Do You Hear What I Hear?. Holly Jacobs
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Snaps, she loved going home to her daughter even more.
Home? Just how was she supposed to get there, Libby thought an hour later as she eyed the green truck with Ohio plates that was butted up against the bumper of her Neon.
How was she supposed to get out of the parallel parking space with no room to maneuver? The idiot who had parked that truck was clearly encroaching on her parking space. It wasn’t her fault that he drove a truck the size of a small tank and had to take up more than his fair share of the parking space.
And look at that—he had about two feet of free space behind him. Couldn’t he at least have given some of it to her?
Libby realized she was mentally referring to her bumper-pusher as a male. Maybe it was sexist, but she’d bet a week’s pay it was a guy. A big-truck-driving, thinks-he’s-macho, parking-space-hogging man.
Libby glanced nervously at her watch. She was going to be late picking Meg up from the Hendersons. Where was a cop when she needed one? The police station was just across the square. There should be one of Erie’s finest somewhere about. This green-truck jerk deserved a ticket.
Better yet, forget the cop. Where was a tow truck?
No one was going to ride to her rescue. She’d just have to call the Hendersons and explain she was trapped until the driver of the red Jeep in front of her, or the idiot green-truck’s driver came out. She hoped it was the truck’s driver. She really wanted to give him a piece of her mind, not that she had much to spare, Meg would have added.
Thinking of her daughter’s occasional wisecracks made Libby smile, despite her annoyance. Then a cold gust of wind made her remember why she was annoyed in the first place.
Well, she might have to wait, but she wasn’t waiting outside. November’s Canadian wind blew off Lake Erie and made things far too cold to do much more than hurry from one warm place to another. She crawled into her Neon and started it, cranking the heat up to the highest setting. She might as well be comfortable while she waited. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. At five o’clock the city pretty much shut down, so one of the cars would probably be leaving soon.
Just as she reached for her cell phone, she spotted a man coming out of Gardner’s Ophthalmology and headed for the green truck. She jumped from her car. “Hey, you.”
The man looked up. He was gorgeous. Drop-dead-drag-your-tongue-on-the-street gorgeous.
“Yes?” he asked with a smile—a smile that made him even better looking, though it shouldn’t be possible.
Good-looking or not, Libby’s anger didn’t fade.
“I don’t know how you park in Ohio, but here in Pennsylvania we at least give the other person a foot or so to maneuver.”
“Really?” he asked blandly.
“Really.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He opened the truck door and started to climb in.
“That’s all? No I’m sorry. No I won’t let it happen again?”
He sighed and stood beside his open door. “Listen, I’ve had a very long day and don’t need to have some shrew—”
“Shrew?”
“—yapping at me because she doesn’t know how to parallel park.”
“My car was here first. You’re the one crawling up my bumper, and yet you have the nerve to say I don’t know how to park?”
“Well, I don’t know how you do it here in Pennsylvania, but in Ohio we try to come within a foot of the curb.”
“I’m within a foot of the curb. Heck, I’m practically on the curb. And how close I am to the curb doesn’t affect how others park and, more importantly, get out of their parking spaces.”
He climbed into the truck. “So maybe next time you should park on the parking ramp at the corner of Eighth and Peach. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
Libby knocked on the window, and reluctantly the parking idiot rolled the glass down. “Or, maybe,” she said, “next time you should park there when you visit the doctor’s.”
“That’s a heck of a hike to walk to the office every day.”
“You need to see the ophthalmologist every day?” Right. The man didn’t have glasses; she’d wager not even contacts. No, Mr. Perfect’s eyes were probably twenty-twenty. Who did he think he was fooling?”
“I am the ophthalmologist.”
“Dr. Gardner?” This was Mabel’s Dr. Hunk? Well, he might be eye candy, but he certainly left a bitter aftertaste.
He nodded. “And you are?”
“Your new neighbor, Libby McGuiness.”
“You have an apartment here?” He nodded toward the apartments that topped a number of the square’s businesses.
“No, I own Snips and Snaps, the beauty salon right next door to you. And since it appears we’ll both be parking here frequently, maybe you should invest in some parking lessons.”
“Only if you join me,” he said pleasantly.
Libby resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the man and attempted to sound mature. “Listen, sparring with you hasn’t been much of an exercise in wits, since you’ve only got half of yours, but I have to go. If you wouldn’t mind moving your truck…?”
“And I have to confess, this is the nicest welcome to the neighborhood I’ve had to date.”
A small shot of guilt coursed through her. After all, she might not want to go after Dr. Gardner in a romantic way, but she also didn’t want to alienate a neighbor.
Libby’s guilt totally evaporated when the parking-failure doctor shot her a snotty grin.
“With manners like yours, I’m sure you’re in store for even better ones,” Libby said before she stormed to her car.
Mabel wanted her to change her hair for hunky Dr. Gardner? Libby slammed the car door shut. The only thing she’d change was her parking space. She had a daughter to pick up and couldn’t wait on a daily basis for Dr. Gardner to move his truck.
The green truck slipped smoothly into Reverse then, and with the two feet of free space behind it, angled out of the parking space. Finally able to back up, Libby followed suit. It was time to go home.
A half hour later she stood in her kitchen with Meg, and the parking-idiot was all but forgotten.
“And then Jenny barfed, right there in the class. The janitor had to come clean it up. We had class in the cafeteria then because the room still smelled, but the cafeteria smelled almost as bad.”
Some things never changed. Bad cafeteria food was one of those things.
Libby glanced at her daughter’s brunette curls. Another thing that never changed, and never would, was the delight she got watching Meg. Every year she just seemed more wonderful. Her baby was ten years old. Where had the time gone?
“Do you have homework?” Libby asked to cover up the fact she was suddenly feeling nostalgic. Ten-year-olds didn’t appreciate being sighed over.
Meg frowned. “You ask me that every night. Maybe I did it at the Hendersons?”
Libby stirred the sauce and smiled. Her daughter was a normal ten-year-old girl in every sense of the word. She put the spoon down and said, “And maybe you didn’t. Which is it?”
“Fine. I’ll do my homework.” Meg’s hands moved much slower than when they recited Jenny’s barf experience.
“Dinner’s on in about fifteen minutes, so get to it,” Libby said as she signed.
Moving fingers. Dancing hands. Those signs were the only indication that there was something