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

by Ellie Hall

  “Um, sure.”

  She takes a deep breath then asks, “Did you eat some of those special cookies they sell in LA?”

  “What? No! I’d never do drugs, and you know it.”

  “Are you sure? I’m sorry, but a wall that functions as a door and that leads to a pantry? That’s something an intoxicated person would say.”

  “The door has a pushing mechanism. It’s supposed to look like a wall because it’s a secret pantry. There’s nothing weird about that. Now will you please help me?”

  In the distance, I can hear Caleb call out my name again. He’s probably thinking I left the property. Gosh, what if he leaves? I don’t want Ryker to catch me in here.

  “The way I see it, there’s only one thing you can do,” Margot says.

  Relief rushes through me. I’ll be out of here in no time. “Yes?”

  “Call that co-worker of yours and have him open the door.”

  I groan. “That’s the one thing I don’t want to do.”

  Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. How else am I going to get out? “Fine, I’ll throw away my dignity and call him.”

  “Great. Oh, and June?”

  “Yes?”

  “Call me tonight, okay? I need to know everything about this guy. And sorry for making fun of your situation. I get that it’s not funny if you’re actually in it.”

  “Don’t worry. That’s what happens when you break the rules, right? I shouldn’t have snooped, and now I have to live with the consequences.”

  I end the call, ready to pull my big-girl panties on, only to realize I don’t even have Caleb’s number. Just my luck. I’m really running out of options now. I go over them one by one. I could wait here until someone finds me—even if that someone is Ryker himself. But what if he doesn’t come home for a few days? I might die in here. Not from starvation, but lack of oxygen. Then what?

  I only have one option: making a complete fool of myself.

  I raise my fists in the air and bang on the door as loud as I can. “Caleb! In here!” I shout in hope that he’ll hear me. “Help me, please.”

  “June?” the sound of Caleb’s voice drifts closer.

  “Yes, over here,” I shout as if I’m stuck in a pit of snakes and need to get out asap.

  I hear his feet on the kitchen floor. “June? Are you playing hide-and-seek or something?”

  “I’m in the pantry. The secret one.” I pound on the door again to reinforce my words.

  A couple of seconds later, the door creaks open. Caleb is looking at me with a grin, his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing in here?”

  I step into the kitchen and shake my head. “Let’s agree to never talk about this again.”

  “If Ryker finds out you discovered his secret pantry, he’s going to be so mad,” he says, laughing.

  “You knew about this?”

  “Well, yeah, obviously. Also, there’s a button next to the door to open it from the inside—just so you know.”

  There’s a button? I must’ve missed that in my panicked state of mind. Not that it matters. The harm is done now. Caleb knows I’m a snooper.

  “Shall we paint that room now, or do you want to open some more doors and drawers first?” He’s biting his lip in what is most likely an attempt not to laugh again.

  I clear my throat. “Yes, let’s go.”

  “Before we do, I need to know… You didn’t eat anything while you were in there, did you?”

  I frown. “No, why?”

  He lets out a relieved sigh. “Because then Ryker would know someone had been in there. He’s quite unreasonable where that pantry is concerned.”

  “Let’s not forget his paint requirement. That’s a bit unreasonable as well.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  I follow Caleb up the stairs into the room we’re going to paint and help him position the plastic we bought to cover up the expensive floors. We work in a rhythm that feels nice and familiar, almost as if we’ve known each other for ages.

  Around seven, Caleb has sushi delivered. I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t eat raw fish. He’s been nice to me all day, so I pretend to love the food and swallow it all down with an entire bottle of water.

  “What do you say we call it a night and go grab a drink somewhere?” Caleb asks long after the sun has set.

  “Sure. What time is it anyway?” I ask. I’ve been so focused on our job I’ve completely lost track of time.

  “Almost ten.”

  I drop my paint brush on the plastic on the floor. “What? That late already? Oh no. I need to get going.”

  I start scrambling for my stuff, panic rising in my chest.

  “Are you okay?” he asks with a frown.

  “No,” I say. I’m hopping on one foot, trying to locate my second shoe. “Do you see my shoe? I really need my shoe. Oh, and we should call a cab. There’s no way you’ll get me home on time with that bike of yours.”

  “Relax, it’s only ten.”

  “I know, it’s a disaster.”

  “Why, do you have a curfew or something?”

  I wait a few moments before I reply, uncertain of how to lie my way out of this situation. “No, of course not. I’m not a child.”

  His jaw drops. “You have a curfew?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not a curfew, okay? It’s more of an agreement between the landlord and me.”

  Caleb laughs, and even though I can’t blame him, I can feel the irritation build up inside of me. “Ha ha ha, June has a curfew. Funny, right? That still doesn’t change the fact that I have to go.”

  His face falls. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  I shake my head and fight off the tears I can feel making an appearance. “Would you please help me get home?”

  I’m beyond shame at this point. I don’t care if I need to beg. All I want is to get out of here. I know it’s ridiculous. I don’t personally know any other adult with a curfew, but it’s something I agreed on when I signed the lease.

  Caleb throws his painting supplies on the ground as well. “Of course,” he says as if any of this is normal.

  As we rush down the stairs, all I feel is gratefulness for the fact that Caleb is helping me get home.

  6

  Caleb

  “I doubt if this is even legal,” I say as we sneak around the house like a couple of burglars.

  “There’s no law on sneaking around your own living quarters,” June protests.

  I stop in my tracks and turn around. “I’m talking about a landlord giving you a curfew. There’s no way that’s legal. You should rise against it. Draw the line. Better yet, draw the sword.”

  Her left eyebrow shoots up. “The sword? This isn’t France in the Middle Ages, Caleb. It’s my life you’re talking about.”

  I scoff. “Duh. I’m telling you to stop agreeing to this nonsense. Why are we even sneaking? So what if they catch you after ten?”

  She shrugs then casually says, “They might ground me.”

  “Ground you?” I call out.

  She shushes me. “Stop it. Someone might hear you.”

  “Ground you?” I repeat, quieter this time. “Are you nuts? There’s no way that’s legal.”

  “You do realize you’ve talked about the not-legal thing three times already. You sound like a frustrated lawyer on a mission for justice.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Who says I’m not a lawyer?”

  “You’re a PA.”

  “A PA who might’ve been a lawyer but then rethought his entire life and opted for a career change.”

  She shoots me a surprised look. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you really used to be a lawyer.”

  “I’m not a lawyer.”

  She throws her hands in the air. “Then why are we even having this conversation? This is ridiculous. Just help me get inside, will you?”

  “If that’s what you want. Your bedroom is up there, you said?”

  I point toward
the attic, which seems completely out of reach from down here. There’s not even a roof to hoist her up to without the help of a ladder. I have no clue how we’re going to pull this off.

  “Here,” she says, shoving a ladder in my hands as if she’s a sorceress who read my thoughts. “Don’t look so surprised. They keep it in the shed out back. When they’re too lazy to put it back, they scoot it under the hedge.”

  I position the ladder and help her up to the flat roof. I then pull up the ladder and position it on the flat roof so that she can get to her room.

  “When you’re up there, I’ll put this back under the hedge,” I say.

  She puts her two thumbs in the air. “Great. Thanks again. Your girlfriend is lucky to have a sweet guy like you.”

  Huh. Where did that remark come from? Is she trying to flirt with me or something? We spent the entire day together, but we never mentioned our love lives. Maybe she’s trying to find out if I’m single.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say with a laugh.

  “Really? Why not?”

  I chuckle. “Why not? I don’t know. I guess I haven’t met the right girl yet. Also, who’s even got time for love? I sure don’t. Ryker’s requests take up all my time. Sometimes he even calls me mid-poop. I never decline his phone calls. He gets really angry when they go unanswered.”

  She gives me a funny look.

  “Sorry, that was too much information, wasn’t it?”

  She waves my remark away. Her smile is so genuine I can feel a warm glow spread through my veins.

  “Anyway, I’m going up. Thanks again for this,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I nod at her. “See you Monday.”

  When she’s safe in her bedroom, I put the ladder back as silently as I can. I call an Uber to drive me back to Ryker’s house so I can pick up my bike then make my way home.

  The stars try to outshine the city’s lights in the hills, but when I approach the city center, that no longer stands. Even though it’s late, LA is still bustling with people.

  By the time I park my bike at my apartment, I can’t get June out of my head. What makes her so special that images of her keep interrupting my thoughts?

  As far as I’m concerned, Monday can’t come fast enough, and it’s not because I like the catering at work. It’s the catering girl I like.

  After a long Sunday painting at Ryker’s place—alone this time—Monday finally rolls around. I’ve never gotten out of bed as easily as I have today. The thought of seeing June again makes me dance in the kitchen—something I rarely do. I don’t even care if my neighbors can see my dorky moves. When life feels good, you should savor it.

  I pop some bread into the toaster and use my phone to check my email. June’s name jumps out between the fifteen emails waiting to be read. I ignore them all and open hers first.

  Hi, everyone,

  Thanks to all of you who showed up to go hiking together this weekend. Those of you who weren’t there were…well, kind of wrong. I had the best day ever. Your loss, I guess.

  In case you’re now wondering if your no-show means no more treats for you, I can debunk that right away. As always, you’re more than welcome at the craft table. Today’s fresh food includes:

  Caesar salad

  Bagels (salmon & chicken)

  Cheese and ham sandwiches

  Carrot cake

  Assortment of donuts

  Break a leg today!

  June (the catering girl from Sunny Craft Services Ltd.)

  PS: Despite what you might have read online, I did NOT injure the dog. If you don’t have a clue what dog I’m referring to, please ignore this tidbit of information. Oh, and perhaps stay offline for the next couple of weeks. Thanks!

  I chuckle after reading June’s words. She’s so different than other girls. More unique. A bit quirky but not over the top.

  While I butter my toast, I wonder if I should write back or just go over to her at work for a casual chat. I’ve only used the craft table a handful of times during the production of this movie, but I think it’s time to change that.

  My phone rings, and for a second, I hope it’s June calling me. Then, I remember she doesn’t even have my number.

  I see it’s my sister, Elle, and eagerly accept the call.

  “Elle, what a nice surprise,” I say. It’s been weeks since I last heard from her. I guess she’s living it up in France.

  “Hey, Caleb,” she says, less cheerful than she normally sounds.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “How’s Paris?”

  She sighs. “Paris is over and out. I just wanted to let you know I’m staying with Maggie and her brother for a while until I get back on my feet.”

  That’s an answer I didn’t expect. “What happened? And when? Why? How? I’ve got so many questions.”

  “Paul kicked me out. Don’t worry, though. Things are okay.”

  I frown. “Are you sure?”

  “Uh-huh. I do have a small favor to ask. You know, sister to brother.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can you lend me some money? I’ll pay you back in ten days when my paycheck arrives.”

  “Of course, just send me a text with the payment details.”

  She lets out a relieved sigh. “You’re the best brother a girl could ask for, Caleb. Call again later? I know you’re busy now that you’re a celebrity slave, but maybe we can catch up tonight?”

  I smile. “Absolutely. But you do know I’m a PA, right, not a slave?”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” she says with a chuckle.

  “It pays the bills. And apparently, your bills as well.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds me.”

  She sounds a bit less depressed than she did a few minutes ago, and I’m happy for that. She can call me a slave any time she wants if it means her feeling better.

  “Take care, Elle. We’ll talk soon,” I say.

  “See you later, brother.” She ends the call, but I have a hard time processing all this information. Last time we spoke, my sister was still living in France, having the time of her life. And now she’s back, living with her best friend?

  I don’t have time to think about it any longer as a call from Ryker comes through. He needs me to pick up an order for him right away. No surprise there. The only words he seems to know are right away. After scribbling down the address, I shove the last of my toast into my mouth, make sure I’ve got my phone, wallet, and keys, and head out the door.

  7

  June

  He’ll show up. He’s got to, right? I look at my phone again. It’s already ten. Ryker’s scene is scheduled in an hour. Shouldn’t Caleb be here by now? I know an actor doesn’t need his PA to be present when filming a scene, but the two of them are always together on set. Him not being here seems a bit weird, that’s all.

  I refill the basket with donuts and butter a plate of fresh sandwiches. Why do I even care if Caleb shows up today? He’s nothing more than a colleague. The fact that he makes my heart soar whenever I think about him is nothing special. Some might call it a tiny crush. I don’t. We’re more like friends who met at work and spent an amazing Saturday together.

  When I think back on that day, the corners of my mouth shoot up. My other colleagues must think I’m grinning at my donuts, but I don’t even care. The memory of that day feels way too good to push it aside.

  “Thinking about something enjoyable?” I look up into Caleb’s eyes and think my heart is about to grow way too big for my chest to contain it.

  “Oh, you know, nothing,” I say, trying to casually change the subject so I don’t have to admit I was daydreaming about him. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, why?” he asks, grabbing a slice of my homemade carrot cake.

  “I was just wondering why you showed up so late—not that I was keeping track or anything.”

  My words trail off as he eats the cake. He doesn’t even reply to my com
ment about him being late. He stands there with his eyes closed and a sexy smile on his face.

  “Caleb?” I ask.

  He holds his hand up then moans. “This is delicious. My goodness, where did you find this cake?”

  I shrug. “Made it myself.”

  He swallows then lets another one of those toe-curling moans escape his gorgeous mouth. “I need another slice.”

  Before he can grab it, I swat his hand away. I don’t have a choice, do I? If I hear him moaning like that again, I’ll lose it. This is nothing but self-preservation. Yeah, now that I think about it, denying him access to my cake is an act of survival, pure and simple.

  “Did you just slap me?” he asks with an incredulous edge to his voice.

  “One slice per person. That’s the policy.”

  He frowns. “Is that a new policy?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “It is. It’s, um, written on this sign.”

  “What sign?”

  I duck behind the table and scribble something on the back of a cardboard box I used to transport my sandwiches this morning.

  “Tada,” I say as I jump back up. “Guess I forgot to put it on the table.”

  I place the sloppy-looking sign right next to the cake. I realize it looks ridiculous. There’s no way he believes this nonsense, but he’s kind enough to pretend.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a new policy. Did you really make this cake yourself?”

  “Yup.”

  He leans forward, his eyes looking left and right before softly speaking. “Can you make me one? An entire cake? No one needs to know. I’ll pay for it, of course.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Caleb.”

  “Please? It’s so good.” He lets out another moan at the memory of my carrot cake. I need him to stop making those noises, so I cave.

  “Fine, I’ll hook you up,” I say. “But I don’t want to see you eat it.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and he gives me a look I can’t quite place, almost as if I’ve offended him.