When She Least Expected It

by Jeanette Lynn

  "Yes, I do," I said slowly, standing up. I understand perfectly. I’m an idiot.

  "Thanks." He let out a breath, relieved, and smiled up at me.

  I smiled back, standing over him, but it wasn't a nice smile. "And you'll understand, I’m sure, when I do this." And without another word, I dumped my ice cream cone on his head, wet, squishing sounds renting the air, my hand mashing the sweet confection down, crunchy cone and all, until it dripped melted ice cream down his thick red haired head. Sticky sweetness bled onto his glasses and all over his face, dripping milky slop everywhere.

  "I guess I deserved that," he muttered when I took a step back to survey my handy work, his tongue peeking out to swipe ice cream soup drips off of his upper lip.

  "You have one hour to call Toby and everyone else off or they're going to deal with me," I snapped nastily, and growled, whirling around to stomp off.

  "Don't you want a ride back?" Elliot called after me, standing, pulling out a handkerchief from his pants pocket to swipe uselessly at his clothes and face.

  "I'd rather walk, thank you," I barked back tersely, and continued to march off.

  ****

  I got home, finally, and stood in the entryway, looking around my house. It felt funny, coming home and Will wasn't there. It felt... empty, anymore, without his sarcastic asides and constant, sometimes harping, presence. He’d become a permanent fixture in my house, traces of him strewn about everywhere.

  His grubby tennis shoes were at my door, a spare fishing pole for him sitting next to mine. The man had even rearranged my DVDs in order from most important to him, chick flicks shoved at the bottom, action and spy movies at the time.

  A heaviness in the middle of my chest weighing me down, I went to the tool box under the sink and grabbed my hammer, shuffling feet back through the kitchen and down the hall, kicking off my shoes to send them flying next to the secretary desk in the living room on my way. I trudged up the stairs, going into my room to slump down in the small beanbag chair next to the window, where I proceeded to pull the nails out of the window sill where I'd nailed it shut last night—so Will couldn't try and sneak in—one by one.

  Once that was finished, a small pile of nails in the wastebasket by the bed, I glanced out the window and noticed his car was still gone.

  My shoulders slumped, and I turned away, biting at my lip. Scrubbing at my forehead, sighing dejectedly, I sat heavily on the bed.

  Feeling rather sorry for myself, but unwilling to flat out wallow, I grabbed my fishing poles and gear, intent on heading for the lake. If ever there was a happy place, it was overlooking water, with a tiny dock to fish off of.

  I brought a fishing pole for Will too, just in case, hoping maybe he'd decide to stop by and we could have a little chat.

  It looked like I'd was going to be eating a little crow in the near future. I just hoped he could find it in him to forgive me for stranding him in his underwear, an oversized t-shirt, and tennis shoes, covered in sewage stench.

  “Though, on second thought,” I wondered aloud, “maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he cooled off for a while...”

  Just A Little Bit

  "Excuse me," a deep baritone called out from behind me.

  Lost in my head to my own thoughts, I jumped, wobbling precariously where I sat, and looked over my shoulder.

  I'd been fishing steadily for the past few hours and had zoned out completely at some point, staring off into space.

  There was a man standing there with crutches, a big man, his leg in a huge cast, and he was hobbling towards me, slowly making his way down the dock.

  He was broad shouldered and built like a tank, this guy, with muscles on top of muscles. He had startling blue eyes and beautiful blonde hair, I took note of, with an equally blonde goatee.

  I’d have to have been a eunuch to not notice him.

  "Mind if I rest here a second?" he asked once he was right on me, motioning next to me.

  "Sure, why not." I shrugged and motioned for him to join me. "If you try anything funny, I'll just push you in the lake and feed you to the fishes."

  He laughed and set his crutches behind us. “Fair enough.”

  “I thought so,” I agreed. Reaching to my left, I opened my cooler, rifling through it, then offered him a water and a soda.

  "Where have you been all my life?!" he burst out, grinning a blindingly handsome grin, sending that megawatt smile my way, then proceeded to start blowing me air kisses.

  Eyes widening, I jumped a little again and laughed, startled by his outburst, then began blinking rapidly, willing my thundering heart to recover.

  "She fishes and she comes prepared!” he crowed, full of enthusiasm and energy. “If you have a sandwich and condoms in there, I swear, I'll marry you right now," he cracked flirtatiously, then popped the top on his soda.

  I chuckled at that and turned to continue to dig through my cooler. Maybe a little too much energy and enthusiasm, but I didn’t really mind.

  "I don't have any condoms,” I muttered dryly, “Don't know how those would be useful fishing by myself," turning to him, I gave him a funny look, wrinkling my nose at him, "but if you promise to hold off dragging me to the altar, I'll share my food with you." My eyebrow quirked up, to which he mimicked the gesture.

  "It's a deal," he chuckled, and held out his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."

  "Bit," I introduced myself, and shook it.

  His hand engulfed mine, a huge paw of a mitt, wrapping around it warmly in a friendly greeting.

  With my left hand I handed over a sandwich and a bag of chips.

  He took them with a nod of thanks, sighing happily and he opened the seal of the lip of the sandwich’s baggy to let it slip free, and dug in.

  Watching me while I got my grub on with him, he took another huge bite of his sandwich, studying me thoughtfully as he chewed, then swallowed and took a swig of soda.

  It was a companionable kind of silence. I rather liked it.

  "Is ‘Bit’ a nickname? Or were your parents mean like mine?" he said suddenly, jerking his chin in my direction.

  "It's a nickname," I admitted, wondering what's so wrong with being named Dean.

  He caught my confused look and explained, "My brother's middle name is Mistletoe."

  My eyes widened, surprise evident in my expressive eyes, before they narrowed. "You're lying," I argued, thinking he was full of crap, letting my disbelief show.

  "No, really," he said seriously. Then, "Is your nickname Bit because you’re short?" he asked, eyeing me.

  "No." I harrumphed, glaring up at him, though I was half tempted to laugh. "It's a shortened version of my first name."

  "Which would be...?" he prompted, waiting.

  "Not important," I muttered, and offered him my extra fishing pole.

  "Got it, effectively changing the subject," he said on a chuckle, laughing off my moodiness.

  "I'm sorry,” I apologized, knowing I’m being a dick when I’m, well, kind of being a dick, “I'm really not good company right now."

  "That's cool." He nodded, smiling crookedly, and baited his hook. "I happen to think you're cute when you're mad."

  My eyes widened slightly as my eyes snapped to his, and he winked at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to poke at me, pleased with my reaction.

  Flustered, I blushed and blurted, "I'm seeing someone... sort of."

  "Ahhh.” Sobering slightly, he nodded in understanding. And that was that.

  We sat there for a while in companionable silence, enjoying the cool day. Just two people getting their fish on, it was kinda nice.

  "Is it serious?" Dean asked after a moment.

  "For me it is," I answered thickly, my voice a little hoarse, finally saying it out loud.

  "Then there's no hope for me, is there?" he teased morosely, feigning grief over it.

  I laughed at his put-upon act, shaking my head at him.

  "You know, you look familiar..." he said thoughtfully, studyin
g me again.

  "I shouldn't," I mumbled evasively, my smile slipping, glancing away.

  Taking in my person, really taking me in, he looked down at my hands and noticed the paint imbedded in between my skin and fingernails. His brow pulled down, frowning, and he turned thoughtful for a while.

  "Ah ha! You're the painter chick my mom likes! Taba something or other," he barked out suddenly, sending me into another heart-thumping, jumping start, snapping his fingers.

  "Oh, no. No, I'm not!" I blurted nervously.

  "Yeah, you are.” His smile turned knowing, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “I'd know, I remember you," he insisted, nodding. "I drove all the way down to your art show one year to buy my mom one of your paintings for her birthday. Took me three hours to get there, but the look on her face was worth it. I'm the favorite now, you know.” He puffed up his chest a little, grinning impishly at me.

  Jig was up. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" I practically whispered, my voice small and unsure.

  He quit teasing at the look on my face, the sound of my voice wiping his smile clean off his face. "Not if you don't want me to."

  "Please don't.” Biting at the inside of my cheek, I stared up at him almost pleadingly. “Do you know how hard it is to figure out if someone likes you, the real you, as a regular person...? But then you complicate it with she's a famous artist and it's just a nightmare.” Face pinching, I shook my head, grimacing. "I just want people to get to know Bit, the real me, not Tabitha Monroe, the artist, you know?"

  "Relax, Miss Bit, your secret is safe with me. I get it," Dean assured me, reaching out and patting my knee. "Could I get your autograph or something for my mom before I leave, though? I think I have a napkin... or maybe you could sign my cast...? Oh, man, if I could do that, she’d be on cloud nine."

  "I'll give you a painting for your continued silence," I promised him, "and an autograph."

  Dean paused and his eyes grew wide. "You don't have to do that. Just let me find a pen and..."

  "No, really." I put my hand over his to say his.

  His eyebrows shot up questioningly, but his look was hopeful. "You sure?"

  "Yep." I gave a short nod.

  "Uhm. Alright, thanks." Dean’s face lit up, until he was smiling a fool’s smile down at me.

  I smiled back. "Ah, you're welcome."

  "Dean! Dean!" a woman called in the distance.

  "Busted!" Dean said, glancing over his shoulder, chuckling. "Come on, Miss Bit." Standing, Dean jerked his head, motioning for me to follow once he was up on his crutches, coming back around until he was towering over me, wobbling on the dock, bending down and holding a hand out to me. "Hey, new fishing, secret artist buddy, I want you to meet my best friend and my brother."

  "Uhh..." I sputtered, looking up at him funny.

  "As my new friend, not the painter lady or whatever,” he elaborated. “I couldn’t honestly care less if you painted or worked at a slushy stand. I happen to think you're good company. So,” the megawatt killer smile was back, “come on."

  His happiness was infectious, and kinda gave you that just played with a basket full of tiny little puppies for a few hours kind of euphoria. Conceding to his wish, I packed up my gear and followed him, ready to head home after the introductions.

  It was already starting to get dark and, honestly, I was feeling kind of drained.

  A tall, wiry framed man with short black hair and icy green eyes was the first thing I noticed when the couple approaching us drew near. He had his arm around a curvy, cinnamon haired brunette with big blue eyes and a mischievous smile.

  "Deanie Weenie!" she fairly yelled, grinning, happy to spot him, then frowned mightily. "Where the hell have you been?!"

  "Fishing." He chuckled at her scowl, grinning and nudging me. "And would ya look what I caught!"

  Tempted to nudge him back but fearing I’d knock his broken-legged ass clean on his butt, I laughed and rolled my eyes at him. "It's more like I pitied you and let you raid my ice box," I retorted smartly.

  "Oh, that hurt, sweetheart!" Careful of his crutches, he clutched his chest. "I think you just broke my heart."

  "I have a funny feeling you'll get over it." Snorting, I smirked at him.

  "Oh, my god, Dean, you got burned." Snorting the words out on a cackle, a gleam in her eyes, the woman giggled.

  "This is my best friend, Jinny, and this is my brother, Stuffy," Dean introduced gleefully, his eyes twinkling when 'Stuffy’ grimaced.

  "Did you find him?" an older woman called after Stuffy and Jinny, hurrying up to us. "Oh! Oh! Miriam. He's right here!" she bellowed, waving her arms wildly over her head when she spotted Dean.

  Nodding in Dean’s direction, impressed with the sheer size of this mini search party, all worried over the perfectly capable man’s safety, I glanced curiously up at my impromptu fishing companion. "Do this sort of thing often?" I asked Dean, quirking a brow.

  "Nah, but she does." Eyes smiling, though he kept his expression perfectly neutral, he hooked his thumb, pointing at Jinny.

  Jinny. Geez, that name sounds familiar...

  Stuffy, unabashedly eavesdropping, grinned when Jinny huffed at Dean, his green eyes twinkling down at her. So the green-eyed, typically somber looking ice man could smile after all, huh?

  "Oh, Dean, where have you been?!" the older woman exclaimed, running up to us.

  And then I blinked. I knew that lady, recognized that voice—it was the Reynolds woman from the store. The one that... Ohhhh. And then I glanced to Stuffy’s female companionship. So this is Jinny, the Jinny, the one Will tried to trick into dating him.

  "Oh, hello, Bit," Mrs. Reynolds greeted absently, noticing me, trying to smile over at me and failing miserably.

  Unrepentant, I grinned and waved at her. "Hey, Mrs. Reynolds. Enjoying the lake?" I asked sweetly.

  "Hey, you know Jinny's mom?" Dean butted in curiously.

  "Sure," I told him, but didn’t elaborate, not giving myself away.

  The woman that'd been standing next to Mrs. Reynolds in the parking lot rushed up just then, threatening to barrel down any and all that dared get in her way, hurrying over to flit about Dean worriedly. "Oh, we thought you'd fallen into the lake!" she tutted and tittered worriedly.

  "It's not too deep. He would have been alright," I assured her casually, just tossing it out there, enjoying Dean's embarrassment over his mother's smothering.

  Dean was at least my age, maybe older. His mother, who was shorter than his tall bulk, smothering him, was downright comical. Hysterical, even.

  And then the woman noticed me, freezing, and her jaw dropped. "I know you!" she squeaked out, and I worried for a moment she'd figured out I was 'the painter lady' as Dean put it.

  "You're that woman! The one William was yelling at about his penis!" she blurted in a rush.

  Shocked snorts escaping me, I busted out laughing, partially in relief and partially from the scandalized look on her face.

  Dean, Jinny and aptly nicknamed Stuffy gaped at me.

  Walking past the self-created mini field of gobsmacked zombies, I just grinned, darting around the bunch, a little pep in my step, and waltzed right past them. "Well, it was lovely to meet you all." I waved cheerfully. "But I gotta get home."

  Headed towards a familiar dirt road, I hurried off, chuckling the whole way.

  Bahahaha! I’d have given that woman two paintings for the looks on their faces alone, not even including hers.

  ****

  Will's car still wasn't there and it was past eight.

  My gut clenched with worry. Did he leave? Like, leave-leave? Is he coming back?

  Heart heavier than it’s ever felt, I shut my window and crawled into bed.

  I pulled the covers up over myself and tried to go to sleep. My eyes kept popping open wide at every little sound, though, and I prepared myself for a very long, lonely night.

  All The Good Bits

  I must have finally dozed off at some point last night, waking up with a
warm, snuggly male at my back and the sun shining into my room.

  Rolling over carefully, facing said snuggly male, I leaned in, gently, so as to hopefully not wake him, touching my forehead to his.

  "You left me on the side of the road in my underwear, wearing your brother's stupid shirt," he murmured quietly, not bothering to open his eyes.

  "Yes, I did," I said just as quietly. "I'm sorry."

  "You are?" he asked, peeking an eye open, surprised by my admission.

  "And I'm sorry about the bimbo, too. You said you didn't encourage her and I'm inclined to believe you.” We sat there a moment, lapsing into silence, but I felt the need to continue, just so we understood one another. “However, if you don't run like hell the next time a woman, aside from myself, flings herself at you, then you'd better run anyway and hope I don't catch either one of you," I warned, glaring at him.

  He peeked both eyes open and smiled at me.

  "I should be mad at you,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, barely above a whisper, brushing our noses. Several tiny, pecking kisses down the side of my face and lower, he leaned in to nuzzle my neck.

  "But you aren't," I observed, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.

  "Nope," he mumbled, his voice husky as he sucked and nibbled a little on the flesh of my nape.

  Beginning to squirm beneath his nibbling, biting teases, I gripped his shoulders, making a sound of approval in the back of my throat, both from his open-mouthed kisses on my neck and the fact he was shirtless, his bare chest pressed into me enticingly.

  "I'm probably jinxing myself but... why not?" I asked, nipping his shoulder.

  "Several reasons," his deep voice whispered enticingly. Putting a little space between us, he pulled back to grin at me.

  "And those would be?" I prompted.

  "The main ones? I saw you mash an ice cream cone into Smelliot's hair, and you're not mad at me anymore," he said gleefully.

  "You saw that?" I blurted incredulously.

  "Yeah, but only for a little bit," he admitted, without an ounce of remorse.