New Year’s Steve

by Carter, M. E.

  I sigh. Isn’t this always the way it goes. Dating Land is in a severe drought and suddenly it doesn’t just rain hot men, it pours.

  Just my luck.

  Love happens when you least expect it, when you’re not looking. I’m pretty sure someone wise once said that to me, or maybe it was a nanna from one of the Lifetime movies they play around Christmas.

  Before I can contemplate further, Harry stares at the ceiling tiles making “hmm” sounds in the back of his throat then looking down at me, blue eyes glinting with amusement. I’m not sure what he finds so fun about me freezing to death but there it is .

  “I think I may have just solved your heating problem.”

  This interests me and I perk up.

  He points to the vent next to the wall. “See that? Looks like it’s closed. All we need to do is turn that spinning nob to open it and you’ll be nice and toasty in here.”

  Did I mention Harry is not only nice, but clearly a genius as well? Where has he been all my life!? Every winter I freeze my ass off in here, and not once has anyone said a word about my damn vent being closed!

  I want to face-palm myself back in time to three Sundays from Christmas.

  “That’s it?” My eyes are probably bugging out. “Just that quick fix to keep my regular shaving from going to waste?”

  “Huh?”

  His face screws up at the mention of my No Shave November thru January joke, and I’m not about to explain that the hair on my legs adds another layer of warmth.

  I wave him off with a forced laugh. “Nothing. Forget I mentioned it. The last thing you probably want is inappropriate visuals about the state of my legs.”

  I prop one out, extending it and he watches my every move.

  Unless I’m reading things wrong, I swear Harry’s nostrils just flared with desire. Suddenly I’m glad for the text snafu regarding Steve’s balls. Clearly there is an itch I need to scratch if I’m coming across as such a hornball these days.

  “Anyway, do you have time to fix the vent before you go?”

  “Just need to go grab the ladder again. It won’t take but a second.”

  He turns on his heel and struts out of the office, my head tilting and following the movement of his ass before I can stop myself.

  NO!

  Guilt hits me once again and I grab my phone for some support, shooting off a rapid fire to the one person who can relate to Inner Office Romance — not that this is what’s happening, but it never hurts to flesh out any potential.

  Me: Mayday! Mayday! Harry the Maintenance Man is super hot and I want to lick him!

  Whoa. Coming out of the gate strong, Felicity. Meg is going to think you’re a lunatic.

  Meg: Who?

  Me: I went searching around for Skeeter, from maintenance, and found one of the other guys on his crew to help me and LORD, he’s fixing things and smelling male and distracting me and now I’m confused.

  Meg: I’ve never heard of Harry. Are you sure that’s his name?

  Me: Positive. Maybe he’s new. But who cares? He’s super hot and it’s making me feel guilt and how would you even know what any of the custodians’ names are? How often do you need maintaining?

  Meg: Fair enough. But I guess…

  Meg: … I’m not understanding the issue. Some new guy from maintenance is fixing things… and he is better to look at, and smell, than Old Man Skeeter??? I don’t see what the problem is here.

  Me: The PROBLEM is that I have a FIRST date tonight with Steve. Steve! And now I feel guilty for wishing I was free tonight so I could hook up with the super-hot maintenance man.

  Meg: Sooo… you’re complaining that you have two prospects?

  It is raining men.

  I guess she wouldn’t be able to see that as a problem since she’s no longer single and ready to mingle as I’ve been for the past year. She still wants me to play the field, and not settle down, and to wait for “The One”.

  Me: (dramatic sigh) Can you just please give me some encouraging words so I can stay on task? Say something like: one man at a time, Felicity. One. Man.

  Meg: Sorry. Sure.

  Meg: Although… Realistically you’ve never met Steve, so he could be catfishing you and really you’re going on a date with an 85 year old man named Melvin.

  Me: That is not helping. You’re supposed to be encouraging me to go out with New Year’s Steve, the man I’ve been flirting with for weeks. Not discouraging me.

  Meg: Oh. Sorry. Let me try again.

  This ought to be good.

  Meg: Harry works in maintenance. There are probably spiders in his hair from all those cobwebs in the basement.

  Me: I have cobwebs in MY basement (if you catch my drift) so really I can’t judge him for that.

  Meg: You are SO GROSS sometimes!

  Me: Hey, it’s not all sunshine and roses up in accounting, we can’t all run around in ugly holiday sweaters and Santa tights and still grab an eligible bachelor.

  Meg: My sweaters are NOT UGLY. Take that back!!!

  Me: Sorry, sorry. Let’s circle back around and talk about me again. I know that’s selfish but I have this date tonight and I’m having all these feelings about Harry…

  Meg: You are OVERthinking this. Has Harry asked for your number? No. Has he asked you on a date? No. So what you need to do is go out with Steve tonight, have fun, let loose, be carefree. Hopefully he makes you laugh.

  Me: He makes me laugh in our messages. I think I’ve really built this up in my head so meeting Harry has thrown me off my game.

  Meg: Your GAME??? OMG. Stop it right now, you have no game. Your big move is having a man change your light bulb, WHICH BY THE WAY, you could have done yourself.

  Me: Okay but I didn’t have a key to the supply room and even with a ladder I’m kind of short, so technically I couldn’t have…

  Meg: THE POINT IS: Stop overthinking. Have fun. And for the love of god, do NOT forget to report back to me in the morning. I’ll keep my phone near the bed in case you’re doing the walk of shame at dawn and need moral support.

  Me: I have never — nor will I ever! — do the walk of shame!

  Meg: Just call me in the morning.

  Meg: And don’t get murdered.

  I roll my eyes, tossing the phone onto my desk with a frown. Overthinking? Yeah, she’s right, I probably do that — but I hate admitting when she’s right.

  I need to focus.

  I’m so close to being done I can almost taste the yummy appetizers I’m going to eat tonight at dinner.

  So what I need is to get my mind off of Harry — whom I’ve barely met — and refocus my energy on the man I’ve been dreaming of meeting for weeks.

  Weeks!

  We were entering Pen Pal territory — that’s an online dating term for when two people message so long without actually planning to go on an actual date, you become Pen Pals. Letters back and forth, no real time interaction. No video chats, no phone calls.

  Honestly, I was days away from telling him, “Steve, this has been wonderful but it seems like all you want to do is message back and forth and not meet in person.” Then low and behold, he invited me to be his date for New Year’s.

  Settling back into my chair, I’m pleasantly surprised when I look down at my clock a few minutes later to see that actually, a solid hour has passed and I’m on the verge of finalizing everything.

  But what is taking Harry so long to return with that ladder?

  As if my thoughts have summoned him, he shows up on cue, carrying the ladder like it weighs next to nothing. Good lord, the sleeve of his shirt is straining his biceps again.

  Is there nothing wrong with this man?

  Sigh.

  “Sorry for taking so long,” he says with a smile as he gently places the ladder on the floor and opens it. I push backwards in my chair and I roll out of his way. “I got sidetracked fixing that tampon machine in the ladies’ restroom — the one I overheard you complaining about before…”

  Oops.


  “Turns out someone had stuffed a drink token in it from a casino; guess they were hoping for a big pay-out.” He laughs at his corny joke. “Luckily I hadn’t returned this to the supply closet.” He taps the side of the ladder before climbing it.

  And now he’s considerate, too? How come a man like Harry isn’t on LoveSwept? He’s probably one of those obnoxiously awesome people who prefers to build relationships in real life instead of getting sucked into it online. Could he be any more perfect?

  Regardless, in no time flat, I feel warm air floating across my desk.

  “Holy shit, you did it!” With the way I squeal in delight, you’d think I’d never felt indoor heating before, my hair gently blowing in the new breeze. Ahhh…

  Harry quickly replaces the vent cover and climbs down. Snaps his fingers. “Easy fix. Just remember, if it gets too cold in the summer, you’ll just need to call and have it closed again. That’s what maintenance is there for.”

  “When I can reach someone,” I grumble.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. I don’t want to make an issue of how long it took to get this done. No reason for this hottie to take the fall for his boss’s failings.

  Folding up my blanket, I reach down to pull the drawer open, but it doesn’t budge.

  Yank. Tug.

  Grumbling, I yank for a second time, this time the chair and I move more than it does.

  I drop my head back on the chair in exasperation, physically spent; I cannot catch a break.

  Behind me, a deep, sexy chuckle makes me shiver. “Need me to fix that, too?”

  “Would you mind?” I plead, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. It’s not his fault the entire office building is crumbling around me. Come to think of it, maybe this is why Victoria assigned me this office. It wasn’t part of the promotion — it was payback for getting that extra comp day every year.

  Sneaky little minx.

  “I don’t mind at all.” Harry’s voice makes my lady parts tingle but I quickly rub my arms, playing it off like it’s my body readjusting to the warm air.

  He glances over my shoulder at the computer monitor when I pull my chair back into position, clucking his tongue. “I’ll just return this ladder and grab some WD-40. Looks like you’ll have just enough time to cross reference and finish up that last acquisition.”

  My jaw drops. “You know about acquisitions and reporting?”

  He flashes me the sexiest smile I think I have ever seen. Steve better bring his A game on the charm tonight because Harry the Maintenance Man is doing a damn good job of making me forget all about him.

  “I know a lot of things about a lot of things.”

  Oh? Tell me more…

  “Then why do you work in maintenance?” I know the question sounds rude, but I’m genuinely curious.

  He pauses briefly, measuring his carefully worded answer. “I just like to make sure things are running smoothly around here.”

  I tilt my head as I absorb his words, but then the alarm on my phone goes off reminding me I have two hours left until I have to be out of here or I will be late. Turning back to my computer, I roll back up to my desk. “Well thank you. I appreciate it so much.”

  Harry answers with a nod and picks up the ladder effortlessly again. “Truly, it’s been my pleasure, Felicity.”

  The fire in his eyes before he turns and walks out leaves me feeling hot. All. Over.

  For the first time since I’ve worked here, I find myself fanning my face to cool down in the winter. And I have Harry to thank for that. In more ways than one.

  6

  Harrison

  Things I’ve learned about Felicity since I matched with her on the LoveSwept dating app:

  She is looking for something long-term

  Two older brothers

  Parents still married

  Her best friend works at the same company, which I now know is mine, so I wonder who that friend could be.

  She loves hot dog stands and carnival food.

  Green eyes. Brown hair. Bright smile.

  Things I’ve learned about Felicity since she found me at the elevator bank, thinking I was the maintenance man, and hauled me down to her office to fix shit:

  She’s petite and pixie like.

  She has bunny slippers and a flirtatious laugh.

  Her voice gets me hard.

  Her hair looks like satin and I want to run my fingers through it.

  She keeps pictures on her desk of her trip to London, cat Fiskers, and a small picture of a world map that says, ‘Not all who wander are lost.’

  She smells like strawberries and fresh air.

  I’m waxing poetic when I make it back to my office, the office a veritable wasteland by now. It’s early afternoon and I’m sorely behind schedule, half the things I needed to accomplish still unfinished.

  Haircut.

  Shave.

  Shower.

  Plus, despite what Steve has told Felicity, I still have not actually made reservations for tonight and groan, knowing that finding something at this hour is going to be damn near impossible, despite who I am.

  Calling in a favor would be a shitty thing to do at this stage in the game, even for a girl like Felicity.

  I plop into my desk chair, giving myself just a few minutes of reprieve, shooting my stylist a note to let him know I’m running late.

  He’s cool with it, and I let out a sigh.

  Firing up my computer, I type ‘Last minute date options for the holiday,’ into the search bar, hitting ENTER.

  Lists pop up and I click on the first link — an itemized catalogue of dating ideas beginning with ‘ordering carry-out and having a candlelight indoor picnic.”

  Nope, too intimate.

  Find a local holiday lights display.

  Nope, too cold.

  Dancing? That could work, but I haven’t been to a nightclub in ages — what if I find one and it sucks?

  Ice skating in the park. Meh.

  Wreath making? Gag.

  Carriage ride, caroling, go to the bookstore and pick out a book for each other? What the fuck.

  I’m screwed.

  “I heard you were skulking around.” A raspy voice scares the shit out of me from the doorway, and I jump in my chair, twisting my body to see none other than Shelia, with her gray hair and beady eyes judging me.

  “Hey. Yeah, I wanted to pop in today one last time before the weekend.”

  “And you decided to wear that?”

  My brow goes up. “Don’t hold back, Sheila — tell me how you really feel.”

  “Aren’t you still single?” she wants to know, powering ahead as if she hadn’t just insulted my wardrobe. “You’ll never find a classy woman dressed like the chimney sweep.”

  Jesus. “First of all, you know damn well I don’t wear this shit every day. And secondly, barely anyone is here anymore.”

  Everyone has flown the coup. I probably need to check our company handbook because I could have sworn today was an official workday. Now I’m not so sure.

  Her lips purse. “Nope, they’re not. You kids and your work ethic these days ain’t what it used to be. In my day, we’d never get away with half days and walking around eating bagels from a napkin.”

  Her loud voice and hawk-like pointed gaze trail Darren Powell as he scuttles by, terrified, bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.

  I roll my eyes. “Would you please stop scaring people?”

  “That’s no fun.” She doesn’t come in to take a seat, but she doesn’t walk off, either. “There’s not much else for me to do around here today, and if I head home, I’ll be twiddling my thumbs until it’s time to get ready for my date.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Dwight’s taking me to Sky Bar.”

  Sky Bar? What the hell, even I can’t get into that place! I let out a low whistle, impressed. “Dang, Sheila — it’s impossible to get a table there.” I wonder if she’d be willing to sell me her
reservation, and how much it would take to buy Dwight off.

  “Dwight’s nephew Kevin is the sous chef.”

  My brows lift again. Seriously, what the fuck?

  “What about you?” She wants to know, always sticking her nose in my business. “What new ridiculously frou-frou place are you showing off tonight?”

  Normally, I wouldn’t tell her because the last thing I need are rumors swirling, started by the elderly receptionist, but in this case — what’s the harm? Besides, I could use some advice considering I’m in a bind.

  No reservations means no date.

  Let’s throw in the fact that I’m now living a lie, having to break the news to my date, who is going to react one of two ways:

  Feel betrayed

  Laugh it off and have fun the rest of the night.

  I’ll put money on the fact that Felicity will be light-hearted about it; from what I’ve seen so far, that woman is an upbeat, bundle of sexy cheerfulness.

  Holiday cheer, most likely.

  “Where you going tonight with your lady love?” Sheila wants to know, settling in at the door, waiting.

  “Well see, that’s the problem…” I begin. “I was so busy with getting through the holidays and making sure the reports were done around here, and athletes are getting hurt and agents are scrambling that I…”

  I let my voice trail off and hope she can connect the dots on her own; fill in the blank, swoop in and fix my dilemma, because if Sheila is one thing — it’s a fixer.

  I wait.

  Except, she doesn’t speak.

  “Hello?”

  “This is a you problem,” she huffs. “I’m tired of you men waiting until the last minute to plan shit because you haven’t made your lady a priority.”

  “That’s not what I was doing!” Okay, that’s probably what I was doing — but it’s not like I’d met Felicity before. How the hell was I supposed to know she was going to be this freaking amazing and gorgeous and perfect?

  She’s like the Christmas gift that keeps on giving.

  “Sheila, please help me.”

  Sheila, the old bag, shakes her head no.

  “I’m begging.”