0215543001348293036 vaughn piper oshea m.j. (3 page)

“If the payment says Gucci and comes from the fall collection, I’ll be a happy boy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I like the camel with the green and red signature stripe—oh, and gold hardware.”

[12]

one small thing

I laughed outright at that.
Dream big, Dust.

He pulled to a thankfully grandma-ish stop at the curb in front of my building. That fourth-story apartment with tall ceilings and so much personality I’d loved, loved, loved only a year before was beginning to sound really sucky with a baby and all of her heavy shit. I gathered everything up with Dusty’s help, hooked the handle of Alice’s car seat over my elbow, and started the long trek up the stairs with Dusty in tow. How anyone did this baby stuff without a full-time nurse and valet was beyond me. Luckily I had a part-time one at my disposal. At least until his boyfriend got annoyed with him being gone all the time, and decided to pitch a fit about it.

Everything had seemed easy when I was in the car with Dusty, and my best friend was reassuring me it was all going to be okay. It was still easy when he was puttering around my place, setting the baby’s stuff in her little nursery (bye-bye walk-in closet), making us tea and toast, and squealing quietly over how adorable and perfect she was.

It wasn’t quite so easy when I was all alone in my lovely old fourth-freaking-floor apartment with lots of hard floors and sharp corners, in charge of a tiny little bundle of pink blankets and downy skin who relied on me to keep her safe and happy. Alice’s safety. Add that to the list of things that kind of scared the hell out of me.

I sat on my black leather couch and gingerly set the car seat down on the cushion next to me. I was careful as I undid the tiny straps that kept Alice secure, not wanting to disturb her sleep. It felt strange… and strangely good to lift her out of it and cradle her in my arms.

“Hi, baby girl. I’m your papa,” I murmured, brushing my fingertip down her nose. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” It
had
felt like forever, the past six months—anticipation, horrible fear, those moments when I couldn’t wait to meet my girl, the others when I thought time and again, “What the hell did I get myself into?” It was too late for any of that now. She was alive, right there in my arms, and sleeping peacefully.

Her skin really was the most beautiful shade. Almost like a pale pink rose petal, I thought, before I groaned at how cheesy fatherhood had already made me.

[13]

Piper Vaughn & M.J. O’Shea

“What am I going to do with you, love?”

I’d done a few half-assed searches for nannies on the Internet, and had been horrified at the prices. Not exactly what a bartender/beauty school attendee could afford. Part of me had hoped that by the time Alice was there, I’d have miraculously become wealthy. Clearly that didn’t happen. At least I’d have Dusty for the nights. It was a good thing too, because the cost of daytime care was nearly enough to send the baby to college. I planned on looking into some group daycare facilities in the morning, but sending her to one of those loud, germ-ridden scream-fests was nearly as terrifying as having her adopted out to strangers. No, I didn’t like the idea of daycares, but since I wasn’t exactly Brangelina, one of them might have to do.

In the morning….

I was exhausted and not what you’d call optimistic about the prospect of Alice sleeping through the night. It was time to try to get at least a little bit of rest. I stood carefully, making sure not to jostle my daughter in her sleep. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d do if she started bawling because I’d woken her up. Panic, maybe. Probably.
Oh, what
the hell have I gotten myself into?

She didn’t wake, though, rather lay contentedly in my arms, quiet and warm and sweet-smelling. I placed her in her new little crib, with its pink and spring green cushions, and ran my fingertip down her tiny little nose.

“Goodnight, my darling. Welcome to the world.”
Erik

THREE inches to the left. Two inches forward.
There. Perfect.

I stepped back and gave my geraniums a critical once-over. Under my care, the scarlet flowers were blooming nicely. The pot was sitting on my kitchen counter, right in the spot that got the most sunlight every day. It had taken me over a week of experimenting to figure that out.

I’d brought the geraniums with me from my old garden when I moved,

[14]

one small thing

and I had to admit having them around was nice. But it just wasn’t the same. I missed the neat rows of flowerbeds I’d had in my yard back home.

Home.
When would I stop thinking that word? It wasn’t my home anymore. Hadn’t been for going on six months. No matter how much I missed it, I couldn’t go back. This was home now. This high-ceilinged apartment with cherry hardwood floors and bright white walls. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it had its own special kind of charm. And I’d seen plenty worse places in my search, before my mom had come down from Boston to help me. She’d even stayed until I was packed up and moved. But it still wasn’t
home
, no matter how long I’d been living there. I wasn’t sure if it ever would be.

For one, the rent was a couple hundred dollars more than what I’d been paying for my house, which added to the strain on my already threadbare budget. Two, the neighbors were
way
too close for comfort.

Only a few feet separated my front door from the one across the hall.

But, on the plus side, the plaster walls were thick, and the landlord hadn’t lied about the building being quiet. There were strict rules in place for noise control, and he’d assured me my next-door neighbor, the one I shared a common wall with, was rarely home. I hadn’t seen much of the occupants from the two other units on my floor either. So far I’d been able to write undisturbed, and since my apartment was on the top level, I didn’t have to worry about anyone stomping around above me.

But sometimes there were weird smells in the hallway from what other people were cooking that seemed to linger in the air for
hours
.

Then there was the microscopic laundry room in the basement, which was dank and dirty and made my skin feel itchy. It could have been worse, though. So much worse. I held onto that thought with an iron grip.

The first few months hadn’t been easy. Sleep had been almost impossible. There were plenty of nights when I’d rocked in my favorite chair until exhaustion finally put me under. These days, I managed to mostly stay in my bed at night, and I wasn’t spending as much time in my chair anymore, either. It was down to three or four hours a day,

[15]

Piper Vaughn & M.J. O’Shea

which was a vast improvement considering I’d spent almost the entire first week huddled against the dark leather, obsessively stroking the armrests as if I could figure out the mysteries of the universe so long as I never stopped moving.

Unpacking was another challenge. I’d agonized over the placement of every piece of furniture and every last one of my possessions, from my coffee mugs to my hundreds of books, to the cans and boxes of food in my pantry. Everything had to have its place, and I couldn’t rest until I’d found the perfect spot for each item.

The process had lasted over a month, intermixed with bouts of writing and
Star Wars
marathons whenever the stress got to be too much. Only the original trilogy, mind you, not the newer ones. I owned them, but generally I liked to pretend they didn’t exist, much like I did with the
Terminator
movies that came after
T2
. Back in the days of VHS, I’d worn out more than one copy of
Return of the Jedi
, my favorite of the three. Now I kept two brand-new backup copies of each film in storage. Just in case.

Thinking about the movies reminded me I hadn’t watched the trilogy in a few days. I wasn’t in the mood to write—hadn’t been for the last couple of weeks, actually. Not since I’d finished editing my last novel and shipped it off to my agent. Of course, the fact that I still hadn’t heard anything about the one I’d sent him a few months back didn’t help either, but it seemed like my brain always needed a little adjustment period between big projects anyway. I’d never been able to just jump into something new. But there were other reasons I couldn’t write this time around too. Constant worry didn’t make for a very good writing companion, and it was hard
not
to worry. If these books didn’t get accepted somewhere or my sales didn’t pick up, and soon, I’d probably have to start dipping into my pitiful savings account to cover the rent.

Star Wars
might be just the thing to distract me, and maybe kick-start the old noggin. It wasn’t like I had much else to do anyway.

I fired up my flat screen and slipped
A New Hope
into the DVD

player, then went into the kitchen to microwave a bag of popcorn while it loaded up. A Gatorade and a bag of Twizzlers completed my snack—

[16]

one small thing

and, incidentally, my dinner. I took my stash into the living room, settled into my chair, and pressed “play” on the remote.

The intro had just started rolling when there was a knock on my door. I froze with a piece of popcorn halfway to my mouth. A quick glance at my watch confirmed that it was, in fact, only Wednesday. My grocery order wasn’t due until Monday morning. So there was no reason for anyone to be knocking at my door….

Unless it’s the landlord. Unless he’s come to tell me that
something’s wrong with my lease and I’ll have to be out by the end of
the month. Find somewhere new. Pack everything up. Start all over
again.

I dropped the popcorn back into the bag as whoever was in the hallway knocked again, with a little more impatience. My stomach churned, the handful of pieces I’d already eaten threatening to make an untimely reappearance. For a moment, I was tempted to just stay there in my chair and ignore the sound. But the knocking continued, and if it
was
my landlord, I’d have no choice but to face him eventually anyway.

I wiped my greasy fingers on one of the napkins I’d brought from the kitchen and got to my feet. My hands were ice cold, my knees watery.

“C-c-coming,” I forced out as I approached the door, so that whoever was on the opposite side would stop with all the knocking already. My stomach was twisted into knots and my breaths came hard and fast.

I paused in front of the door, gripping the knob in a white-knuckled fist as I fought to get myself under some kind of control.

It’s going to be okay. No matter what, it’s going to be okay.

I could talk the landlord into letting me stay. I could explain that I couldn’t leave now, see, since I’d only just gotten settled. It wouldn’t be fair to force me to go. It wouldn’t be
fair
.

Closing my eyes briefly, I twisted the knob and pulled open the door.

[17]

Piper Vaughn & M.J. O’Shea

“Hi there,” a voice said cheerfully. But not the one I was expecting.

My eyes snapped open, and it took me a few moments to really register what I was seeing. Once I did, I could only blink in surprise. A boy stood in the hall… or, well, a man, really, but he looked young.

Maybe early twenties, if I had to guess. His sleek black hair was combed to the side, partially covering one of his eyes. From what I could see of it, and the other, they were green. But it wasn’t the color that had me staring. It was the fact that they were lined carefully in black… and his skin was creamy pale, like porcelain… and his lower lip was double pierced, with two of those rings with the little balls about an inch apart from the center.

I took it all in, so confused I still couldn’t bring myself to say anything. And that was
before
I got to his clothes. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and those girl pants that stop midway up the calf.

They hung low on his hips and were cinched with a studded, bright pink belt… which matched the pink flip-flops he wore on his perfect little feet. I stared down at his toes—the nails were painted black with hot pink accents—until the sound of him clearing his throat brought my gaze back up to his face.

“Hi,” he said again, holding out a hand. It was only then I noticed what looked to be a smiling pink car dangling from his other arm. “I’m Rue Murray. I live next door.”

I blinked at him and reached out to shake his hand without thinking. “Rue as in remorse? As in ‘he said ruefully’? As in ‘you will rue the—’”

“Rue as in Rufus,” he interrupted, sounding exasperated. “But nobody calls me that,” he added dangerously. “
Nobody
.”

[18]