Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection

by Ellie Hall

  "Do the doors always lock like this?"

  One hand rubbed her temple, a gesture that made me wince. I really did feel bad about hitting her with the door. "Yeah, I've never understood why it locks from inside the closet, but it always has. I usually keep the door wedged open with a book, but it slipped this time."

  I blew out a breath. There had to be a way out. "Have you tried picking the lock yet? There's got to be a paperclip in here somewhere." I scanned the shelves.

  "And do you know how to pick a lock? Because I sure don't."

  I shrugged and started rummaging through the cardboard boxes. "How hard can it be? You just stick it in there and jiggle it around for a bit."

  Five minutes later, I gave up on my lock-picking theory. Apparently, there was more to it than jiggling.

  "You know, if you're trying to impress me with your Sherlock Holmes impersonation, you're not doing a very good job," Hazel said, her dry tone matching the squint in her eyes.

  I chose to ignore her. There was an air shaft overhead. "What if we pop out the AC cover? You're small enough to squeeze into the vent. All you have to do is crawl through until—"

  "I am not crawling through any air vents." She snapped the rubber band she’d been playing with at me. "Will you just sit down, 007? If we wait long enough, the cleaning crew is bound to come by and get us out." She cocked an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth lifting. "I'm pretty sure, between the two of us, we can make sure they don't lock themselves in here, too."

  Low blow. I took a deep breath, not wanting to admit defeat but realizing she was right. I leaned my back against the door and slid to the ground, mimicking her position with my knees drawn up. It wasn't like there was space to sprawl out, at least not without running into her.

  "So, how long do you think we have before the cleaning crew comes?" I watched as she drew her chestnut hair over one shoulder. I loved how she let it fall down her back in loose waves. Like she'd just left the beach and her hair had air-dried or something.

  "Sometime between seven and nine. I'm not sure where our suite is on their route." She leaned her head back, her eyes half shutting. "Fingers crossed we're not the last office they clean."

  My eyes trailed her face, sliding past her generous lips and high cheekbones to her signature hazel eyes. I wondered if her parents had named her Hazel after seeing the striking eye color she was born with. And why did the thought of being stuck in here with her not seem so bad anymore?

  I swallowed the attraction I felt and shifted my gaze to the ceiling. The cleaning crew couldn't get here fast enough.

  8

  Hazel

  What were the chances? What were the chances of getting stuck in the supply closet with Owen? I mean, I would've picked just about anyone besides him.

  I rubbed the spot above my eye where the door hit me. It didn't hurt that bad, although there'd likely be a bruise tomorrow.

  I tucked my knees in closer. Regardless, I was trapped here, trying to look anywhere but at his square jawline that should've been in a GQ magazine and that mouth with the faint scar over the upper lip. He had probably gotten it as a kid. I wondered what a young Owen was like. Was he as confident and self-assured as he was now? His eyes that had been staring at the ceiling met mine.

  Did the air feel a little thinner? Were we running out of oxygen?

  I inhaled deeply, trying to slow the sprint my blood was performing through my body. I needed to find something to keep myself occupied. Pushing off the industrial carpet that offered about half a centimeter of padding, I reached for the shelves. I would simply spend the next hour organizing. It hadn't been done in months. Plus, it would keep my hands and my eyes busy. Too busy to continue gaping at Owen.

  "So, why are you here so late tonight?"

  I froze, realizing his voice, and therefore his gaze, was eye level with my butt. There was no way I would stand here knowing he was staring at that for the next hour. I shifted so I stood sideways. There. He could stare at my hip. There was nothing suggestive about a hip, right? I looked down at him. What had he just asked? "Uh, what?"

  "I asked why you’re here so late? I thought the office was empty besides me."

  "We're switching our health insurance provider next month, so I've been updating all the benefit programs. I didn't realize how late it was until I got locked in here." That had been an unwelcome surprise. "What about you? What led you to meander by the supply closet at this hour? Shouldn't you be out on the town? It is a Friday night." I grabbed a box of pens so my hands wouldn't fly up to cover my mouth. Why had I said that? Why was I insinuating he was some sort of partying frat boy?

  He had no reaction other than lifting one eyebrow. "Six is a little early for all my weekend partying. I’ve got at least a few more hours before the ragers start."

  For the first time, I was grateful for the fluorescent lights overhead. I hoped the weak bulbs hid the way my face flamed up. I deserved his mocking.

  "What about you? I'm sure you had plans other than hanging out in the supply closet with your most recently hired employee."

  I almost laughed out loud. If you had told me, two weeks ago, that I would be locked in a closet with Owen, the attractive runner I had my eye on, I would've been thrilled. How situations changed. "I did have a few things planned for tonight." Did it matter that those few things were popping some popcorn and watching whatever was on the Hallmark channel? "But it looks like they'll be postponed." I glanced at my hands and realized I had been aimlessly moving stacks of paper back and forth from left to right. I couldn't focus with Owen taking up my oxygen.

  "So, what are some of your hobbies? What does Hazel Clark do when she has free time?"

  I was surprised at his question. Was he actually interested? "I...I like to read, I like to bake, but don't ever ask me to cook."

  "Good to know."

  I grabbed all the pen boxes and moved them up to a higher shelf. What else did I like to do? What made me interesting? I liked to run, but there was no way I would bring that up again. "I like to spend time with my family. I have a sister that lives about an hour away with two of the cutest nephews on this earth."

  "You're an aunt?" There was something about his tone. Something different. I looked at him and noticed the intent way he twirled a paperclip around his finger.

  "Yes, my sister has two little boys. They're three and five."

  He nodded. "That's pretty cool. I always wanted siblings. A big family. I'm an only child, so that'll never happen."

  I leaned against the shelf, interested in the turn in conversation. "Where do your parents live? Are you close to them?"

  His fingers paused their motion, and if I wasn't mistaken, there was a tension to his jaw that wasn't there a second ago. "No, I wouldn't say I'm close to my parents."

  I should have left it there. Stopped prying. This clearly wasn't something he wanted to talk about. "How come?" I blurted out. So much for not prying.

  He didn't answer for a moment, just resumed his paperclip twisting. "Well, first off, my parents are divorced. They have been since I was in high school."

  "I'm so sorry. Was...was that hard for you?" I knew divorce was common. But I had a hard time relating since my own parents had been happily married my whole life.

  "I guess. Although, in some ways, it was almost easier." His eyes met mine, and there was a sadness I'd never seen in them before. "Their marriage wasn't a happy one. My mom..."

  His words trailed, and the next thing I knew, I had crouched down next to him, resting one hand on his forearm. I couldn't help it. My need to comfort, to make things better, took over.

  His eyes stared at my hand, the contrast of my pale olive skin next to his tanned arm seeming to fascinate him. I almost pulled away, embarrassed by my forwardness, when he covered my hand with his own. The warmth of his fingers seeped through mine, and there was something in that moment, something deep and unspoken.

  "My mom was a very needy woman. Very insecure. She was constantly accusing my d
ad of cheating on her, of flirting with other women, and of not being loyal. It was ridiculous because I'd never met anyone more devoted and steadfast than my dad, but you could never convince my mom. Her insecurities were like a nail driving them apart."

  My fingers tightened their grip. It must've been terrible growing up in a household built on mistrust.

  He let out a slow breath. "Long story short, it got to the point where my mom's clinginess did exactly what she was afraid of. It drove my dad away. I want to say it was her own fault, that she got what she'd been asking for all those years, but it wasn't like that. It was almost like an emotional or mental issue. My mom just couldn't help herself." He straightened his legs, the move dropping his arm and, consequently, mine as well.

  "At least it taught me a good lesson. A lesson reinforced with a few bad dating experiences too." He looked at me with a forced grin, like he wanted so bad to lighten the mood. “Be very careful who you fall in love with.”

  His pain was palatable, like I could reach out and touch it. Yet, I could see how hard he worked to push it away. “I don't know what you've gone through, and I can't imagine growing up with that situation, but I do know a bit of what it's like to fall in love with the wrong person.”

  Those sad eyes met mine.

  I shifted so I sat next to him, my back resting against the door as well. “My last boyfriend and I dated for almost two years. I thought he was the one. I thought we were going to get married, have the kids and white picket fence…” My voice trailed off as my throat closed in on itself, remembering how naïve I'd been.

  "What happened?"

  I swallowed and picked at a string poking out of my linen pants. "The classic sob story. He cheated on me. I saw a few texts, put a few very obvious pieces together, and realized he'd been seeing other women basically our entire relationship."

  Now it was Owen reaching out for me. "That guy was a scumbag. No one deserves to be treated like that." His hand rested heavily on my knee. "I'm willing and able to beat up the punk if you need me to." His words, though said jokingly, were like steel, like he really was ready to charge out and find the jerk who had shattered my heart into a million pieces.

  Against my will, I felt tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I willed everything in my body to keep them at bay. "Th-thanks," I finally got out. "If nothing else, at least he taught me to guard my feelings. Trust isn't something I hand out freely anymore."

  The hand he'd rested on my knee tightened, his grip strong and gentle all at the same time. "For that I'm glad, but my offer still stands to pummel the guy if you need me to."

  A shaky laugh left my lips. I looked down at the palm on my knee. How had we gotten here? How had we gone from awkward, stilted small talk to this? Almost of their own accord, my fingers moved to the top of his. He immediately flipped his hand over to grasp mine. I let my gaze raise, past his neck where a vein noticeably pulsed, landing on his eyes. The ones that always seemed to study me like they were trying to see the inner depths of my soul. They were a cool green right now, but I noted they seemed to flip-flop between green and blue. Like they weren't sure which one they actually wanted to be.

  My heart was an entire high school drumline pounding in my chest.

  A small voice in the back of my head still hung on to a sliver of reason. It fervently yelled at me to scoot away, to get my butt back over to organizing note cards and staplers, but I wasn't listening.

  Instead, I let gravity take over—or maybe the earth's natural magnetism? Whatever the unseen pull was, it drew me into this perplexing man. This undeniably attractive man that I couldn't seem to keep my eyes—and now hands—off of.

  His hand holding mine pulled slightly, its pressure bringing me closer, the distance between us shrinking to mere inches.

  Was it possible to be physically present but feel like I was in a dream? Like I was watching this all happen from far away? My eyes jumped from his gaze to his mouth and back again, pausing our motion for a split-second.

  A moment of indecision.

  Apparently, a moment was all it took for Owen to come to his senses.

  His hand released mine like it was poison ivy, his other one dropping to the floor and pressing him back. Away from me. Away from the tempting kiss I was wholeheartedly ready to participate in.

  His eyes were wide, like a kid caught stealing cookies, and a shuddering breath left him.

  My abandoned fingers trembled as waves of humiliation washed over me. This was not happening. I was not just rejected by the man I'd sworn to have absolutely zero feelings for. I swallowed and pushed myself off the ground, my subconscious noting Owen struggling to say something.

  The moment of connection we'd shared was gone. Almost like it hadn't happened.

  I turned back to my shelves, back to the task I should have never left. "I-I wonder when the cleaning crew will get here?" I said, my voice noticeably shaky. I didn't even care at that point. I needed to do everything in my power to pretend that the last five minutes hadn't just happened. Pretend I hadn't almost fallen for the same type of man I'd sworn off a year ago.

  "Hazel..."

  I didn't let his words go any further. "So, are you excited about the party this weekend?" I didn't risk turning to look at him, but there were shuffling noises like he'd stood up. "It should be fun. The food is being catered by the same company that works with all the local embassies..." I continued on, describing why our very standard charity event would be the party of the season. Midway through my ramble, I looked over my shoulder, hoping he'd somehow disappeared, that I was once again alone in this copy-paper prison. No such luck.

  He had one hand in his pocket, his weight leaned against a wall of file cabinets. But it was his eyes that seemed to be burning a hole in me.

  "Yeah, I'm excited about the party,” he said. “I don't usually get invited to things like this." Our pleasant words didn’t match the undercurrent of emotions flowing through the room like a river coursing down a mountain.

  I bit my lip, dying to know every thought that was in his mind. "Yes...it's fun to see everyone outside the office with their spouses..." No, I wanted to stay away from discussing love interests. "I mean, yeah."

  His eyebrows lifted at my comment. "I can't wait to meet your date. What did you say his name was again?"

  My hands stilled their work of reshuffling paper back and forth. "His name?" What was he implying? That he didn't think I had one? Because I totally had one. I just hadn't exactly nailed down who he was yet. "I... His name is John." Most likely. Wasn't John one of the more common names in America? "And I can't wait to meet Ava. I'm sure she's absolutely lovely." Was I simpering a bit? Maybe. I couldn't help it. I was mad. I was irrationally mad at the idea that, two minutes ago, I had wanted him to kiss me, knowing he had a date with another woman tomorrow.

  Owen yanked at the edge of his shirt, the first visible sign of his uneasiness. "I'm sure—"

  Whatever he was about to say was lost by a faint rattling. The distinctive sound of wheels rolling.

  I jumped at the door. "Help! We're locked in the supply closet!" My fist pounded on the door with every ounce of pent-up energy I currently housed.

  Owen took little time in joining my venture. His larger fist made a deep echoing sound on the hollow wood door.

  Five minutes later, we were freed by a rather bewildered cleaning lady whom I probably overwhelmed with my hugs of thanks.

  I stepped halfway into my office, one hand braced on the door frame for support as well as to ensure that Owen didn't follow me. I glanced at him. "I'm sorry you got locked in there with me. Hopefully that didn't put a damper on your evening plans."

  He shoved his hands back in his pockets and shrugged, but a hint of a grin hovered on his lips. "I wouldn't say it was too bad. It was a break from staring at lines of code. You're much easier on the eyes."

  My hand gripped the door frame harder. I couldn't take any more of these meaningless flirtations. "Great, well, I'll see you later." With that,
I forcibly shut the glass door, closing myself in like a fish in a bowl.

  Owen just stood there for another second, smiling like he knew he'd gotten to me. Like he knew he was under my skin.

  Never again. This time, I meant it.

  9

  Owen

  My fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt the next evening, my thoughts too scattered to focus on the simple task.

  Hazel. Those stunning eyes, honey gold spiraling out to earthy green, wouldn't leave me. The way they pulled back in hurt and confusion. How they openly accused me of toying with her. The exact thing I swore never to do with any woman.

  I cursed under my breath and fastened the last button, reaching for my dark suit jacket next.

  If anything, holding back from kissing her had been one of the most gentlemanly things I'd done in a while. Every part of me had wanted to lean into those full lips that had been tempting me since the first day I'd seen her.

  But I couldn't. Not like that. Not when she'd just poured her heart out. I wasn't going to take advantage of her weak moment. If I kissed her, it would be because she wanted me, not because she wanted comfort.

  Too bad there hadn't been time to explain that. Instead, Hazel had walked away, feeling rejected. I could see it in the stiffness of her shoulders and the clipped steps she took.

  I blew out a breath. It didn't matter. After tonight, I'd never see her again anyway.

  The question was, why did the thought hurt so much?

  With another frustrated sigh, I shrugged into my jacket.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to Ava's apartment complex, my plus-one for the evening. I would owe her for this, but it was worth it rather than bringing someone I'd have to feign interest in all night.

  She slid into the passenger seat a second later, still slipping on the silver high heels she'd been carrying.

  I grinned. "I would've walked up and got you," I said as I turned the car around.