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

by Ellie Hall

“Oh. Like ko-who-bi.”

  She offers me an amused smile. “Um, no, kohlrabi is actually German.”

  “Oh, right. I knew that.” I rub a hand along my beard, feeling about two inches tall. It doesn’t help that I’m only half my height while sitting, so I really am on the shorter side, especially with the mile-high heels Josie always wears.

  Man, her collection of shoes is something else.

  She wears a different pair every time I see her. And not only that, they look pricey. We’re talking on the same level as banquettes and ko-whatever-it’s-called. If there was ever an analogy for how incompatible we are, it’s our choice in footwear. A woman like Josie deserves a man who wears genuine leather shoes, not the worn-out loafers I bought back when velcro wallets were still in style.

  That’s when it hits me. What world am I living in, thinking she’d wanted to kiss me earlier? That’d be about as likely as her wanting to kiss Gus!

  It’s time to face the facts: Josie Child and I would never work out.

  “You guys done kissing yet?” My dad pokes his head from the hallway and does a double take. Scratching his head, he walks over to us. “What are you still doing on the floor, son? You can’t expect Josie to join you there. Wouldn’t the couch be more comfortable?”

  I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore his kissing comments. “It’s called a banquette, Dad.”

  “A ban who?”

  “A ban—never mind.” I hand him Gus’s leash so I can attempt to get up. My tailbone still throbs enough to send my heart rate racing, but I force my limbs into action. The quicker I can stand, the sooner I can shake off the pain and get to work. Anything to get out from under Josie’s and my dad’s watchful eyes. Even ole Gus, with his head cocked to one side, seems mesmerized by my every move. Or it could be that he’s never seen a human move so slowly before.

  “Graham! You’re hurt!” Josie rushes to my side and grabs ahold of my elbow to lift me up. “Here, lean on me.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intend, causing Josie to step back. I try to smile to soften the delivery, but it’s hard to express any happiness when your backside has seen better days. Not literally, of course. It’s not usually this exposed. And neither am I.

  I hate feeling so out of control. But I don’t think they have manuals on how to look dignified when you’re pantsless and helpless in front of the woman you like. All I know is that my poor bum and I want to hide away in a dark place where we can wallow in self-pity with a soda, a bag of chips, and a marathon of American Chopper.

  Oh, and pants. I can’t forget the pants.

  I finally get myself standing on both feet, although my posture is wanting. The best I can manage is a slouch-shuffle combo as I aim my feet in the direction of the entrance. With my hands on my lower back, I take a tentative step forward. Then a few more. Each movement makes me wince, but at least I’m mobile.

  “Hey, son,” my dad pipes up. “I just remembered I have a cane in my trunk. May used it when she sprained her ankle. I’ll go get it for you.”

  “What—no! I don’t need a cane!”

  Before I can protest further, my dad and Gus run past me toward the front door. I stare at their backs, stewing in frustration and envy. The least they could’ve done was walk. But no, they had to run. Way to rub it in, Dad!

  “You don’t look so good, Graham.” Josie’s at my side, her forehead creased with concern. “You should get it checked out.”

  “Get what checked out?” I huff out between painful shuffles. “I’m fine!”

  “Your tush. You might have fractured your coccyx.”

  “My what now?” I shake my head. “I don’t have time for this. I have a toilet to insulate.”

  “You can’t work in your condition. Forget about the toilet!”

  “I said I’d insulate your toilet, so I’m gonna insulate your toilet.”

  “But I don’t want you to!” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

  “I’m being stubborn? You’re the one who insists on putting a humidifier in the bathroom!”

  Josie gasps and throws her hands on her hips. “If you didn’t think it was a good idea, why didn’t you say so?”

  “I tried! But you were so adamant about keeping things fancy. Everything about you is fancy! Your words, your food and clothes, those shoes! How are the rest of us mere mortals supposed to keep up?”

  “What are you talking about—”

  “Oh, lovebirds, I’m back!” My dad saunters into the shop with Gus and a cane in tow. He hands the latter to me with a cheeky grin. “What’d I miss?”

  I turn the cane over in my hands and contemplate a dozen uses for it other than showing off my seniority. But since it’s the fastest way to get me out of this place, I push aside my pride and put it to use.

  With the grittiest, toughest voice I can muster with my banged-up behind, I call out over my shoulder, “I’ll be back!”

  Then I make like a sloth and exit the building.

  9

  Josie

  What just happened?

  I exchange concerned looks with Mr. Kendall as we watch Graham walk through the front door. Well, to call it walking is generous. The poor guy moves like he got hit by a train that took off with his pants. It’s not a bad sight to witness—his backside, I mean, not the limping. Yet even with his injury, he’s still the most sexy, attractive man I’ve ever met.

  Make that the most sexy and attractive grumpy man I’ve ever met.

  “I don’t get it,” I wonder out loud. “Is he always this stubborn?”

  “Graham?” His dad nods. “Only when he cares. From the looks of it, he cares an awful lot about what you think of him. You seem to have gotten under his skin—in a good way.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from me.” I cross my arms and sigh. And to think that we’d almost kissed. Or did I make all of that up in my head? Because from what Graham just said, he couldn’t care less about me and my fancy things. He even dissed my shoes! My heart sinks as I stare at my feet. I don’t suppose I’m his type, after all.

  “Listen, Josie.” Mr. Kendall gives me a kind smile. He’s an older, hipper version of Graham with his tight jeans and slicked-back hair. “My boy didn’t have an easy childhood. His mom and me—we weren’t around much. Graham had to learn how to take care of himself and things around the house. That’s how he picked up his plumbing skills. Those were the days before the internet, you know, so a lot of it was through good ole trial and error.”

  “I had no idea.” An image of little Graham wearing gloves and tinkering with tools pops into my head. “He must’ve been so cute—I mean capable.”

  “He was both. Graham was such a good boy—never gave us any trouble—but the kids at school weren’t so nice. They made fun of his clothes and shoes, even the food he brought for lunch.”

  “No! That’s terrible.”

  “Darn right, it was terrible. I had to sit him down one day and have a heart-to-heart.” He takes a step toward me, his solemn expression urging me to pay attention. Even Gus cocks his head to the side and fixes his eyes on Mr. Kendall. “I said to him, ‘Graham …’”

  “Go on. What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Graham. I know those kids have got you all shook up with them being hound dogs, but don’t be cruel. You gotta take what they give you and return to sender. Shake, rattle, and roll off those bad vibes, get yourself outta that heartbreak hotel, and tell yourself, it’s now or never. Be the bossa nova baby that I know you are!’ Then I took him out for ice cream, and the rest is history. He decided to become a child psychologist so he could help children, both those who bully others and those who get bullied.”

  “Wow.” That one word about sums up everything I just learned about Graham. Not to mention his dad’s touching pep talk. There’s something oddly familiar about it—I can’t quite pinpoint what—but I love how it’s so full o
f grace and tenderness. With Mr. Kendall as his father, it’s no wonder that Graham is such a stand-up guy.

  A guy sweet enough to humor my request for a perfectly humid bathroom. Someone who puts other people’s needs above his own. A man who risked his behind—quite literally—for mine.

  But no more!

  I purse my lips together as determination runs through my body. If Graham’s not going to see to his own needs, then I will. He’s not going anywhere near the boutique’s toilet today, not if I can help it!

  “Mr. Kendall, I appreciate you telling me what Graham went through. It really helps me understand him better.”

  “Of course. I hope you won’t hold his grumpiness against him. He can usually charm the pants off his customers, but I’m afraid that’s hard to do without pants of his own!” He laughs and slaps his leg. “I better mosey on out of here. I gotta get Graham home, then get Gus back to the shelter. Thank you for letting me use your powder room.”

  “You’re welcome.” I follow Mr. Kendall and Gus to the entrance, stopping them before they step outside. “Will you do me a favor?”

  He pauses with one hand on the gold door handle. “Sure thing. Anything for the woman who’s won over my son’s heart.”

  “I don’t know about—”

  “Trust me, Josie. I saw the way he looked at you when he held you in his arms. Like you were holding a precious lock of The King of Rock and Roll’s hair.”

  It finally hits me why his pep talk sounded so familiar. “Elvis! That’s who you remind me of!”

  He curls one side of his lip up and winks. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  His spot-on imitation makes me smile. “Say, Mr. Presley, would you please talk to Graham for me? Tell him he’s in no condition to work today. Let him know I’ll figure things out.”

  “I’ll try, but I doubt if he’ll listen to me.”

  “Then drive extra slow or take the scenic route to his house. Do whatever you have to do to make sure he stays far, far away from the boutique today. He is not allowed to come back, you hear?”

  He gives me a firm salute. “Yes, miss! I’ll do what I can.”

  I do my own lip curl and answer, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “I love it! A woman after my own heart.” Mr. Kendall blows me a kiss as he exits.

  Once I’m alone again, I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. With the inspector coming in T minus four hours and seven minutes and no plumber in sight, I have two choices: get rid of the humidifier or insulate the toilet myself.

  Gulp!

  A chill runs down my spine. There’s no way I’m going near that tank. No way! That would involve me lifting the lid to peer inside, which would require me to touch it. I shudder involuntarily at the idea. The toilet may be called a porcelain throne, but there’s nothing royal about it!

  Come on, Josie, you’re a grown woman. You’ve handled worse. Remember all those diapers you changed?

  I squeeze my eyes shut as my internal pep talk continues.

  You can do this. You’ve gotten your hands dirty before.

  Yes, and I loathed it. I tap my perfectly manicured and moisturized fingers on the counter. But it might not be so bad with gloves on. Make that two pairs of gloves on.

  It’s just water. Isn’t toilet water clean enough to drink?

  My mouth contorts in disgust. I firmly draw the line at consumption. But coming in contact with a drop or two of toilet water won’t kill me.

  More importantly, you can show Graham you’re not as fancy as he thinks you are.

  My chest twinges. I know exactly what Graham went through as a kid because I’d been teased, too. Teased for not wearing name brand clothes, for bringing the same peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day, for using the same backpack year after year.

  I suppose that’s why I try so hard to be fancy now.

  But I do know that fancy’s overrated. Material things won’t last forever. And when all is said and done, I’d rather be less-than-fancy with Graham than be fancy on my own.

  With my mind made up, I ask God for strength and courage to tackle this project.

  Ding!

  I open my eyes at the sound of the bell on the front door. In walks one of my dearest friends, Cassie, with her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. The two of us are about as opposite as two people can be in terms of our wardrobe. As a single mom and soap store owner, she lives in casual clothes. She’s also the most handy woman I know … and possibly the answer to my prayers!

  I run over and greet her with a hug. “Cass, tell me you’ve fixed a toilet before!”

  Her gray-blue eyes blink in surprise behind her round frames. “I’ve fixed a toilet before? I mean, I’ve changed out some things, but I’m no expert.”

  “Yes!” I cry out with joy. Who cares that Cassie’s voice and expression are less than certain. All I know is that she has more experience than me, and that’s what counts. “You have to help me insulate mine.”

  “Um, right now?”

  “Yes, right now!”

  “I’d love to, Josie, but I’m on my way to a parent-teacher conference. I just came to drop these off.”

  I take the tri-fold brochures she hands me as my stomach dips in disappointment. “Oh, thanks.”

  She frowns. “Is it still okay for me to advertise my soaps in your boutique? I came up with some designs that’ll work well as bridal shower and wedding favors. But if you don’t think it’s a good idea …”

  “Of course it’s okay. I can’t wait to pass these out for you.” Cassie’s as meek as I am bold, but she’s used to me being direct, especially when it comes to her clothes. “But, Cass, what is not okay is your outfit. You can’t go to the conference wearing that.”

  “I can’t? But these are my best sweats. There’s not a single stain on them.”

  “But they’re sweats. You want to make a good impression with Levi’s teacher. Especially since he’s been in the principal’s office a lot lately.”

  Cassie blows a wayward curl out of her eyes. “I guess you’re right. But I don’t have time to go home and change.”

  An idea dawns on me. “You don’t have to! I have the perfect solution—for both of us!”

  “I, uh, don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

  “Trust me! When have I ever led you astray?”

  “Um, sophomore year? You made me try on your five-inch heels and I twisted my ankle.”

  “Then you’ll have no problem with four-inch ones!”

  I pull Cassie toward one of the dressing rooms and follow her inside. While I give her the abridged version of my toilet saga, we both shed our outfits. After five minutes of groaning and primping—definitely more groaning on her part!—we emerge wearing each other’s clothes. She looks like a walking ad for Talbots, and I a gym rat (minus the perspiration, thank goodness).

  “Thanks, Josie. I’ll come back after the conference to switch clothes with you,” Cassie says on her way out.

  “No worries!” Standing on my tiptoes now that I’ve traded my stilettos for her sneakers, I reach up to give her a hug. “On second thought, just hold on to them. I’ll have to wash yours after I tackle the toilet situation. We can switch back another day.”

  “Okay.” Standing in the doorway, she grins as she gestures at herself, then at me. “Wait till I tell the girls about this! They’re never going to believe you wore sweats!”

  “Or that you wore a skirt! Let’s take selfies later and text them to each other.”

  “Deal! Bye, Josie!” She waves, then turns to hobble down the walkway.

  I’m about to close the door when I hear a man call out, “Hello?”

  Graham! His familiar voice makes my body heat up, both in good ways and bad. I’m so happy he’s back, but also downright upset that he came when I told him not to. I shield my eyes from the afternoon sun until I see his handsome bearded face come into view. He’s no longer using a cane, but his steps are slow and stiff, which means he�
��s still in pain. My voice shoots up an octave as I exclaim, “What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be at home resting!”

  He gives me a thorough look-over, taking in every inch of my outfit with his wide blue eyes. His brows pinch together, then his mouth falls open. “Who are you and what have you done with my Josie?”

  My Josie?

  Well, love me tender. I sure do like the sound of that.

  10

  Graham

  I can’t believe my eyes. Did falling on my backside affect my vision, too? Or is the woman wearing sweats and sneakers really Josie Child?

  I step inside the shop and come face-to-face with the vision in pink. Her red hair is tied back, revealing a pair of big brown eyes. She takes a step forward and fills my senses with her intoxicating scent. I swallow hard. This woman looks like Josie, smells like Josie, but how can this be Josie? “What’s going on here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Your dad was supposed to keep you away from the boutique!”

  “He told me to come back.”

  “What?”

  “He said he was trying reverse psychology on me. It backfired obviously.” I chuckle as she groans. “But I’m glad it did. Or else I wouldn’t have gotten to see you like this. Look, we match.”

  She glances down at my gray sweatpants. “We do! Did you just pick that up from the store? The tag’s still on them.”

  “Yep.” I pull out a couple of items from my pockets. “I got silicone sealant and some Tylenol, too.”

  She shakes her head in disapproval. “You shouldn’t have!”

  “Oh, I definitely need the pain relief. I’m not as limber as I used to be, Josie.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Her eyes flash with fire. “I was going to get the sealant and insulate the toilet so you wouldn’t have to!”

  “That’s why you’re dressed like this?”

  “Yes! See, I’m not as fancy as you think I am, Graham Kendall.”

  I choke back a laugh and glance up at the chandelier hanging over us that looks fit for a castle.