Happily Ever Ninja (Knitting in the City #5) Read online

  “Oooooooohhhh! You cussed! He cussed!” Jack stood and bounced on his feet, pointing at Matty like I might need assistance deciphering who exactly had said the expletives.

  “Ahhhh!” Matty’s face contorted with remorseful horror.

  Jack’s eyes were wide and excited. “He said fu—”

  “Don’t say it!” Matty and I cut him off in unison.

  Jack clamped his mouth shut, looking thwarted and frustrated.

  Matty groaned. “Sorry. I’m making a mess of things.” Then he turned on his heel and rushed back into the kitchen. “I’ll go put it back.”

  It took me a few seconds to move past my despairing shock, and another few to process his words—he was going to put it back.

  “Wait, what? What are you doing?” I called as I jogged to the kitchen, “You can’t put back cake. There is no putting cake back, and you’ve already taken a bite.”

  I found Matty hunched over the cake. He’d slid his wedge back into place and was using his finger to blur the line he’d made in the meringue frosting. He was making a mess.

  “Stop—”

  “I am so sorry, Fiona. Sometimes my stomach does the thinking and I’m powerless against it. Some people have a devil and an angel on their shoulders; I have a stomach on one side and a tongue with giant papillae on the other. And then there’s my irrational love for coconut.”

  I grabbed his hand and removed it and his person from the vicinity of the cake; then I turned to assess the damage. It was beyond repair. The meringue was crushed, and he’d flattened the coconut in his haste to return his piece. I sighed sadly. It looked old and tired, rumpled and ruined.

  And I had an odd thought: the cake was me.

  I was the cake.

  I was a mess.

  And I had a piece missing . . .

  Peripherally, I saw Jack peek into the kitchen, his big eyes moving between Matty, the cake, and me; and then he said, “It’s ruined.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” I said.

  Jack hesitated, stepped into the kitchen, and licked his lips; hope permeated his question as he asked, “Does that mean we can eat it now?”

  I looked at my son and unexpectedly laughed. And once I laughed I couldn’t stop. I gripped the counter and held my stomach. But with the laughter also came tears. And soon there was no laughter, only tears.

  The two males in the kitchen were paralyzed by my outburst, and I was aware of their eyes on me, confused and panicked. Eventually, Matty stepped forward and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, turning my face to his chest.

  “Jack, make your mom a cup of tea, please.” As he said this, he escorted me out of the kitchen and into the living room, awkwardly patting my back and guiding me to the sofa.

  We didn’t speak. I cried for another minute, but no longer. I was able to rein in the tears by pulling away, gathering several deep breaths, and mentally rearranging my schedule for the next day. Since I had to cancel the doctor’s appointment, I would be able to make another cake.

  No big deal.

  I could handle this.

  No problem.

  Everything happens for a reason.

  I was not a crier.

  I didn’t know why I was crying now.

  No need for these ridiculous tears.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said again, a note of desperation in his voice.

  “No, I’m sorry.” I shook my head, wiping my eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just a cake, and I did say anything in the fridge was fine. I think I’m just tired. Grace hasn’t been sleeping well this last week and I’ve . . . well, I haven’t been sleeping well either, and there’s a lot going on.”

  I felt his scrutinizing gaze moving over my features as I stared at a spot on my jeans, trying to remember how much coconut I had left in the pantry. I would skip my glass of wine, get my contract work done tonight, and make the cake in the morning after taking the kids to school. I could talk to Jack’s teacher about the field trip, purchase the rest of the cake ingredients, and stop by the hardware store for a new garbage disposal . . .

  Neither of us spoke for a long minute until Matty asked, “What’s that music?”

  I glanced at the phone in my hand I hadn’t realized I was still holding; “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” had been replaced with “Welcome to The Jungle.”

  “Oh, I’m on hold with the hospital.”

  “The hospital?”

  “Yes. My sitter just cancelled as she’s sick with strep throat.”

  “Is she in the hospital? For strep throat?”

  “No. She’s at home with antibiotics. I have to cancel my appointment for tomorrow.”

  Matty’s confused frown smoothed but was replaced with concerned surprise. “Your appointment?”

  “Yes. I had an MRI scheduled for six thirty a.m. I’ve been having headaches. Anyway, the sitter was going to take the kids into school for me, but since she’s sick I’m going to reschedule. Which is why I’m on hold now.”

  Matty reached for my hand holding the phone, drawing my eyes to his. “Fiona, please let me take the kids in. I am so sorry about the cake; let me make it up to you. Then you don’t need to cancel your appointment.”

  “No, no. I can’t ask you to do that.” I waved away his suggestion.

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering. It’s no trouble at all. I don’t have office hours tomorrow until three. It’ll give me a reason to wake up before noon.”

  “No . . .”

  “You’d be doing me a favor. It would give me another opportunity to raid your fridge—legal food this time. Mine only has moldy cheese of questionable origin. It’s green, but I’m pretty sure it started out orange, and unless it’s actually oxidized copper, I should use a hazmat suit for its disposal.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not merely getting the kids to school. I have to talk to his teacher about his field trip, stop by the store for new coconut cake ingredients and poster board for the science fair. Plus the garbage disposal is broken and I need to pick up a new one.”

  “I can do those things, plus I’ll install the new disposal for you.”

  “And the dishwasher is broken, I need to—”

  “Let me take a look at it.”

  “I know what’s wrong with it, I just need some time to fix it.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “But—”

  “The water is too hot! It’s TOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOT!” Grace wailed from the bathroom. Instead of inspiring my sympathy, I huffed another sad laugh.

  “Just a minute, Grace. I’ll be right there,” I called, trying to keep the frustrated laughter out of my voice lest she think I was relishing in her anguish.

  “Let me help,” Matty said gently, tapping my knee with the knuckles of one hand. Before I could respond, he shook his head and spoke over my protest. “Listen, we’ve known each other forever, right? When I moved into the building two months ago, you brought me a welcome-neighbor dinner before you knew who I was. Remember that? You had Jack and Grace bring drawings, in case I didn’t have anything for my walls. Those drawings are now framed and hanging in my dining room. It was the first time I’d had a home-cooked meal in seven years, since my mother’s cook left to go back to Croatia. You know how it was growing up in my family. You’re more family to me than they are. It was maybe the first time I’d ever felt truly welcomed.”

  I huffed, feeling torn and tempted. It would be so nice, so nice, such a welcome break to accept the help he offered.

  His smile turned teasing. “Let me do this, otherwise I’ll drown in guilt. Honestly, I wouldn’t offer except your children are pretty awesome. Besides, how hard could it be?”

  “Now it’s TOOOOOOOOO COOOOOOOOOOOLD!” Grace’s renewed bellowing arrived as Matt finished speaking. I lifted my eyebrows at him, silently challenging his last question.

  Matty shrugged. “Well, I’ll do my best.”

  The music originating from my cell phone switched from “Welcome to the Jungle
,” to “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” The shift in tempo reminded me I was still on hold with the hospital. It also made me wonder who was responsible for choosing the wait music.

  “I don’t know.” My words were reluctant, not because I didn’t trust Matty but because I hated asking for help. I hated the idea of needing it. I knew I could do everything myself. I didn’t need his help . . . but the offer to share my burdens was so enticing.

  Plus I wasn’t certain Matty would actually succeed in getting the kids ready, make it to school on time, and still be on speaking terms with me afterward.

  “I don’t mind.” He grinned like it was all settled, placing his hand on my knee and giving it a quick squeeze before standing. “What time do you need me?”

  I studied the screen of my phone for a few seconds, then finally ended the call and stood as well, giving Matty a resigned smile. “Five thirty. And I’ll leave detailed instructions for you. Grace and Jack can get ready on their own, but they just need a bit of prodding when they start daydreaming instead of putting on their snow boots. And the school isn’t far, two blocks.”

  “Sounds good.” He said this earnestly, like he was truly looking forward to taking the kids to school.

  I studied his cheerful expression for a long moment as his eyes moved to Jack, who was currently absorbed in his space atlas. Matty’s small smile held true affection as he looked at my son. My chest filled with warmth and gratitude. When another person, especially one not related by blood, takes a sincere interest in the wellbeing of my kids, it makes my heart go soft.

  I decided Matty Simmons was more than nice. He was a good guy. He was a good friend.

  ***

  Grace woke me by climbing into my bed at 3:27 a.m., another nightmare. We cuddled and I soothed her. Once she was sleeping peacefully, I started my day.

  After skipping my shower and quickly getting dressed, I responded to several work emails, typed detailed directions for the kids, and had three minutes to apply a little makeup before Matty arrived at 5:27 a.m., looking bleary-eyed, nervous, and enthusiastic.

  I made it to the hospital by 6:00 a.m. and then waited. And waited. And waited.

  But I put the waiting to good use. First, I secured an alternate babysitter for the evening. Then I whipped out my laptop and caught up on my schematics for work. I was feeling good about the status of the project when I was finally told at 10:06 a.m. the hospital was having problems with the MRI machine and the scan would have to be rescheduled.

  Beyond irritated, I stemmed my inconvenient urge to (figuratively) shoot the messenger. It wasn’t the medical assistant’s fault the machine wasn’t working, he didn’t deserve my ire.

  So I took several calming breaths and mumbled to myself, “It is what it is.”

  Then I waited some more before having my blood drawn and meeting with my oncologist. I calmly told him about the headaches. He promised to get me in for a new MRI appointment as soon as possible.

  I was friendly with his nurse, Liz Shaffer—average height and build, sandy-blonde hair, brown eyes, married with two kids, nosy but well-meaning—and she knew both my knitting group friends, Sandra and Ashley, from working at the hospital. Sadly, Liz didn’t knit. But she was funny and kind and had known me since I moved out to the mid-west from Virginia eighteen years ago. She was my first nurse at my first cancer-free follow-up appointment in Chicago. We’d grown up together in many ways.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to visit. So after chatting for about ten minutes, I sprinted out of the hospital. I made it home by 1:00 p.m. and figured I had barely enough time to take a shower and bake the cake before leaving to go pick up Grace and Jack from school.

  As soon as I shut the front door, I heard Matty’s voice call from inside the apartment. “Fiona?”

  “Yes, I’m home. How did it go?”

  “Great! I’m in the kitchen.”

  I jogged to the kitchen, impressed that the apartment was still clean, and found my neighbor’s long, jean-clad legs and half of his bare torso sticking out from underneath the kitchen sink. I realized with some surprise that Matty Simmons had a six-pack. In fact, everywhere I could see was chiseled muscles and bronzed skin. This realization made me feel old because I used to babysit for someone who now had a six-pack.

  “The kids were okay?”

  “Yes. No problem. And I spoke to Jack’s teacher about the field trip.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And the ingredients for the cake are on the counter, but I stopped by the bakery and secured a replacement cake just in case you run out of time. Obviously, it pales in comparison to your coconut genius, but better to be safe than sorry. I also noticed you were out of ketchup and some other things so I grabbed those as well.”

  See? Genuine and nice!

  “Whoa, this cake is huge.”

  He’d purchased a giant sheet cake, enough for fifty people or more.

  “Then there will be leftovers. Everyone loves leftovers.”

  “Thank you, Matt.” I surmised he was counting on being the recipient of said leftovers. “And thanks for keeping the place clean. I don’t know how you managed it. But I have friends coming over Tuesday night and I truly appreciate the lack of mess.”

  “No problem. I had them use paper plates for their breakfast. Oh! Also, there was no poster board,” Matty paused and I heard him grunt. His abdominal muscles flexed in conjunction with the sound of channel locks turning. “So I stopped by my office and grabbed five from the supply cabinet.”

  “Ah, thank you!” I walked to the counter and inspected the bags of groceries; everything I needed was present and accounted for. “Finding the poster board has been impossible.”

  “The dishwasher is fixed. Your suspicion was correct, it was the solenoid.”

  “This is the third time it’s burnt out. I think I need a new dishwasher.” I pulled off my jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair, mentally calculating how soon I could afford a new dishwasher. The extra income from my contracting work would definitely help.

  “Probably not a bad idea,” he agreed, sounding distracted.

  “Thank you so much for all your help, Matt.” I said this to his legs as his upper body was still hidden under the sink. I observed, in addition to his shirt, he’d removed his shoes. He had a tattoo of the pi symbol on his left foot. I smirked at this. He was such a nerd. “If you need to go, I can take over from here.”

  “No rush. I think I’m about finished with the disposal. Go relax or something.”

  I smiled wistfully at the idea of relaxing. “No time. I need to take a shower and get this cake baking.”

  “Then go take a shower, I’ll be a few more minutes.”

  “Thank you, so much, for—”

  “Stop thanking me. Instead I’ll take the ruined cake—the cake I ruined—and we’ll call it even.”

  “You have a deal.” My eye caught the time on the wall clock hanging over the table. I needed to hurry. Darting from the kitchen, I made for my bathroom, swiftly undressing as I shut the door behind me. When I was in my birthday suit, I reached into the shower to turn on the water.

  Nothing happened.

  I stared at the inactive showerhead and frowned. I’m ashamed to admit it took me a full ten seconds to realize nothing was happening because Matty had obviously turned off the water to the apartment in order to fix the dishwasher. Sighing when I couldn’t locate my bathrobe, I pulled an oversized towel from the rack and wrapped it around myself, then speed-walked to the living room. All the while making a mental list of the things I needed to accomplish before leaving for Ashley’s party at 4:00 p.m.

  “Hey, Matt,” I called, “Did you turn the water off?”

  “Who’s Matt?” a voice at my left asked, making me jump and crouch into a fighting stance as my eyes flew to the source.

  And then I saw him.

  I saw Greg.

  He was . . . here.

  Standing in the entranceway to the apartment, a small du
ffle bag on his shoulder. His day-old scruff was gone. He looked exhausted, but happy.

  My confused heart stuttered then leapt, beating excitedly before my confused brain could figure out what was going on.

  We stared at each other for several seconds, his grin growing wider, until I finally managed to breathe out, “Oh my God!”

  “No, darling. It’s just your husband.”

  Not giving me three seconds to recover, he dropped his bag to the floor, crossed the room, and wrapped me in his arms.

  I returned the embrace as I was too stunned to do anything else but sputter, “How-when-how . . . ?” And, inexplicably, my eyes stung.

  Greg backed me against the wall in the living room and kissed me, groaning when his mouth met mine. Meanwhile, my eyes were wide as I watched him, blinking away the unexpected rush of liquid emotion, unable to process the truth of his presence, here, home, and not off the coast of South Africa on an oil rig.

  “Stop staring and kiss me, would you?” His hand fisted in my hair and he tugged, angling my head back, then bending to bite my neck, sending wonderful sensation shivers racing over every inch of my skin. “Ah, you’re delicious.”

  I shook my muddled head and placed my hands on his shoulders, pushing him away so I could see his face. I needed to see he was real and not a figment of my imagination.

  Before I could speak, Matty’s voice carried to us as he exited the kitchen. “Yes, sorry about the water. I’ll run downstairs and turn it back . . . on.”

  Greg stilled then tensed. I watched as he twisted and glanced at Matty over his shoulder. Still feeling astonished and confused by the sudden appearance of my husband, I stared at his neck and jaw for a long moment. I blinked, half expecting him to disappear. When he didn’t, I peeked around Greg’s large frame to where Matty was suspended just inside the kitchen.

  I sensed Greg stiffen further and straighten. He turned from me to face our neighbor. “Who the hell are you?”

  Matty’s eyes were wide, clearly confused, and more than a little concerned when they met mine briefly, then flickered back to my husband’s. “Uh, I’m Matt.”

  “Mat? As in, a small rectangular piece of carpet made for the express purpose of cleaning dirt from one’s shoes?”