The Prince Charming List. Kathryn Springer
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elephant parts, locked the door and dashed up the back stairs.
“Dex?” I burst in, expecting to find him wrench-deep in home improvement.
He was asleep on the sofa. With Snap wrapped around his neck like a shawl. Was he hungover? And did I have the authority to fire Alex’s un-handyman?
“Rise and shine, you two.”
Dex opened his eyes—he was still wearing his glasses—and stared at me like he’d never seen me before.
“Come on. Wake up. Time to scale the reality wall,” I told him. I only had half an hour to eat lunch and get my elephant fixed and his nap was wasting precious seconds.
“I fell asleep.” He peeled Snap off his neck and sat up.
“Really?” I rolled my eyes. On the inside. I’d been well trained not to do it on the outside. It wasn’t polite. And it had been grounds for an hour of detention at His Light Christian Academy. “Do you think you can fix this?”
“What was it?”
“It is Bernice’s elephant chair. A booster for preschool kids.” I spread the pieces out on the coffee table to give him an idea how they fit together. “And I need it back by one o’clock. If you’re not too busy.”
I couldn’t prevent the tiny bit of sarcasm that oozed into my question. Sorry, Lord!
“Did you try it out or something?” He knelt down to examine the damage and I glowered down at him. Only a guy totally unaware of the statistics on eating disorders would make a comment like that!
“It will go down in history as the place where Nicole and Natalie fought a battle over nail stickers a few minutes ago.”
“You didn’t give both of them a set of stickers?” He picked up the elephant’s trunk and studied it. I couldn’t help but notice that almost every one of his fingers was wrapped in a colorful Band-Aid, like graffiti on an overpass.
“I did give them each a set of stickers but one of them said her ponies were better than kitties because the kitties were purple and everyone knows kitties aren’t really purple….”
Dex tilted his head. He had the same expression on his face that the girls’ mom had had. “You didn’t give them the same stickers?”
“One wanted ponies, the other wanted kitties. I thought I was being nice.”
“You thought you were being nice. What you really were being was deluded. Any bank teller at the drive-up window will tell you that you give a green sucker to every kid in the minivan. It’s known as the same game.” Dex picked up the hammer he must have dropped when he fell asleep and tapped in a loose nail.
I felt the need to defend myself. “How was I supposed to know that?”
His eyebrows disappeared as they dipped behind his glasses. “Brothers and sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
“Didn’t you babysit to pad your 401(k)?”
He looked serious. I tried not to smile. “No.”
“Can you get me the wood glue in the bucket over there?” Dex rocked back on his heels. “So how did the nail-sticker war end?”
At last I could redeem myself. “I gave them each another set.”
“No kidding.” Dex pushed a nail between his lips, but it looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“What?”
“That was probably their scheme all along.”
“There was no scheme.” I rolled my eyes again. This time on the outside. “They’re four years old! They were upset. Natalie thought she killed the elephant. I wanted them to stop crying. Case closed.” It suddenly occurred to me that those tears had stopped awfully fast when I’d handed them another set of stickers. The stickers they’d wanted earlier but I’d told them they couldn’t have.
Dex nodded the second I became enlightened. “Uhhuh.”
“They set me up.” I’d been scammed. Conned. Taken advantage of.
“I need some more nails.”
Dex had a courtside seat to view my humiliation and it was clear he was hanging out at the concession stand. This was the upside of conversing with someone who lived in an alternate universe.
While Dex pounded on the chair, I worked my way through half a box of crackers and the three pieces of string cheese I’d found in the fridge.
“You’re eating my lunch.” Dex flicked a glance at me as I inched closer to check his progress. I had less than five minutes to get back to the salon.
“I’m sorry.” I shoved the last hunk of string cheese toward him. “Here.”
“It’s all yours.” He leaned away from me and jumped to his feet.
As good as new. Except for the extra fifty nails that formed an uneven line across the back. But I wasn’t going to be picky.
“Thanks.” I wrapped my arms around the elephant and hauled it toward the door. “You saved my life.”
He shrugged. “It’s your first day. Cut yourself some slack.”
“Yeah, you, too.” I couldn’t resist.
He lifted his hands and studied the Band-Aids. “That obvious, huh?”
I mimicked him and shrugged. Then I waited for him to apologize for falling asleep on my couch and beg me to let him keep his job.
“I better get back to work. I didn’t get much done this morning.” That’s all he said.
“You probably should take it easy fighting those kickboxing kangaroos all night,” I muttered.
“Video games?” Dex’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I never play them.”
Yeah, right.
Chapter Four
not sure I can make dinr. (Me)
whatsup (Bree)
2 wrds. mrs. kirkwood. (Me)
Recovry group at 7. Wear jeans. (Bree)
Mrs. Kirkwood walked in at four o’clock on the dot and there was no way this pleasant-looking woman could be a high-maintenance customer. She had a soft swirl of snow-white hair that reminded me of the meringue on Mom’s banana-cream pie and her cheeks were as round and smooth as a baby’s. If she hadn’t been wearing a pink cotton dress and dainty sandals, she would’ve looked like a storybook drawing of Mrs. Claus.
She hopped up in the chair and her smile was so sweet it should’ve been accompanied by a warning from the American Dental Association. Maybe Bernice had been right to schedule Natalie and Nicole in the morning, but Mrs. Kirkwood must have been a mistake….
“Aren’t you that girl Bernice gave up for adoption?”
I had turned my back for a second to organize my workspace when her sugarcoated missile struck my starboard side.
“I’m Heather Lowell.” My name was the only thing I could come up with when I spun around and found myself caught in the dead center of Mrs. Kirkwood’s lasers…oops, those were her eyes.
“I suppose that movie star is your dad? You have the same nose.” Mrs. Kirkwood patted my hand. “I’m surprised you have to work after falling into all that money.”
Suddenly I knew why Bernice had scheduled Mrs. Kirkwood as my first appointment. She must have known I’d need the entire day to recover. Lorelei Christy—my original four o’clock—was supposed to be the cheerful memory at the end of my first day. To soothe me after Florence Kirkwood—the nightmare at the beginning of it.
“Bernice