“I’m sorry, but he’s basically brain-dead. . . . ”

It was my fault Jamie was lying so still and pale on the hospital bed, connected to a variety of tubes that kept his heart pumping and the oxygen circulating to his vital organs. I had not taken my ex husband seriously when he’d made threats to kill both Jamie and myself.

“Ma’am, there’s someone here to talk to you about Jamie’s organs.”

Jamie’s organs—was he not a person any longer? I stifled a sob and glared at the gentle-mannered nurse. “Can you just leave me alone for a little while? I—I want to say good-bye.”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need.”

The ICU door swished closed. I balled the hospital blanket in my hand and squeezed my eyes closed, hoping to stall the scalding tears begging to flow. I’d cried buckets in the last few days. How could there be any tears left? And how could I ever forgive myself? Jamie had been a gentle, decent man, the first decent man I’d ever really known—and I had gotten him killed.

My arm throbbed where the first bullet had grazed me, but I welcomed the pain in some perverse way. I should have been in more pain. I should have been the one lying on the hospital bed, waiting for someone to unplug the machines so my body could join my soul.

But Jamie had proven himself a hero to the very end, leaping in front of me and catching the second bullet in the head. A sob rose in my throat as I thought back to the first day we’d met, and how reluctant I was to believe he was the great guy he seemed to be. It had taken weeks for him to convince me to go out on a simple movie date.

I guess I just couldn’t believe that someone like Jamie would be interested in me. I was not only the single mom of a rowdy six-year-old boy, I had an ordinary job of managing a coffee shop.

The day we met, the espresso machine had caught on fire, filling the small shop with smoke. I had to make sure the staff and customers got out before I worried about my own skin. As a result, I was choking and coughing by the time the fire department arrived.

The old saying, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, isn’t always true, as Jamie found out when he sprayed the machine with the fire extinguisher. The cord had melted, creating a nasty, acrid stench, but nothing else had burned. Jamie led me outside and gave me oxygen from a portable tank.

Through my stinging, watery eyes, I looked into the most beautiful, kindest face I’d ever seen. I remembered thinking immediately that I must have inhaled too much smoke, because I could never trust my own instincts. This man couldn’t be real, and if he was, well, I just assumed that he was happily married to some lucky woman I would have loved to trade places with.

He seemed to read my mind, because he smiled at me and said, “You don’t see a ring on my finger because I’m not married.”

Had I been so obvious? Thank goodness my face was already red from all the coughing I’d been doing. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

His smile widened. “That’s okay. I was checking you out, too.”

His confession floored me. I groaned, realizing I’d scraped my hair into a careless ponytail and skipped everything but mascara that morning. My son had been nearly impossible to get out of bed, so I had been running behind. I knew I looked a mess, and now on top of everything my eyes were red and I smelled like melted rubber.

Not exactly my idea of a romantic moment. But then, what was I thinking? This guy was a firefighter. He probably had a sane, normal family with two parents and several irritating but loveable siblings. He most likely had never been arrested for DUI or had to fight for custody of his child.

Actually, he probably didn’t have a child. The thought caused me to blurt out foolishly, “I have a son. His name is Kevin. He’s six.” Now he would back away, stop smiling at me as if found me irresistible and interesting. Sure enough, his smile faltered for a second.

“So you have a son. Does that mean you have a husband, too?”

He was staring at my hand. I’d hocked my wedding rings long ago to buy Kevin new school clothes. But even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been wearing them.

“No, I’m not married. I’ve been divorced for six months.”

“Oh.” He glanced around us at the people milling outside the café. “I guess that explains your cautious expression.”

I hadn’t been aware of appearing to look anything short of adoring. His comment went a long way in making me feel less foolish.

“Feel better now?” He smiled again and helped me to my feet. “It’ll be a couple of hours before anyone can go inside. What time do you get off work?”

I brushed at my soot-covered apron. “I’m the assistant manager. I can’t go until I get this mess cleared up and my manager gets here. She doesn’t come in until five.”

“How about dinner then?”

I was certain he was joking until I stared into his eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Wow. He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

He was sweet. He was cute and he was kind—but I didn’t know him. I wasn’t a good judge of men and I wasn’t about to get involved with another one until I could trust myself to be smarter about them. When I first met David, I’d believed he was all those things. I had to learn the hard way, and I wasn’t in any hurry to go down that same road again.

The handsome firefighter stuck out his hand, taking my rejection gracefully. “Well, if you change your mind, my name is Jamie Williams. I’m in the phone book.”

After that day, I saw him nearly every day. He came into the café for lunch and again for a coffee break. Sometimes he came alone, sometimes with friends. They were all friendly and good tippers, but I remained wary. The fact that I liked him made me even more afraid of going out with him.

It was Kevin’s reaction to Jamie that finally made me cave. He was at the café with me because my babysitter had the flu. I put him at a table toward the rear with a coloring book and crayons. When Jamie and his friends came in around three, I saw Kevin’s face light up at the sight of their uniforms.

Jamie spotted Kevin right away. I guess it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Kevin was my son, since he was sitting alone and looked like a small replica of me, with his blond hair and blue eyes.

“You must be Kevin,” Jamie said, approaching the table where Kevin sat.

My son’s mouth dropped open. I had to smother a laugh at his awed expression.

“Are you a fireman?” Kevin asked.

Dropping into the chair opposite my son, Jamie shrugged. “Yeah, I’m a fireman. Have you figured out what you want to be when you grow up?”

I guess it’s no surprise that Kevin said he wanted to be a fireman. The amazing fact was that it was really true.

Jamie then proved that he wasn’t above manipulation to get what he wanted, but I even managed to find that flaw endearing. “Think you can help me convince your mom to have dinner with me?”

Kevin studied him for a moment, his face pensive. I knew he was thinking about his dad and how unhappy he had made me. “She doesn’t go out much,” he said gravely. “She said she likes spending time with me better than she does anyone else.”

“Well, I can see why,” Jamie said, his beautiful brown eyes twinkling. “I’ll bet you’re a lot of fun, and I bet you help your mom out a lot, too.”

“I sure do. Don’t I, Mom?”

I nodded, wondering what Jamie would say next. Would he push it? Part of me wanted to go out with him; another part of me was scared to death at the thought.

And then Jamie said the magic words: “Of course I’d want you to come along. Do you like pizza?”

Kevin’s blue eyes rounded. “Sure, I do! You mean I can come, too?”

Jamie turned to look at me then, and I simply melted beneath the pleading look in his eyes. As foolish as it sounds, I think I fell in love with him right then and there. But despite my mushy feelings, I was determined to use my head this time.

“All right . . . we’ll go out with you.” I emphasized the word we. “One date, and we can’t stay out late. Kevin has an early bedtime, even on the weekends, so it doesn’t mess up his schedule during the school week.”

My first date with Jamie will always be the most memorable. It was so much fun, and Kevin literally hung on his every word. My son had behaved very differently when we’d been living with David. Kevin had been wary of opening his mouth for fear of getting yelled at. Now he seemed to know instinctively that Jamie was different, because he rattled on and on about school and sports and friends until I gave up trying to get a word in edgewise.

My time came later, however, when we got back to my apartment and I put Kevin to bed. Jamie came in to say goodnight and they talked for another fifteen minutes.

Finally, Jamie and I were alone. I poured us each a glass of soda and we settled into the tiny living room. Without preamble, I began telling Jamie the story of my life—and I didn’t skimp on the ugly details, either. I wanted to be honest with him, for him to know my background, even if it meant he could decide I was carrying too much baggage for a relationship.

“My dad caught Mom in bed with another man and nearly beat her to death. When she got out of the hospital, he was gone. He had cleared out their savings account and sold off our furniture. Mom left me with my Uncle Tim, told me she was going to look for a job, and never came back.”

Jamie wasn’t smiling when he asked softly, “Did your uncle file a missing person’s report?”

I took a sip of my soda and shook my head. “I think he believed she had just run off.”

“What do you think happened to her?”

I stared at my feet, hesitating to admit something I had never told anyone else. But there was just something about Jamie that inspired trust. “I think she went looking for my dad . . . and when she found him, he killed her.”

“I’m sorry.”

When his hand covered mine, I stiffened, thinking he would make his move. There was no way I was going to sleep with him on the first date, especially with Kevin in the other room. I didn’t relax until he removed his hand.

He settled back on the couch. “How old were you when you got married?”

“Fifteen. Aunt Jenny and I didn’t get along, so when David asked me to run off with him, I did. We got married in Vegas and went to live in Boulder. I had Kevin a year later.

“Marrying David was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made,” I added. “He stayed drunk most of the time and had trouble keeping a job. We got kicked out of so many apartments, I lost count. He blamed it on me, said I was holding him back. I don’t know why I stayed with him as long as I did. I guess because of Kevin. Now I realize that staying with David probably hurt Kevin more.”

I stared into my empty soda glass, lowering my voice. “Whenever Kevin hears someone yelling, he starts shaking and can’t stop. David scared him bad sometimes.”

“Did he ever hit him?” Jamie asked, his voice thick with disgust.

“No, but he did a lot of threatening. Sometimes I think that’s just as bad.”

“But he did more than just threaten you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. At first it was just a push or a slap in the face. Eventually, he blackened my eye. When he broke my wrist, I took Kevin and left him. I came back here and stayed with some friends until I found a job. David came after us and threatened to kill me. I had to get a restraining order against him.”

I looked at him then and saw genuine sorrow and something like . . . admiration. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before. Seeing that look compelled me to be completely honest with him. I pointed to the half-dozen locks on my apartment door.

“You know why I have so many locks? Because David swore to me that he’d kill me.”

“He’s bluffing.”

“How can you say that when you don’t even know him?” Part of me wished I had Jamie’s confidence. It was hell living with the worry that David lurked around every corner, just biding his time.

I should have trusted those instincts instead of letting Jamie convince me that I didn’t have anything to worry about. But I wanted to believe him, so I did.

“He’s just trying to scare you,” he said. “I’ve seen his type before. He doesn’t want to go to jail, but he wants you scared.”

“Well, it worked, and you might as well know that if he is watching me and sees me with you, he might come after you, too.”

“He won’t.” Jamie moved a little closer and stared deeply into my eyes. “I’m not afraid of him, and if you’re trying to scare me off by telling me this, it isn’t working. I want to see you again.”

“Why would you want to go out with a single mother with a crazed ex husband stalking her? I’m sure there are plenty of girls—”

Whatever else I was going to say got cut off because Jamie kissed me. It was a full-blown, lip-locking, passionate kiss, as if he’d been waiting to do it from the moment we met.

After making me forget my own name, he settled back and began to tell me about himself.

It turned out that I was completely wrong in my guesswork about him: Both his parents were dead and he had no siblings. He was virtually alone in the world, like Kevin and me. That fact made me feel even closer to him.

“Now that I’ve told you about myself, I can answer your question.”

I tried not to look perplexed. The truth was, I had honestly forgotten my question.

“The reason I want to see you again is because I think you’re one hell of a brave woman. You’re beautiful, smart, and a good mother.”

I blushed and stared at the carpet.

“I like you, Tiffany. I like you a lot.”

It was a storybook romance. Jamie burrowed into our lives and refused to budge. We went on numerous family outings. We went to the zoo, the museum, a concert, and even to an art gallery. Sometimes we cooked at my apartment or at his, and often we ate out.

Not once in the eight months that we dated did Jamie ask me to leave Kevin with a babysitter. In fact, I’m ashamed to say I was the first one to suggest it.

We had been seeing each other for four months. Jamie hadn’t pushed me to sleep with him, but our kisses were getting hot and heavy. I wanted to make love with him, to know what it felt like being loved by a man like him. David had been my only lover, so I was naturally nervous about not living up to Jamie’s expectations.

It turned out that he was just as nervous as I was. The first time we made love, we made a full confession about our unjustified fears afterward as we lay in each other’s arms. We laughed together, and all was well.

The months went by. Jamie didn’t turn into a monster. In fact, he never lost his temper or got irritated with Kevin or me, and Lord knows there were times when Kevin stretched his patience. We were like a happy little family, but I was still fearful of waking up and finding out that I was dreaming. I just couldn’t accept within myself that I was finally getting a taste of happiness.

Then came the night I’d been waiting for. I had suspected that Jamie and Kevin shared a secret when my son didn’t fuss about staying with Mrs. Cumberland, an elderly lady who lived upstairs from our apartment. She babysat once in a while for me; in return I went shopping for her twice a week.

By the time Jamie and I reached his apartment, I was bursting with curiosity. He opened the door and turned on the light, then stood aside for me to enter.

He’d pulled the kitchen table into his living room. Beautiful red roses glowed in the candlelight. There were cloth napkins and real china on the set table, and something smelled delicious.

I regarded his enigmatic smile curiously. “What’s the occasion?”

“You’ll see.” He seated me at the table, then disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a platter with two steamed lobsters and a bowl of salad.

All through dinner, Jamie kept staring at me. The thought that he might propose did enter my mind, but I quickly pushed it away. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and have them dashed if his surprise turned out to be a job promotion or something a little less thrilling than a marriage proposal.

Finally, the delicious dinner was over. When he suggested dessert, I groaned and cried uncle. I watched, my heart bursting with love, as he came around to my chair and got down on one knee. Reaching into his pants pocket, he withdrew a ring box.

The doorbell rang before he could open it. His dismayed expression made me giggle. I was nearly delirious with joy as it was, so it didn’t take much to make me giggle.

“Hold that thought,” he said in a growling voice that made me laugh harder. He set the ring on the table and went to answer the door, muttering beneath his breath. “If this is one of the guys playing a joke, I’m gonna kick some major butt. They knew what I had planned . . . .”

When I heard the jeering, nasty sound of David’s voice, my blood ran cold. All I could think about was protecting Jamie from that pond scum. I leapt from my chair and ran to the door, sliding in front of Jamie so that I could shield him. Would I have taken a bullet for him? Without a doubt.

But I didn’t get that opportunity.

David’s upper lip lifted in a sneer as he glared at me. “You whore! You couldn’t wait to start hopping into bed with other men after you got rid of me, could you?”

I gasped as he withdrew a gun and pointed it at me.

“I told you I was going to kill you, didn’t I?”

He came forward, backing us into the room. The gun exploded just as Jamie threw me aside. I felt a searing pain in my arm, but I wasn’t concerned for myself. I had to get in front of Jamie, had to protect him.

I threw myself forward, bringing my arm up to knock the gun from David’s hand. The weapon went off on the way up. I remember feeling so relieved that I’d thwarted his shot.

Then I heard a thumping noise behind me. I turned to see Jamie lying on the floor. Blood was already spilling from his head where the bullet had entered his brain. I started screaming, my grief making me fearless. I threw myself upon David, teeth and nails bared for battle. The force of my attack knocked him backward through the open doorway. I leapt upon him, pummeling his face, screaming over and over. If I could have killed him, I would have. There’s no doubt in my mind that I would have.

Strong arms yanked me away from David. Then another pair of arms held me tight so that I couldn’t break free. I twisted around, still screaming, trying to get at the evil man who had shot my love. David lay pinned to the floor by another man, a man I’d never seen before. Later I discovered that it was Jamie’s neighbor, who’d promptly responded to the first gunshot.

The cops arrived and handcuffed David, taking him away. When the ambulance arrived, they found me on the floor, cradling Jamie’s bloody head and crooning to him as someone would try to soothe a sick child. I don’t remember much after that until hours later when the doctor came out to tell me that Jamie was brain-dead. The bullet had caused massive damage, and only the machines were keeping him alive.

Now, four days after the violent shooting, I was faced with saying good-bye to the only decent man I’d ever known. I know we would have been happy together.

Behind me I heard the quiet swoosh of the door opening again. I don’t know how much time had passed since the nurse had told me they wanted to talk to me about Jamie and the fact that he was an organ donor. I knew it was just a courtesy, and that since I wasn’t married to Jamie I really had no legal say in the matter.

If I had, I would have said no with a capital “N”.

“Ms. ReNally?”

I composed myself and wiped the tears from my cheeks before facing the woman. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Your fiancé was a brave man, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He was a firefighter.” My voice broke. With tremendous will power, I managed to regain my composure again.

“I know this is a terrible time for you, Ms. ReNally, but I have to talk to you about Mr. Williams’ heart. We have a recipient, and we don’t have much time.”

Grief and pain made me hateful. “So you want me to just yank out the plug, is that it?”

The nurse was trying to be patient. “We just want you to think about what Mr. Williams would want you to do. He has an opportunity to save someone else’s life. Do you think that is what he’d want to do?”

This woman is a ruthless manipulator, I thought with unjustified bitterness. But choking back a sob, I said, “Yes, that’s what he would want.”

“I’ll leave you to say good-bye, then, Ms. ReNally. You’re making the right decision.”

A few moments later, I kissed Jamie for the last time and left the room. Outside in the hall, the organ donor coordinator and Jamie’s doctor talked in hushed tones. I took a deep breath and approached them.

“Okay.” It was one of the hardest words I’ve ever spoken. “You can take his heart now.”

The doctor shot me an approving look and began issuing orders. “Get the recipient into the operating room pronto and alert the team. We need to start the transplant immediately.”

I hesitated, my heart torn. I wanted to stay with Jamie, but I didn’t want to see them pull the plug. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so I stood around as the activity around me became intense. They wheeled Jamie out with the machines still connected, taking him down the hall toward the operating room. Feeling my stomach churning with anxiety, I slowly followed.

I had a burning desire to see who was getting his brave, sweet heart. Hopefully, it was someone worthy, someone who was at least one-tenth the man he had been.

Waiting outside the operating room doors, I stood watch for the recipient. Finally, the team came down the hall pushing a gurney. I stepped aside as they started to push through, staring down at the person on the table.

It was a woman. Then I noticed her wrists were handcuffed to the bed railings. Jolted by the sight, I grabbed the arm of the nearest nurse, bringing the whole team to a halt.

“Why is she handcuffed?” I asked.

The nurse jerked her head at the patient. “She’s from some prison in Indiana.”

“This is the heart patient that’s going to get a transplant?” I had to be mistaken.

“Yes, ma’am—and just in the nick of time, too. They said she probably would have died before the night was up.”

I was shocked speechless. By the time I found my tongue, they had disappeared into the operating room.

Jamie’s heart was going to a convict? I couldn’t believe it! When they first approached me about his organs, I had visions of him saving the life of some young mother, or a teenager with his or her whole life ahead of them, or even a grandmother. That would have been noble and fitting.

But a criminal? Dear God, what was this world coming to? How many innocent, hardworking people had they passed up to give Jamie’s heart to a convict? And I had absolutely no say in the matter.

Neither did Jamie—which prompted me to consider how he might have felt if he knew his heart would be going to a convict. Reluctantly, I had to concede that Jamie’s softhearted ways far exceeded my own. He would probably have said that everyone deserved a second chance.

Still, my gut churned and my throat burned as I paced the waiting room. There was nothing left to hold me there, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I wanted to know the outcome of the transplant. I wanted to meet this woman, learn more about her in order to assure myself that, in some way, she was deserving of this generous gift.

I wanted to know the person who would be walking around with Jamie’s heart. As his love, his fiancé, didn’t I at least have that right?

I sat down in one of the comfortable recliners in the waiting room, biting my lip. Two hours had passed. How long did it take to do a transplant? Slowly, I looked around the room at the other people. They all wore strained, pensive looks.

Except for one young girl who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She was crying softly, big tears rolling down her cheeks. I felt compelled to approach her, to try and comfort her. It’s what Jamie would have done, had he been alive.

Grabbing a couple of tissues from one of the dozens of boxes sitting around, I gave them to the girl and sat down beside her. She wore a nose ring, and another ring through her eyebrow. Her hair was straight and long, streaked with shades of copper and brown.

She wore metallic blue nail polish on her short nails. I could see where she had bitten several of them down to the quick. The sight of them gave me the opening I needed.

“I used to bite my nails,” I said.

She sniffed and glared at her nails. “I haven’t bitten mine in a long time. I guess worrying will do that to you.”

“You have a loved one being operated on?” I asked, immediately thinking it was a stupid question. Why else would the girl be sitting in the surgery waiting room?

“Yeah.” She shot me a quick, bashful glance. “My mom. She got real sick last week, so they moved her up on the transplant list.”

Her words made my skin crawl. “What—what’s wrong with her?”

“She’s got something weird wrong with her heart. I can never remember what it’s called.”

The girl was staring at me strangely. I’m sure I looked as if I’d seen a ghost.

Or the devil.

“Your—your mom’s having a heart transplant?”

“Yeah. The state’s paying for the transplant.”

“She’s in prison?”

Her jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

I swallowed hard, reminding myself that she wasn’t responsible for anything. “It’s my boyfriend’s heart she’s getting. He was a hero—a firefighter. He saved my life at the cost of his own.”

We both fell silent, as if we didn’t know quite what to say after that. Finally, the girl pushed her hair behind her ears and looked me full in the face. She looked determined about something.

“My mom didn’t deserve to go to prison,” she said. It was obviously important to her that she convince me. “It was self-defense, but she had a lousy lawyer.”

“I see.”

“No, you obviously don’t,” the girl snapped, her cheeks flaming. “My stepfather was beating her. He beat her all the time, and he . . . he raped me. When Mom found out about it, she packed our stuff and told him she was filing charges against him. He went after her, hitting her with his fists. She grabbed the cookie jar and smashed it over his head. It killed him.”

She tossed her head, her eyes throwing sparks, daring me to say one bad thing about her mother. “I’m glad it killed him. He would never have left us alone.” Her hair fell forward as she hung her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wished I had killed him instead of Mom. She’s too sick to be in prison.”

By slow degrees, my anger and disgust faded. I felt a tremendous relief, knowing the person getting Jamie’s heart wasn’t as undeserving as I’d first thought. And then pity quickly followed.

“Were you there when it happened?” I asked gently.

“Yeah. I was in my bedroom, packing. I came running when I heard Mom screaming. You should have seen her. Her face was bleeding where he’d cut her with his ring, and he’d knocked out two of her teeth. She couldn’t even see out of one eye. I called the cops, but by the time they got there, he was dead. It was either him or her. I’m just glad it was him.”

“Me, too.” I realized that it was the truth. I could still remember my father beating my mother, could still hear the echo of her terrified, pain-filled screams. I would never, ever forget that. Now this young girl would be haunted by the same screams, tortured by the realization that her mother was paying for a crime that should have been ruled self-defense.

“Hey, I’m Cara. What’s your name?”

Through a blur of tears, I smiled at her. “Tiffany. Want to get some lunch?”

When we returned to the waiting room, a surgery nurse came out to let Cara know that the surgery was going well. I stayed with her until her mom came out of surgery.

The transplant was a success.

A week after I said good-bye to Jamie, I got a call from an insurance company. He had named me as his beneficiary in a sizeable life insurance. I cried all day and throughout the night, pouring out my grief and gratitude until my lungs ached.

The next morning I woke up with a new resolve. I knew exactly what I was going to do with part of the insurance money. I was going to hire Cara’s mom a lawyer and try to get an appeal for a new trial.

In the meantime, I made a down payment on a small house and invited Cara to stay with us. She’d been living at the home of a distant cousin since her mother’s incarceration.

Cara turned out to be the little sister I never had, as well as a big sister to Kevin. Together we worked with the lawyer to present a case with new facts and a better chance of getting her mom released from prison.

The trial is coming up soon, and we are hopeful that Cara and her mom will soon be reunited. Am I helping her mom because she has Jamie’s heart? I prefer to think that some of his unselfishness rubbed off on me. Maybe it’s a little of both.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Jamie and the life we might have had. David’s trial is coming up soon as well. I’m praying he gets the maximum sentence for murder.

“Claudia?”

Startled, I looked up from the minutes of a deadly dull meeting I was typing into a word processing document.

“We need your help in the reading room,” said my boss Frank. “Linda went home sick.”

“Good,” I said, hastily saving and closing my document. “I mean–”

Frank smiled. He really was a great boss. “I know what you mean. Now, go.” He made shooing motions with his hands, “It’s a zoo up there.”

I work as an administrative assistant in the special collections department of a university library. I love my job, but I am a people person and really prefer to work in the reading room, helping researchers. Frank agrees that I do a good job and has promised to give me an opportunity when there is an opening for reference help, but my colleagues were holding tight to their jobs. I certainly didn’t wish anyone ill, but why couldn’t someone find a better-paying job, or have a baby, or win the lottery?

My heels clattered on the old stone steps leading to the reading room. As always, the reading room cast its magic on me as soon as I walked through the arched double wooden doors. I loved everything about it—the leaded glass windows, the threadbare area rugs covering the worn hardwood floors, the smell of old books, but most of all, the bespectacled researchers paging through ancient documents and rare books.

I couldn’t stop myself from scanning the room to see if he was there, and my heart hiccuped when I saw him sitting at his customary table, tapping on his laptop keys with a file of documents open on his right.

His name was Zachary, and he was a graduate student working on his dissertation. He’d started coming in to the reading room over the summer, and had immediately charmed everyone, but most of all, me. Handsome, polite, and intelligent, but very reserved. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but nobody—and believe me, all the female staff members had tried—had been able to find out if he was available.

I wished I’d taken a moment to brush my hair, reapply lip-gloss, or at least make sure I didn’t have any spinach between my teeth. I didn’t obsess over my appearance for too long, though. Frank hadn’t been exaggerating; it was a zoo in the reading room, and the next few hours flew by as I retrieved books and archival collections, answered the phones, and responded to researchers’ questions.

Before I knew it, it was 4:30, and only a few researchers remained, including Zachary.

“Whew,” said Hayes, flopping into the desk chair next to mine. “What a day. Thanks for helping out.”

“What happened to Linda?” I asked, just to make conversation.

He shrugged. “Who knows? Nooner?”

Suppressing a giggle, I started sorting researcher application forms. “No, seriously.”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Did you see Mr. Hottie Researcher is here?” “Shh,” I said, glancing over at Zachary, but he was engrossed in his 26 research. “Of course I did.”

“First thing you looked for when you walked into the room.”

“Nuh-uh,” I lied, swatting at him.

“Uh-huh,” he fired back. “But, sweetie, what you didn’t notice is that Mr. Hottie Researcher actually took his eyes off his work a few times to check out your butt as you walked by.”

“No, he didn’t,” I said, my heart beating just a little bit faster, nonethe­less.

Leaning back in his chair, Hayes folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe our little Claudia has made a conquest. But shh, here he comes.”

Adopting an expression that I hoped was simultaneously neutral and friendly, I looked up to see Zachary approaching, his laptop tucked under his arm. He had the sexy-intellectual look down pat. Slender without being scrawny, his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist. But it was his eyes that I found most arresting—deep, chocolate brown with an intensity of focus. He held your gaze even for the most mundane of conversations, which often made me tongue-tied in his presence.

“How’d it go today?” I asked, once he was in hearing range.

“Great. I wish you stayed open later. That collection has some great information, and I hate having to wait until Monday to continue.”

Hayes snorted. “Well, I’m sorry you have to interrupt your research, but I’m not sorry we’re not open late on Friday evenings. Hey, a bunch of us are going out for a drink in a bit. Would you like to come along?”

I held my breath as I waited for Zachary’s response. Although I had plans to meet a girlfriend for dinner, I might have to do the unthinkable and cancel if Zachary agreed to go out with my colleagues.

Was it my imagination, or did Zachary glance over at me before he responded?

“I’d love to, but I have to go to dinner at one of my professor’s. Maybe next time?”

“Yeah, sure, we’d love to have you.” Hayes winked at me, and I felt the heat rise to my face.

The telephone started to ring, and because he was closer to it, Hayes answered.

“I was wondering what your hours are for next week. Are you open the day after Thanksgiving?” Zachary asked.

I suppressed a groan. Unfortunately we would be open on Friday, and because I wasn’t traveling for the holiday, I’d been enlisted to work. Just once, I’d like to be able to hit the Black Friday sales.

“Yes, we’re open our normal hours,” I answered. “Aren’t you going away for the holiday?”

Zachary shook his head. “Afraid not. I just can’t afford it, either from a financial or a research standpoint.” “That’s too bad.” I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of bravery I possessed. “Listen, if you’re not busy on Thanksgiving Day, I’m having a potluck at my place. Very casual. It would be great if you could come.”

As soon as I finished what constituted a speech for me talking to Zachary, my heart started beating double time, especially when I noticed how his face seemed to light up.

“I’d love to. My advisor invited me to his house, but I really don’t feel like spending the holiday fielding questions about my dissertation.”

“Oh, good. You’ll be in early next week?” He nodded and I continued, “I’ll give you directions and stuff then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

I know I had a ridiculously happy expression on my face as I watched him leave the reading room. Hayes noticed it, too, and as soon as he got off the phone, he demanded, “Omigod, he asked you out, didn’t he? And I missed it!”

“Not exactly, but he did accept my invitation to the Thanksgiving potluck I’m having.”

Hayes thrust out his lower lip. “Hey, I didn’t know you were having something for Thanksgiving. Why didn’t you invite me?”

I studied my new boots, admiring how elegant they looked, even with a low heel. Unfortunately, Hayes correctly interpreted my studied indifference.

“Omigod, you just made it up, didn’t you? You weren’t even planning to host anything until five minutes ago, were you?”

I raised my chin. “Of course I was. And you’re welcome to come.”

“Who else is going to be there?” Hayes demanded.

“Zachary.”

“And?”

“Well, me. And whomever else I invite.”

Thank goodness the reading room was nearly empty, because Hayes’ chuckles soon developed into loud guffaws.

“I can’t believe you did that. I never dreamed our little Claudia had such chutzpah.”

Wrinkling my nose at him, I repeated, “So, can you come?”

“Oh, how I wish I could, but we’re going to Sam’s parents’ house. Omigod, I hate to miss this.”

If Hayes viewed my self-created predicament as an amusing little situation, then my friend Ellen saw it as a crisis of gargantuan proportions.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, her eyes round and her hand gripping the stem of her wineglass so tightly that I was afraid it might snap in her hands. “What are you going to do?”

I shrugged with a nonchalance I no longer felt. “Invite some people. See who shows up.”

“Claudia, Thanksgiving is less than a week away. What sort of pathetic person doesn’t have plans yet?” Then she gave me a meaningful look. “Oh, sorry.”

I tilted my head, not understanding for a second. Then I got it. “I have plans. I had plans. Now I have two sets of plans.” I groaned. “I’m going to have to call my mom and tell her I won’t be there for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Wait—I know!” Ellen clapped her hands together frantically. “You could invite people from a homeless shelter.”

“Um, that’s a very kind and thoughtful idea, but don’t you think Zachary might find it odd if all my friends, other than him, are homeless? I told him it was a potluck with friends, not random people I picked up at the shelter.”

Her shoulders slumped, “Well, I think it’s a good idea. You’d be helping other people while getting yourself out of a bad situation.”

By Sunday evening, Ellen’s suggestion seemed entirely reasonable. If not that, I might start handing out flyers at the grocery store, advertising free food at my apartment on Thanksgiving. Maybe that way somebody would show up. I’d called or e-mailed practically everyone I knew, with the net result of seven additional guests: my parents, sister, and her family. When I’d called to explain the situation to my mother about how I couldn’t go to her house, she’d argued that there was no sense in both of us cooking, and announced they’d come to my place instead.

Great. If I’d wanted Zachary to come to my family’s Thanksgiving, I would have just invited him to my parents’ house. It’s much bigger than my one bedroom apartment.

My alternative seemed to be having the potluck before 9 a.m. or after 8 p.m. Several of my friends were willing to come before or after their previous obligations. What were the chances I could convince Zachary that eating turkey before the parades started was a tradition he’d just never heard of?

On Monday morning I flopped down in my desk chair, wondering if it would destroy any chances of a future relationship with Zachary if I simply pretended I’d never issued and he’d never accepted the invitation.

I took a big gulp of my mocha latte, knowing that the sugary, chocolatey goodness would only briefly distract me from my dilemma. And, just to remind me, I heard Hayes’ voice coming down the hallway toward my office.

“And how is my favorite Thanksgiving turkey queen?” Hayes asked as he swung around the door­jamb into my office area.

“A real turkey,” I said.

“What’s wrong, Queen Turkey Claudia?” Hayes asked, pulling up my spare chair and sitting next to me.

“Everybody has plans for Thanksgiving. So far, my only guests are Zachary and my family.” Hayes raised his eyebrows, so I continued. “When I called my mom to explain why I wouldn’t be coming to her house, she insisted on moving the family celebration to my apartment.”

To my surprise, Hayes didn’t laugh, just shook his head. “Let me go buy you a donut.”

“A donut?”

“Lard and sugar cure all ills.”

Frank chose that moment to come into my office, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Amen to that, but what’s ailing you, Claudia?”

I dropped my head to my folded arms on my desk, not even wanting to explain it again, but after a moment, lifted my head again and told the sad tale.

“Am I invited?” Frank asked.

“You? But I thought you were going to Michigan to spend the holiday with Paula’s family.”

Frank’s lips twisted into a^–smile. “Her parents found a last-minute deal on a cruise, so they canceled on us. How bad is it when your in-laws bag you for a better offer? We were actually thinking of going out to eat.”

“You’d really do this for me?”

“Skip a restaurant meal for some of your legendary cooking? What’s to think about?”

I scraped my fingers through my hair. “But think of how awkward this could be. . .me, Zachary, my family, and you and Paula.”

Adopting a stern look, Frank handed me the papers he was holding, but his wink belied his serious tone.

“These need to be sent out to the board, if we can interrupt discussing our social plans long enough to get some work done. And don’t worry, I’ll bring enough wine on Thursday to smooth over any rough spots.”

I snapped my fingers. “Darn, I was hoping for one of Paula’s apple pies.”

“We’ll bring some of those, too.”

“Well, shoot,” Hayes drawled. “This is starting to sound better than Thanksgiving with Sam.”

Drawing his brows together, Frank glared at Hayes. “Don’t you have a donut run to make?”

The donuts made me feel better for about thirty seconds, and then I just felt bloated and headache-y. I stared bleakly at my computer screen, then got to work, hoping that being busy would distract me. Why couldn’t I have just invited him for a drink or coffee, like a normal person? I wondered as I answered e-mails. Why had that outrageous invitation leapt to my tongue? I sighed, opened a new document, and began to type a to-do list. Number one on my list was “find more friends.”

My ringing phone interrupted me when I reached number ten on my list. It was Hayes, in his most busi­ness-like tone, “Zachary Williams has a few questions for you in the reading room.”

“Research or Thanksgiving-relat­ed?” I asked, knowing that Zachary was probably standing right there.

“I believe this pertains to your discussion on Friday.”

My legs shook slightly as I walked up the stone steps, but as soon as I entered the reading room and saw Zachary, all the stress I’d created for myself seemed worthwhile. His close-fitting sweater and snug jeans emphasized his fit physique, but more than that, his face held such an open, friendly expression as my eyes met his that I nearly melted into a puddle right there on the gorgeous oak floors.

“Thanks again for inviting me for Thanksgiving. I was wondering, what time should I be there?”

Good Lord, a man with manners. My mind went completely blank, and I could not, for the life of me, think of an appropriate response. Panicked, I looked over Zachary’s shoulder to Hayes, who held up three fingers.

“Three,” I said, proudly, thinking that my apparent ability to count would be useful as I set the table for my all-too-few guests on Thursday.

“Great. And you said it was a potluck, right? What would you like me to bring?”

Once again, I was stunned into silence. Then I thought— Male, graduate student. “What can you make?”

He crinkled his nose for just a moment. “Ramen noodles.”

I laughed, trying to think of something he could buy, but then thinking of how tight my finances sometimes were, and I had a full-time job, not an assistantship, I answered, “Just bring yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” I handed him my business card, with my home number scrawled on the back, then quickly drew a map showing how to get to my apartment. As I handed him the map, another thought occurred to me. “Um, do you need a ride?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hayes making suggestive body motions and I colored. Thank good­ness there were no other researchers in the reading room yet.

Zachary flushed slightly, too. “No, I can get there.”

What did that mean? I wondered. Did he have a car, or not? Not my worry.

Relieved that my weird Thanksgiving potluck was starting to come together, I got to work with all the cleaning, shopping, and defrosting that needed to be done. True, my guest list was rather small, but I could explain that away. Perhaps all my friends had contracted food poison­ing at a different party earlier in the week?

On Tuesday afternoon, I was typing a letter when my pop-up notification told me I had an e-mail from Zachary Williams. My heart hammered as I opened the e-mail, worried that he was cancelling.

Claudia,

Would it be all right if I invited a German graduate student to join us on Thanksgiving? Her name is Heike and she’s in the Gender Studies department, so I doubt you’ve met her. She’d love to experience a real American Thanksgiving.

Let me know.

Thanks, Zach

My first, incongruous thought was to respond that I’d told him he didn’t need to bring anything, and that included a date. After staring at my computer screen for several minutes, and vowing in the future to always to wait ten seconds before I spoke to avoid getting myself into such situations, I typed a carefully worded, polite, but completely fictitious response saying how delighted I would be to have Heike join us.

When Hayes took a coffee break a little while later, we deconstructed the situation once more. After read­ing Zachary’s e-mail, he said, “Nowhere in this message does he say she’s a girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “But they’re spending Thanksgiving together.”

“You’re spending Thanksgiving with Frank and his wife. Do you all have a threesome going on that I should know about? Do I need to point out that men and women can be friends? Have you never seen When Harry Met Sally?”

I threw my pen at him. “And have you forgotten they got married at the end?”

“You and I aren’t lovers.”

“Yes, but you’re—you’re—”

“I’m a fag, dahling,” he drawled. “And what are you saying? If I were straight, would I be getting a little cootchy-coo?”

Frank poked his head into my office just in time to catch Hayes tick­ling my sides. “What the heck is going on in here? Hayes, stop that. The last thing we need in this depart­ment is a sexual harassment suit.”

Giggling, I said, “I promise not to bring up charges.”

“Great. So relieved to hear that. And Hayes, aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Gay and proud of it.” Hayes stood and swished dramatically out of my office.

“I don’t even remember why I came in here,” Frank said, rubbing his eyes.

I pulled a sheet of paper off my printer. “Here’s the draft of the donor letter you asked for.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. I’ve lost com­plete control of this place,” he mut­tered as he walked out.

I knew I was smiling like a lunatic. So what if I was hosting the strangest Thanksgiving get-together in history and I was crushing on someone who was bringing a date to dinner at my house in a few days? I loved my job and my co-workers made me laugh. How could I complain?

The next pseudo-crisis came Wednesday afternoon. I’d spent Tuesday evening cleaning my apart­ment and felt confident that I had preparations well under control. I answered my ringing telephone, only to hear my sister’s hysterical voice on the other end.

“Oh, my goodness, Rachel, what’s wrong?” I asked, immediately wor­ried about our parents or her family.

“The boys were sent home from school today with head lice.”

“Ewww, gross,” I said.

“Claudia!”

“Um, that’s too bad?” I said, hop­ing that was a better response.

“It’s disgusting! What kind of housekeeper am I?”

“Oh, kids always get lice. It has nothing to do with your houseclean­ing abilities.” I thought I’d read that someplace, but at that point, I would have told Rachel anything to calm her down.

“The lice shampoo takes twenty-four hours to be effective. Mom says we can’t come to your place for Thanksgiving, for fear of infecting your guests.”

There was a long silence, and I suspected I was supposed to break it by assuring Rachel that her nit-infest­ed children were still welcome. But did I really want to have to explain to my other guests that they may leave my place with full tummies and a need for de-lousing?

“Well, we’ll miss you,” I said, preparing for an onslaught of renewed hysteria, but I only heard a soft sniffle from Rachel. “I have enough food to feed an army. I’ll bring dinner to you.”

Silence, with the occasional snuffly breath, came from the other end.

“And I’ll send over movies for the boys. And one for you and Barry.”

“Okay,” Rachel agreed with a final sniff. “I guess I’ll go back to doing laundry and combing the kids’ hair with the lice comb.”

Better you than me, I thought, but said, “I love you.”

After I hung up, I made a list of the expected attendees: Zachary, Heike, Frank, Paula, Mom, Dad, and me. Three couples and solo me, all ironi­cally stemming from my pathetic attempts to get a date.

 

That evening I was listening to clas­sical music, chopping vegetables, baking pies, and boiling cranberries, when I heard my telephone ringing. Seeing “Zachary Williams” on the caller identification, I took a deep breath before answering, hoping to sound calm. A cacophony of noise greeted me. I never would have known who it was if not for the won­ders of modern technology.

“Hello, Claudia?” I dimly heard Zachary’s voice over the noise in the background. “Oh, hang on. Wait a minute.”

The noise gradually decreased, only to be replaced by street noise. “Sorry about that, I couldn’t hear you. A bunch of us from the department are at the River Café. I was wondering if you’d like to come and have a drink with us?”

I nearly sliced the tip of my pinkie off with the knife I was wielding, so I put it down. I definitely didn’t want blood in any of the food I served my guests.

“Wow, I really wish I could, but I am literally up to my elbows in chopped vegetables.”

“Oh.” Silence, interrupted by a few honking horns and snippets of con­versation as people walked by, drift­ed down the line for what seemed like a long time while I tried to think of something to say, but Zachary spoke first. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I should have realized that. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“It’s no problem. I appreciate the invitation,” I said honestly, feeling the slightest glimmer of resentment that others were out having a good time while I worked. But to be honest, I enjoyed cooking and baking, so it really wasn’t such a hardship.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night,” Zachary said, dis­connecting.

That was curious, I thought, won­dering if Zachary’s invitation had just been a polite gesture. Where was Heike? Tempted as I was to call Hayes to get his interpretation of the phone call, I resisted the urge. I need­ed to man up if I wanted to get a man. I chuckled at the very Hayes-like wording of my own thought.

A few hours later, I settled on my couch with a glass of wine, the food either put away or cooling, and the kitchen for the most part cleaned up. I flipped through the channels, hoping to find a mindless movie. Tired as I was, I was too keyed up to go to sleep just yet. At first, I thought I imagined the sound of footsteps on my front porch, but after muting the television, I was certain I heard some­thing out there. Although I listened intently, I still started at the sound of my doorbell ringing.

Disconcerted and a little fright­ened, I sidestepped to the door, avoiding the window, so whoever was out there wouldn’t see my silhouette through the curtains. I looked through the peephole and whooshed a sigh of relief when I saw Zachary on the other side of the door.

“Hey,” I said, opening the door. “This is a surprise. Come in.”

He raked his hand through his already mussed hair. “I guess I should have called first. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Come in, t’s chilly out there.”

Zachary took off his jacket, revealing a well-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt. I’d never seen him dressed so casu­ally. He wore it just as well as he did his intellectual researcher look.

“Can I get you a glass of wine, or cup of coffee?” Mindful of the fact that he’d called me from a bar hours ago, I tacked on the last bit.

He glanced at my glass of Wine on the coffee table and after a moment, said, “I should have a glass of water.”

To my surprise, he followed me into the kitchen. “Wow, it smells great in here. What have you been cook­ing?”

I ticked the list off on my fingers. “Cranberry sauce, stuffing, pumpkin pie, and nut rolls. Oh, and Jell-o salad for the kids.”

He got a slightly panicked look in his eyes, as he looked around the kitchen suspiciously. “You have kids?”

I laughed as I filled a glass with water from the pitcher I kept in the refrigerator. “No, I promised my nephews I’d make them Jell-o salad.”

I’d been watching Zachary carefully and had decided he wasn’t drunk, although he clearly wasn’t one hundred percent sober. He followed me back to my living room and stood at one end of the couch, waiting, I noticed, to sit until I had. My mom would love his manners.

I sat and took a sip of my wine, waiting to see how he would explain his presence. Not that I minded his being there, but it seemed the reserved researcher I knew from work really loosened up after a few drinks.

Zachary took a sip of his water, straightened the throw pillow behind him, then jumped to his feet, holding his hair off his face with both hands. “Sorry, this is a mistake. I shouldn’t have just shown up without calling. You probably think this is a booty call.”

At the last sentence, I spewed the drink of wine I’d just taken all over my coffee table. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel, then dabbed up wine from magazines, books, and the coffee table’s surface.

“Oh, God, sorry,” Zachary muttered as he ineffectually moved things around.

“Sit down and stop apologizing,” I said, and he obeyed. Wow, my nephews never listen to me like that. Glancing over at him and seeing his contrite expression, I started laugh­ing.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re just so different after you’ve had a few drinks.”

“I don’t usually drink very much.”

“You don’t say.” I laughed. “So, did you have fun tonight?”

He shrugged, “It was okay. The bar was really crowded and loud. I prefer to be able to talk, not shout in peo­ple’s ears.”

“Was Heike there?”

He gave me a strange look. “If she was, I didn’t see her. How many peo­ple are you expecting tomorrow?”

I flushed slightly. “It’s going to be a small group. Several people had to cancel at the last minute.” At his inquisitive look, I said, “My sister’s kids have head lice.”

This time he choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. I laughed as he absentmindedly scratched his head. I’d been doing the same thing every time I thought about my nephews.

“Don’t worry; I haven’t seen them for weeks.”

“Oh,” he grimaced as he realized what he’d been doing and lowered his hand. “Sor —”

“Don’t even say it! Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks,” he paused for a long time before saying, “I have a confes­sion to make.”

I braced myself. Engaged to Heike? Gay? Suffering from erectile dysfunction?

“My parents are archeologists,” he began. Okay, hardly earth-shattering, scandalous stuff so far. “They decid­ed I’d have a more normal childhood if I lived with my grandparents rather than traveling with them. But what they didn’t consider was that being brought up by two sixty-year-old academics wasn’t the most normal childhood in the world either.”

Seeing my puzzled look, he explained, “Growing up with my grandparents and their university friends prepared me really well for grad school, but not so much for interacting with people my own age.”

Even as I said, “You seem to get along fine to me,” I couldn’t help thinking of his reserve and his very proper ways. “You used the term `booty call.’ Did your grandparents teach you that?”

His grin was rueful. “No, my friends just taught it to me tonight when I told them I was walking over to see you.”

I couldn’t help laughing as I took his hand in mine. “None of that mat­ters. I like you just the way you are.”

Just as I consciously realized both that I was holding his hand and had just admitted I liked him, he leaned forward and kissed me. Gently at first, but then he deepened the kiss. When he pulled away, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “And you do that extremely well.”

A faint blush reddened his cheeks. “Yeah, well, some things you can’t help learning.”

I didn’t ask him to elaborate on that comment. I’d little doubt that with his looks, women had been chasing him since he was a teenager.

Still holding onto my hand, he con­tinued, “I watch the way you joke around with your colleagues. You seem so self-confident. I never thought you’d be interested in a geek like me.”

A hundred protests rushed through my head—mainly based on my underemployment and his seemingly effortless sophistication—but I dis­missed them all and merely leaned forward, saying, “Well, you thought wrong. I am very interested in a guy like you.”

My chiming mantel clock interrupt­ed our next kiss. Zachary pulled away first. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d better get going.”

I didn’t really want him to leave, but I also knew that I had to be up to get the turkey into the oven pretty early in the morning, and I definitely didn’t want to be tired all the next day.

Although I offered to drive Zachary home, he insisted on walking. Surprisingly, I went right to sleep.

The next day though, I woke up at five a.m., eager to see him again. I jumped out of bed instead of trying to go back to sleep as I normally would have done.

My mom arrived before the coffee was done brewing.

“What are you doing here so early?” I demanded.

“Love you, too,” she said, kissing my cheek. “I wanted to make sure you got the bird in the oven on time.”

I hid my smile. I was a very compe­tent cook—thanks primarily to her, though she apparently still didn’t trust me.

“So, what’s on the menu?” Mom asked, washing her hands.

We talked and laughed as we stuffed the turkey and boiled the giblets.

I told her of my worries about the odd guest list and she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Everyone will be busy eating and drinking wine. Just don’t bring up politics.”

I gave her a quizzical look. “Actually, I think politics is one sub­ject this group will agree on.”

“Sports then.”

After we set up plates and silver­ware on my table buffet-style—I couldn’t possibly seat seven people in my tiny dining room—Mom went home to shower and change, and I did the same.

The doorbell was ringing when I emerged from the shower. I hurried to look through the peephole, shocked to see Hayes standing there.

“Come in and avert your eyes,” I said. “I need to go dress.”

I returned wearing more than a towel and said, “I’m always happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Hayes pouted. “Sam and I had a big fight this morning, so I decided to come here instead of going to his parents’.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you telling the truth? Or were you just so eager to witness this disaster of a Thanksgiving dinner that you deliber­ately picked a fight?”

In a remarkable display of acting ability or genuine emotion, Hayes quivered his lower lip. “Do you really think I’d fight with Sam just to meet the mysterious Heike?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, truthfully. “But you do realize you’re hours early. I need to finish dressing. What do you want to do?”

“Drink coffee, eat pastries, and watch the parades,” Hayes replied, picking up the remote.

“I can make some more coffee, but you’re out of luck in the pastry department.”

“Ah, not to worry,” Hayes said. “I brought some coffee cake, along with the fixings for my grandma’s famous green bean casserole. I’ll run out to the car, while you—” he peered closely at my face—”put on some makeup.”

“Geez, Hayes,” I muttered. “You are so good for my ego.”

“After you put on your face,” I made a face at Hayes’s expression — “we’ll decide what you’re going to wear.”

“Odd that I manage to dress myself on a daily basis without your assistance.”

“Not always well,” Hayes said, ducking to avoid my half-hearted punch.

At Hayes’ insistence, I changed out of the jeans and sweater I’d chosen, putting on a leather miniskirt that he unearthed from the depths of my closet.

“No,” I protested, looking in the mirror. “This is too much.”

“It’s perfect.” Hayes insisted, “And I did give in on the stupid turtleneck.”

“Hayes, that low-cut shirt you picked out, with this miniskirt, would make me look like a streetwalker. Not that I don’t look a little like one as it is.”

“You look great. And guaranteed Mr. Hottie Researcher will notice you.”

“He’s going to be in my apartment. He can’t avoid noticing me.”

The doorbell rang, ending our bick­ering. “Perfect timing. Shall I play butler?” Hayes asked.

“I think not.”

Nonetheless, I had to race him to the door, and we were both laughing when I opened it. Standing outside were a huge bouquet of mums and a blonde giant. The blonde, who slight­ly resembled Gwen Stefani on steroids—many, many steroids—stuck out a hand and said, “I am Heike.”

I took an involuntary step back­ward, intimidated. Hoping my hand hadn’t instantly produced sweat, I shook hers. “I’m Claudia.”

“Thanks for having me for Thanksgiving.”

“My pleasure.” My terror was more like it.

Zachary peered around the gar­gantuan cluster of autumnal flowers and said, “These are for you.”

I took the flowers, staggering slightly under the weight. “They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come in, both of you.”

I introduced Hayes and Heike before taking the flowers into the din­ing room. They didn’t look so over­whelmingly large on my table.

“Thank you again. They’re per­fect,” I said, standing on my tiptoes to kiss Zachary on the cheek. Hayes’ eyes widened, then he winked exag­geratedly at my gesture before linking his arm through Heike’s and saying, “Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone. You need to learn the wonders of American green bean casserole.”

Zachary had just folded me into his arms and leaned down to kiss me when the doorbell rang. “Damn that bell,” I said, slipping out of his embrace to let my parents in.

All my fears proved to be unfound­ed. True, we were all well-lubricated by the excellent wine that Frank and Paula had brought, but the potluck would have gone well without it. We were all easygoing people with good senses of humor, and his concerns about his social skills notwithstand­ing, Zachary got along great with everyone. True, my parents were close to the age group he felt most comfortable with. All of the food was delicious, if I do say so myself, even Hayes’ green bean casserole, which Heike took particular pride in helping to prepare.

My mother is an astute woman, and it didn’t take her long to suss out my interest in Zachary, but she took me aside to give her approval. With some hilarity, we elected my father, as the most bald and least likely to contract head lice, to deliver the food to Rachel and her family.

I’d assumed that Zachary would be taking Heike home, but Hayes announced that he was going to take her to a gay bar she’d never visited. She claimed it was dissertation research, which seemed a bit of a stretch, but I wasn’t about to argue, because their departure left Zach and me alone.

I knew, as we snuggled together on the sofa, that my spur-of-the-moment invitation had been worth it. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him that I’d fabricated the entire potluck to spend some time with him, but I had a feel­ing I’d have lots of time in the future to make my confession.