she didn’t answer. “You still there?”

  “Sorry. Just writing up article number four already. Gotta go, babe.”

  “Yeah, okay, love you too. Thanks for wishing me luck.” My sarcasm must not have registered because all I heard was a soft click as she hung up. Dang, she was super focused on the article series. I hoped I hadn’t miscalculated when I said yes. I had kids to think of. I’d have to move in the middle of the night and put them in new schools if people found out I was the subject of her stupid viral docu-series.

  I sat at the curb, my SUV idling for ten minutes before the gas light came on. Thankfully, the fancy gadgets in cars these days tell you exactly how many miles you can go with the gas that was left in the tank. Looking at my maps app, the fire station was 9.6 miles away. When the car dash said ten miles was left in the tank, I pulled away from the curb and drove in the direction of the station.

  Some would say this was stupid at best, dangerous at worst. But I had a cell phone with a full battery charge and I had pepper spray in my purse. And it was broad daylight in Costa Mesa. I was pretty sure I was as safe as any other day driving in SoCal traffic. Maybe some extra water would have been good in case of a long wait, but I had a bit of this morning’s coffee in my travel mug. Now I just hoped the firefighters were all there at the station, not out at an actual emergency.

  I sat forward and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white and my hands got slippery with sweat. Just as the station came into view, my car started to lurch. My eyes widened and I tried to control my breathing. I was a little shocked that this scheme of mine was going to work. At least the breaking down part.

  Letting my foot off the gas, I coasted in front of the station right as my car gave one final jerk and stalled out. I put it in park and took one final deep breath. Time for my acting skills to take over. I looked around wildly and threw my hands up in the air like I just didn’t care. No, wait. That was from some ridiculous song Clark listened to. I threw my hands up in the air like I didn’t know what to do.

  I was just about to hop out and pop the hood when there was a knock on my driver’s side window. Nearly hit my head on the roof from jumping so badly. I placed a hand on my chest and cracked the window when I registered it was already one of the firefighters at my door.

  “Having some car troubles, miss?” He flashed a smile and I wasn’t having to act anymore. I was genuinely flustered and atwitter. Holy testosterone.

  “Ah yes, yes, I am. Not sure what happened, but it just died on me.”

  Another brilliant smile. Damn, the man had a dimple. “Why don’t you step out and I’ll see what I can do.”

  I smiled what I hoped wasn’t a devious grin. Forcing my movements to slow down so I didn’t appear overeager, I grabbed my purse. He stepped back and I opened my door. Expecting cologne or a delicious sweaty male smell, I got a lungful of swamp. I nearly gagged. Looking down, I’d parked right over a storm drain. Just my luck.

  Breathing through my mouth, I went to push up to standing when a work-roughened hand appeared in front of me. My smile grew as I placed my hand in his and accepted his help. I straightened up and looked up through my lashes to see Jameson standing before me, a frown pulling his dark eyebrows together.

  I shook my head, thinking maybe I was dreaming. Or more like having a nightmare. Where was my dimpled hero?

  “Jameson?” I pulled my hand from his and rubbed it against my prettiest dress, refusing to enjoy the way his skin felt against mine. I was thoroughly confused, but all I could think about was how nerdy Professor MacMillan managed to get callouses.

  “I was just a few cars behind you with the kids when we saw your car pull off. What happened?”

  Hyperaware of an audience, I swiveled my head and found the firefighter back up on the curb, his arms crossed over his chest, watching our interaction, dimple nowhere to be found. One of his buddies walked out of the station to stand by his side. It was like a factory of hot men in there, spitting out a new one every few minutes. Dammit, Jameson!

  “Um, well, I’m not sure. It just kind of died.”

  His hands landed on my hips and he just kind of placed me out of the way so he could climb into my car. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being moved like that.

  “When was the last time you gassed this thing up?” he called loudly from inside the capsule.

  Heat flared on my face, especially when the two firefighters started smirking.

  “Mom? Did you forget to put gas in the car again?” my oldest evil spawn yelled from Jameson’s car where the windows were rolled down. All three kids had their heads sticking out the windows watching the drama unfold.

  “Uh, not sure?” I couldn’t help the way my voice tilted up at the end there, making it obvious I was a twit, not a full-grown woman capable of taking care of the basics with her own damn car. I heard a stifled laugh from the direction of the firefighters. Why was there always an audience to my humiliation?

  “Tell your husband we have some gas cans in the station. We’ll get you back on the road, don’t worry.” Mr. Dimples smiled, spun on his heels, and hustled back into the station.

  “He’s not my...” I trailed off, realizing it wasn’t even worth protesting. A girl needed to know when she was defeated and I was so there I’d set up house with a house plant and a cat named Merle.

  Jameson climbed out of the car and cocked his head, just staring at me.

  “What?” I snapped.

  His eyes narrowed, but he said, “Nothing.”

  The firefighter came back, gas can in hand. He tipped it into my gas tank and filled it up enough to get me to the nearest gas station. He shook Jameson’s hand, in some old-school “took care of the little lady for you” gesture. He simply acknowledged me with a nod and walked away. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a more modern reaction when I myself was trying an old-fashioned way to meet a man. I couldn’t have it both ways.

  “I’ll follow you to the gas station to make sure you get there all right.” Jameson held my car door open and waited for me to get in before shutting it and walking back to his vehicle, which held my children.

  So that was that.

  Defeat smelled an awful lot like a backed-up storm drain and day-old coffee.

  No firefighter’s phone number. No date. No flirting.

  It was looking more and more like I’d need all fifty ways to land myself a husband. Five down, forty-five to go.

  The Reality of Love, Mom-Com Style - episode #4

  Thank you, dear reader, for your enthusiastic opinions on our girl, Betty’s, dating life. I’ve read each and every one of your tweets. As promised, here’s your daily update.

  An interesting contender is bubbling up while Betty is searching for Mr. Right. Perhaps he’s Mr. Right Next Door.

  It’s the age-old romance situation. Everything you need can be found in the boy/girl next door if you’d only see what was right in front of you. But you kno
w what they say: when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Until then, let’s follow Betty searching fruitlessly all over town for the one to sweep her off her feet.

  And we’ll be sure to keep an eye on the leading man.

  Hot Neighbor: 1

  Betty: 0

  10

  Jameson

  I’ve given plenty of icy glares to recalcitrant students in my teaching career, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of one quite so glacial as the one Lily-Marie gave me when we finally caravanned home after finding her stranded on the road. Which struck me as extremely odd, considering I’d helped her out of a tough situation. No man or woman wanted to be stranded with car troubles. That’s why we all had car insurance and AAA cards in our wallets taking up valuable space where another maxed-out credit card could have gone.

  In my line of work, when something didn’t make sense, you sat down and traced back what happened. You pulled it apart to its basic parts and examined each one. So as I sat there Friday afternoon in my home office, waiting for Stein to get home from school, I dissected each and every word of our exchange in front of the fire station. Every glance, every look, every possible outlier.

  And my only conclusion was that Lily-Marie simply didn’t like me.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I wasn’t really the kind of guy who inspired enthusiastic friendships or grand love affairs. I was steady. I was purposeful. When I did things, they made sense. When someone helped me, I thanked them.

  But Lily-Marie not liking me? That started an ache in my chest that a couple Tums I popped in my mouth didn’t seem to touch. Did she only agree to go shopping together because she pitied me? Hell, that felt even worse than simply not liking me. I pushed back from my desk and walked away from the papers that weren’t getting graded anyway while I sat there and ruminated on Lily-Marie’s reaction.

  I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. I gulped it down and pondered what to do with this new conclusion. Should I cancel shopping tonight? Should I go through with it and ask her what the deal was? Maybe my conclusion was wrong and I just needed to push harder with my fifty ways.

  The thing was, a scientist never quits the experiment unless something horrific was happening and for safety reasons it needed to be shut down. Other than my feelings being squashed, nothing horrible had happened. I needed to complete the experiment to the best of my ability. And really, every reaction of Lily-Marie’s simply proved my original hypothesis correct. A man could do all the right things to show a woman he cared and it still wouldn’t be enough to make them fall in love. That kind of love just didn’t exist.

  I placed the empty water bottle in the recycling bin and walked back into my office to grab my laminated sheet. Firing my computer back up, I opened up my notes about the experiment. Pecking away furiously with two index fingers, I typed out our exchange last night and then glanced at the sheet to see which ways I could try that night during the shopping excursion.

  Complimenting her seemed like a good one as she might be trying on new clothes. I could show her I was well-read with interesting topics of conversation. Holding her coat and opening doors for her was a given. We were going shopping, so that was another one right there. I mean really, if I was going to go full steam ahead with the experiment, I should pack as many ways into each interaction as possible, right?

  Maybe that’s where I’d gone wrong previously. I only tried out one at a time. Maybe the trick to this whole thing was doing a bunch all at once.

  With renewed hope filling my chest, I read through the list multiple times, trying to memorize it and plan out how to accomplish them all in one night. Thank God Grandmother didn’t do a list of a hundred ways to find a wife!

  Lily-Marie had been perfectly at ease with me the minute we climbed into my car to carpool to Fashion Island. While the kids squabbled in the back, I’d asked some perfectly normal questions on the ride over about some fiction books I'd read recently, showing her I wasn't a stilted science professor, which turned out to be a good topic for her. She admitted to being quite the reader and I was intrigued to see that she read all kinds of genres. The Lee Child series being a personal favorite was something we had in common. She also admitted to a love of young adult books that I had yet to give a try. We hadn’t written it in stone, but she insinuated she’d come over with The Hunger Games DVDs and we’d watch those together. She was intent on winning me over to the dark side of YA. If it made her smile again like she did as she talked about it, I was all in.

  A loud shriek pierced the close confines of the car right before I turned into the parking lot. The kids had gotten louder and louder on the way over, my own child being the ring leader of noise.

  I preferred a much quieter environment, but I didn’t want to reprimand Stein in front of Lily-Marie as that was one of the fifty ways I was to be minding. The list said not to scold the kids too harshly in front of a woman. So I winced with every shriek and bit my tongue.

  Lily-Marie started throwing glances to the back and fidgeting with her purse strap. I finally pulled into a parking space and cut the engine.

  “Stein.” I didn’t yell. My tone said “no nonsense,” but I was sure to keep my volume moderate.

  “What, Dad?” He instantly stopped badgering Clark and faced forward.

  “You know what.” I tossed him “the look” over my shoulder and then climbed out of the car. The minute my feet hit the pavement, I broke into a run and rounded the back of the car to come around the passenger side and pull open Lily-Marie’s door. She looked up, startled, but then thanked me as she got out. Warmth flooded my chest at her approval. Maybe she did like me.

  We ushered the kids into a higher-end department store and found the kids’ section first. After piling them up with clothes to try on, Lily-Marie and I sat on a bench in the empty dressing room hall and had the boys try on their clothes first. Milly had a few of her tiny dolls with her and played in front of the huge three-way mirror at one end of the dressing room. Stein was the first to come out in one of the pairs of pants he’d chosen.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know. I think the striped capris might be a little too out there. I prefer the dark gray jeans you picked out.” Lily-Marie, God bless her, was the voice of reason and Stein actually listened to her, just shrugging and going back into his dressing room to change.

  I looked over at her incredulously, conscious of how close we were sitting. I could smell the faint citrus layer of her perfume and feel her body move when she shifted on the bench. All I wanted was to scoot just a bit closer. In science-speak, we were water: our hydrogen bonds caused our molecules to be highly attracted to each other.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I blinked and tried to pull my thoughts together. “What?”

  She chuckled, her blue eyes sparkling and alive. “You’re looking at me like I’m the Mother Teresa of clothes shopping.”

  I shrugged, latching on to the excuse she’d given me. I couldn’t very well tell her I wanted to covalent bond with her. “Well, you did just get Stein to put back those ridiculous pant things without a yelling match ensuing. So I’d say you’re more Gandhi, bringing peace to the MacMillan household.

  She threw back her head and laughed. I silently vowed to spend the whole night complimenting her just to witness that unleashed joy again.

  “So, what are you trying on tonight, Ms. Masters?” Lingerie? Nightgowns? Short shorts? A guy could dream, couldn’t he?

  She shrugged off my question. “I don’t really need anything. I just have work clothes and casual clothes for around the house. Got plenty of both.”

  I rubbed my chin, thinking. “Milly?”

  Her little blond head popped up from her dolls, a ready smile on her face, so similar to her mother’s.

  “How about you and your mommy try on some fancy dresses?”

  Her face lit up and she abandoned her precious dolls to race over, climbing onto my lap and ste
aling my heart in the process. “Can we weally?”

  I grinned at her enthusiasm, ignoring Lily-Marie’s groan in my ear. “It’ll be super fun, won’t it, Mommy?”

  Milly clapped her hands, bouncing on my lap. “We’ll be like the princesses in the movies we watch together!”

  I knew there was no way Lily-Marie could say no to both of us.

  She rolled her eyes, but a smile played across her mouth. “All right, all right. I do like a good Disney princess movie. Count me in.”

  Lily-Marie helped Milly climb off my lap and they left to find ball gowns to try on. The boys came out with more outfit choices, most of which we decided were a “no.” Turns out having Clark there was just as helpful as Lily-Marie. He kept Stein away from his more ridiculous choices. My poor kid just had no fashion sense whatsoever. His sense of self-preservation in the social scene of pre-pubescent boys was clearly missing.

  As the boys grabbed the few items we wanted to purchase, I decided to pump intel from Clark to help me get to know Lily-Marie better. “So, Clark, what’s this I hear about the women in your family loving princess movies?”

  He rolled his eyes. Like mother, like son. “It’s mostly Mom. I mean, Milly likes them too, but Mom is a nut for all things Disney princesses. She watches them all the time. Knows all the songs by heart. I swear, she’s single because she’s looking for Prince Charming. I keep telling her it’s just a movie. It doesn’t happen for real.”

  He and Stein put their items on the counter and while the clerk rang them up, I let his words roll around in my head. So, she wanted a Prince Charming, huh? What did he have that I didn’t? Besides the fact he was a fictional cartoon character. Sadly, I hadn’t watched too many of those princess movies growing up or as an adult. I’d have to do some research to figure out the characteristics of Lily-Marie’s perfect man.

  “Guys?”

  The woman who wouldn’t stop running through my mind was right behind us, dresses hanging over her arm and nearly grazing the floor. Milly was grinning from ear to ear and tugging on her mother’s purse. Lily-Marie looked a little frazzled with her flushed cheeks barely showing above the huge stack of clothing.