Stumble into Love

by Megan Hart

  "Do I know you?" she asked.

  "I sure hope not," the man replied.

  Impulsively, she held out her hand. He took it in his own, engulfing her fingers with his own much larger ones. His handshake was firm, if a little damp from the wipes. He stood, and she saw that he was very tall. She had to tilt her head just to meet his eyes.

  "I'm--" she began, but the wailing siren and flashing lights of a police car cut off her introduction.

  The car skidded to a stop just beyond the construction site, and two uniformed officers leapt out. To Laila's shock, each held a gun, aimed right at them.

  If Hal hadn't been staring so hard at the lovely face of the woman he'd knocked over, he might have seen the cop car sooner. As it was, until the police officers shouted at him to put his hands up and step away from the woman, he'd just been lost in her lovely eyes. Mesmerized, he followed the movement of her hand as it brushed her dark, shoulder-length hair away from her face.

  "Move it, buddy!" The first cop, a tall, graying man with a football player's build, stepped forward and motioned with his gun.

  Maybe it was the knock on the head, but Hal couldn't figure out why they were shouting at him. The second, much younger officer, got even more aggressive.

  "Move away from the woman! Now!"

  The woman shifted her deep brown eyes away from Hal's to stare at the officers. "I think they mean you."

  Hal turned, hands up. "This must be a misunderstanding--"

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" The older cop crossed to them, looking Hal over warily before putting his gun away. "We got a report of an attack in progress here. A witness in the office building over there said she saw this man knock you down and assault you. She thought he might be drunk."

  If only the ground would open and swallow him up. Hal had been humiliated so many times in his life he thought he'd gotten used to it by now, but this was worse than anything he'd ever been through. The dried crust of blood itched on his upper lip, and both his knees and palms throbbed with scrapes from when he'd hit the pavement. He wouldn't blame the woman for having him hauled away in handcuffs.

  Instead, she just smiled and shook her head. "It was completely an accident, officer. No harm, no foul."

  Her sports terminology seemed to put the officer at ease. The younger of the two policemen seemed disappointed to be putting away his weapon. Hal was relieved.

  "Are you sure, ma'am?" The older cop looked Hal up and down with a bemused expression. "Then again, he does look worse off than you. Maybe the witness saw you attacking him."

  They all laughed heartily at that, even Hal. His chuckle came out through gritted teeth. The woman quickly explained the collision. She nicely omitted the part where Hal almost passed out at the sight of his own blood.

  "If you're sure you're all right," the older cop said with a tilt of his head toward the woman.

  "Fine, fine," she assured them. She checked her watch, a gesture Hal had seen her make several times over the past few minutes.

  Time! What time is it? His gaze flew to his own wrist, but the fall had shattered his cheap watch's face. Whatever time it was, he was sure he was late.

  The policemen had already gone back to their car and driven away, leaving Hal and the woman to stand awkwardly on the sidewalk. She gave him a weird, little smile, and Hal realized he was staring.

  "I'm--"

  The woman said pleasantly, "Like I said, no harm done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've really got to run."

  She checked her watch and a shadow of annoyance passed over her face. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like "Late again," while shaking her head. She tucked her water bottle and the baby wipes back in her purse. With a little wave at Hal, she set off down the alley again with a purposeful stride.

  "Hope the rest of your day goes a lot better," she called over her shoulder.

  "Thanks," Hal said. "It can't possibly get much worse."

  He watched her move out of his range of vision, which wasn't far since his glasses were in a crumpled, shattered heap on the concrete. As she became nothing more than a blur, he willed her to turn back just once so he could see her pretty features one last time. She didn't oblige him, her walk never faltering, and when she turned the corner, Hal let out a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his toes.

  Why couldn't he meet an attractive woman like that without making an utter ass of himself? Gathering his gym bag, he thought about trying to call her, offer to take her to dinner as a way to make up for knocking her over.

  A great idea, he thought, if only I'd learned her name.

  Chapter 2

  "I'd like a slice of the chocolate cake and a pot of tea. Two cups, please," Laila told the girl behind the counter. "And that popcorn smells too good to resist. A small bag."

  Laila found a table and started eating. The clock on the wall opposite her said ten to eight. She'd made the appointment for seven-thirty. Ms. Whitehead had assured her the escorts were all extremely punctual. Except, it seemed, for Hal.

  It wasn't too late to cancel. She could just pay for her food to go and walk away before he even showed up. Bubbe and Zayde's anniversary week wouldn't start until next weekend. She had plenty of time to think up some excuse as to why her phantom fiancé was absent from yet another Alster family gathering.

  The problem was that she was running out of excuses. Last Thanksgiving had seen her in the Bahamas with her college roommate, Kasey Arlin. Hanukkah had been too far away from Christmas last year for her company's annual break to coincide, and New Year's had been spent with her brother Elijah's family. Their tiny house barely confined Eli and Sarah's rambunctious four kids, so dragging a boyfriend along would have been out of the question, even if she'd really had one to drag.

  Now it was already October again, with another round of expected family gatherings looming and no real reason not to show up with her alleged boyfriend in tow.

  "Bring him, bubbeleh, for the week," Bubbe Esther had told her every time they spoke on the phone. "What...he's so busy he can't meet his future grandmother-in-law?"

  It wasn't that Laila didn't want a boyfriend. In theory, having a companion was a great idea. But when it came right down to it, Laila didn't have the patience or desire to give herself to anyone the way Ian had forced her to give herself to him. It frightened her to take that risk again, though she knew it unlikely she'd end up with a man as manipulative and demanding as Ian Soloman. Still, she hadn't been able to do more than share a single date with any one man in the three years since Ian's death.

  It drove her family crazy, and they never ceased pestering her about her love life. Finally, in desperation, Laila had promised her grandmother that she would arrive at the Poconos resort with a man. Once Bubbe got on the phone with Laila's mother, the news spread like wild-fire through the family. They were all expecting to meet him.

  If she showed up without him--suffice to say they'd never leave her alone about her love life again. No, the simplest thing, she'd decided was to bring "her man" along and stage a spectacular break up. That would buy her some time. Then when someday, finally, she really did have a boyfriend to bring home, they'd all be so relieved they wouldn't bother picking him apart.

  She checked the clock again. Eight o'clock. If he wasn't here in fifteen minutes, she'd take it as a sign from above that she wasn't meant to have a LoveMatch.

  She finally caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. He stood in the Coffeehouse's corner doorway, his glasses steamed from stepping from the chilly October air into the heated room. His head swayed side to side, looking for her.

  Something about him seemed so familiar. His stance, the way he combed his hair, the way his hands tugged nervously at his jacket zipper. There was more to it than merely having seen his picture, but Laila couldn't quite figure out what it was.

  He took off his glasses to rub them with the tail of his shirt. Recognition startled her into knocking over her teacup. It was the man from yesterday. The one wh
o'd knocked her over in the alley.

  "Oh, no," she muttered. It was useless to hope it wasn't him because, when he slipped his glasses back on his nose, his face matched the photo in Ms. Whitehead's binder.

  As the tea dripped off the table and her earthenware mug clattered loudly on the floor, the sound caught Hal's attention. She saw him take another quick glance around the room, then head straight toward her. Mopping up the spilled drink with a pile of napkins, Laila kept her head down.

  "Uh--Miss Alster?"

  She took a deep breath and wiped her fingers with the soggy napkin. "Yes. And you must be--"

  "Harold--Hal." He slid into the chair across from her and kicked her cup halfway across the room as he did so. "Uh--sorry."

  "I can get another one." How long was it going to take him to recognize her?

  He shrugged off his jacket and settled himself on the red vinyl seat, nervously clearing his throat. "I apologize for being late. " He stopped abruptly, as though someone had clapped a hand across his mouth. "You!"

  "I could say the same thing," Laila remarked. She held out her hand for him to shake.

  He reached across the table to take her proffered hand. His sleeve dipped into the remnants of chocolate icing. When he let go of Laila's hand and returned his arm to his side, the mess slopped onto his formerly white oxford shirt.

  "You just got--oh, boy." Laila handed another wad of napkins to the oblivious Hal, who hadn't even noticed the stain on his shirt or sleeve. "Hal, you are a real mess, aren't you?"

  "I am, I am," he answered ruefully. He took the napkins from her and succeeded in smearing the glop on his shirt even further. With a heavy sigh, he threw the pile of soiled paper on the table. "It's no use. I should just go."

  "No!" Laila surprised herself by saying. Despite his clumsiness, his obvious awkwardness, she wanted him to stay. She was desperate.

  "No?"

  "No," she said firmly. She handed him the glass of water she hadn't planned on drinking and a handful of fresh napkins. "Use this. It might help."

  Laila suddenly didn't know what else to say. She barely dated, much less hired men to pretend to be in love with her. Something about the situation made her normal confidence disappear until she felt as awkward as Hal looked.

  "Do you come here often?" The line would have been a cliché out of anyone else's mouth. From Hal it merely rang with straightforward interest.

  "Sometimes," Laila replied. "I love tea."

  He looked at the pot. "It gives me indigestion."

  "Oh."

  Now they simply stared at each other, the dim lighting painting both of them with shadows. Hadn't Ms. Whitehead said that all LoveMatch's escorts were masters in the art of conversation? Laila was beginning to see why Ms. Whitehead had given her this night for free.

  "Miss Alster--"

  "Call me Laila."

  He smiled. He did have a nice smile, just as she'd earlier thought.

  "Laila. Ms. Whitehead said you were looking for an escort to take you on vacation?"

  "Not exactly." Laila toyed with her unused fork. "My grandparents are having the family get together for a week at a resort in the Poconos to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary."

  "Great!" Hal said enthusiastically.

  She eyed him over her squashed cake. "They think I'm engaged."

  "And you want me to pretend to be your fiancé."

  No matter what else he was, he wasn't dumb. "Yes. I'm the only child left in my family who isn't married."

  "What about your parents?" He interrupted, taking out a small notepad and pen from his pocket.

  "My dad passed away two years ago, but Mom is still in good health. The party is for my dad's folks." Bemused, she watched him write that down.

  "Siblings?"

  "Three brothers and a sister. I'm the second youngest."

  He wrote that down, too, then looked up at her earnestly. "And your family is pressuring you to get married."

  "You guessed it."

  "So you've been telling them you have a boyfriend for a while now, and they're expecting to meet him. You need me to spend the week acting like an idiot, then break up with you so they'll leave you alone."

  Laila nodded, impressed how quickly he figured out the situation. "Is my plan that transparent?"

  Hal shook his head. "In my business, we hear a lot of stories."

  She wanted to ask him what kind of stories, but didn't. Maybe she didn't really want to know. "Do you think you can handle the job?"

  Hal put the notepad and pen down on the table very carefully. His face was serious when he met her eyes. "Laila, why, out of all the escorts in the LoveMatch files, did you pick me? I know that most of the men who work for my company are much--better."

  "I picked you because you have a kind face." Laila's answer surprised even herself, but it was worth it when she saw Hal's smile again.

  "If you don't mind my asking," he said. "Why don't you have a real boyfriend?"

  "I did. He died." The blunt words tumbled from her mouth without grace, but the story wasn't one she could tell delicately. "He was in a car accident three years ago."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," Laila said, because telling him the truth--that she wasn't particularly sorry-- sounded too cold when spoken aloud. "It was easier to go to LoveMatch."

  "And you picked me? I'm a klutz," Hal said with naked honesty. "I always mess up. Half the time I can't even remember to make sure I'm wearing socks that match." He stuck his leg up on the table. "See? This one's blue. The other one's black, I'll bet ten dollars."

  "I believe you." Laila laughed. "I'd say you're all the more perfect for my purposes then, right? My family wouldn't expect me to marry a total fool, would they?"

  She'd meant her answer lightly, but the way his smile tightened showed she'd stung him. "I didn't mean it that way."

  He shrugged, then pointed at his stained shirt. "It's true. But, Laila, I need this job. I need the money. If I screw up one more time, Muriel said she'd have to let me go. I promise you, that if you agree to hire me, I'll be the biggest fool you could ask for."

  "Then you're hired," Laila said.

  "You won't regret it, I promise," Hal said eagerly. As he reached across the table to shake her hand, he knocked over the pot of tea.

  Regret her decision? As the liquid splashed across Laila's thighs, she wondered if she'd survive it.

  In the LoveMatch course on vacation preparation, Hal had learned to pack like a woman. Just making sure he had a baseball cap and enough clean underwear for most of the trip wasn't acceptable, not for one of Muriel Whitehead's "boys." Muriel insisted the LoveMatch escorts lucky enough to be taken on trips be prepared for every contingency. Hal, who'd proudly earned the rank of Eagle Scout, had taken Muriel's instructions to heart.

  "We're only going for a week, Hal." Laila watched him manhandle his huge suitcase down the short flight of steps in front of the LoveMatch offices. Her own compact duffle bag and tote were already snuggled together in the trunk of her Volvo.

  "I wasn't sure if things were going to be formal or not."

  Hal lifted his bag into her trunk, almost expecting the car to wheeze under its weight. Maybe he'd been a little overenthusiastic, but this was his first LoveMatch vacation. His first vacation, actually, since he'd quit the accounting firm and started back to school.

  He caught her staring at him, but couldn't read her look. "You didn't give me many details."

  "Did you pack jeans and a tee-shirt?" Laila asked.

  "Yes."

  "And something warmer than that--" She pointed to his lightweight windbreaker. "--for night time?"

  "Sure did!"

  She smiled at him, and the way the expression lit up her eyes made his throat go dry. "Then you're all set. I don't know what else you've got in there, but you sure are prepared."

  "A LoveMatch escort is always prepared," he said.

  "Just like the Boy Scouts."

  "Just like."

/>   She cocked her head, the wonderful smile still playing about her full mouth. "You're not what I expected from a LoveMatch escort, Hal."

  She didn't give him time to answer, as if he had one. He wasn't what most women expected from an escort. Laila motioned to him to get in the car as she slid into the driver's seat. Once inside, Hal leaned back against the leather seat. Her car smelled like vanilla, and suddenly his stomach rumbled.

  That earned him a sideways glance from her as she buckled her seatbelt. "Hungry?"

  "No, not really." It was a lie. He was starving. He'd depleted his savings several months ago, and paying for tuition and supplies was more important than eating. He'd been living on stale saltine crackers and thrice-used tea bags between LoveMatch checks.

  "There's a cooler in the back, if you want something."

  His stomach goinged again, louder this time. "Thanks."

  "My mother would keel over and die if she thought I left on a trip without taking snacks along with me. I think she's afraid I'm going to get stranded somewhere and starve to death on the side of the road." Laila's laugh was warm and smooth. Like honey.

  "Mine, too," Hal said. He reached back and hooked the cooler with his hand, popping open the lid. "Whoa."

  Her eyes left the road long enough to shoot him a glance. "Whoa, what?"

  "There's a lot of food in there." To tell the truth, his mouth was watering just looking at it.

  "Help yourself."

  Hal saw no reason not to, not when she'd made the offer. He dove in, sliding a thick tuna sandwich out of its plastic baggie and biting into it. A thick glop of tuna and mayonnaise slid out from between the slices of bread and landed on his shirt.

  "I packed extra napkins," Laila said.

  Hal could only nod as he wiped his shirt. His mouth was too full of food to reply.

  "I guess I'd better go over everything with you before we get there," Laila began. "Do you need to get your notebook?"

  "Right here." He took it from his jacket pocket and uncapped the pen.

  Laila sighed with her mouth pursed upward, so the fringe of her dark brown bangs blew up from her forehead. "Where should I start?"