I wake up when my alarm goes off. My eyes wander around my room, which is neat and orderly and inviting. I can still smell the clean, fresh smell of the pine cleanser that I used in my bathroom yesterday.

Ahhh…today is a workday but life is good. I feel rested and better than I have in a long time.

And best of all…Blake!

Blake and I are an item….!!!

But….ohhh, wait a second.

Shit…yeah.

Blake.

And…Angel.

The lovely, sunny feeling I woke up with sours into a painful lump in my gut.

Blake has an “Angel” and it’s not me.

I lay still, re-playing it all in my head. Soon, a feeling of sadness overwhelms me and tears come into my eyes.

Why me? Why can’t something good happen for me? Why does the first worthy man I’ve really, really liked…and who likes me back…have to have strings attached?

Mom was right. He has baggage. Of course he does!

A single, hot tear escapes my eye and blurs my vision. The bad feeling swells in my chest, the knot in my throat becoming tighter and more painful as more tears gather.

But…but…somehow… the sadness and depression doesn’t crest; somehow, it doesn’t overwhelm me.

Those tears don’t overflow.

Something else happens instead.

I begin to feel…annoyed.

Irritated.

Kind of…pissed off, actually. Not even at Blake, really.

No, it’s more so, at myself. Or the situation.

Or maybe I’m just tired of being sad.

Because, look at me. Crying, first thing in the morning. All this bullshit and angst; all this stress and anxiety; all this work and worry and loss of sleep…for what?

A job and a man.

Both of which are replaceable. Maybe not…easily so. And maybe replacing them is not the most desirable thing. Okay.

But, the bottom line is still that yes, there are other jobs out there.

And, as much as it hurts to think it, there are other men out there, too.

I lay totally still, thinking. Letting the truth of it sink in.

I remember that I don’t have to make any decisions right this second…no. Why should I? Who needs that kind of pressure?

Not me. In fact, if it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna crack.

And who’s putting all this pressure on me?

No one but myself.

And what did Dad always say about that? There’s only one person you can ever control: Yourself.

Right. It’s the only thing I can ever change. Myself. My own attitude, my own outlook.

So that’s what I’m gonna have to do.

I can keep my job and my paycheck and play it by ear, unless, and until, I can’t stand it for another second.

Until then, I can try to let go of my fears about that.

And Blake…well, that’ll require more guts and determination, emotionally speaking. But I can try. I don’t have to sink into depression or flail around, terrified of a broken heart.

I’ll pretend that thinking about him doesn’t make my heart pang in my chest. Fake it till you make it, right?

Right.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. As I do, I lift my arms and reach over my head, letting my body elongate itself in a deep, satisfying stretch. God, that feels good!

And when I exhale, I imagine all the icky doubts and fears escaping along with that lungful of air.

And a very simple idea begins to form.

If what attracts Blake is a feminine woman who is willing to accept his help, his concern, his loving attention…then who am I to argue?

Okay, so I have some competition here. A woman in California still has a hold over him. His Angel, someone whom he still talks to regularly.

He’s more than willing to help her, isn’t he? And she’s obviously willing to accept his help.

Why should I play my cards any differently?

Because, the fact is, despite whatever’s going on with her, she’s part of his past. Old hat.

I have no hold on him, no right to expect anything, but he’s courting me nonetheless.

Me.

She can’t mean all that much to him, or else he wouldn’t have eyes for anyone else, would he?

Hell no! In fact, what man would even agree to move almost all the way across this vast country, leaving behind a woman who had a total hold on his heart?

Plus, I have something she doesn’t. Something very important.

I’m here…and she’s not.

That’s right. He can call her every night if he wants. But he sees me every day. He can touch me, smell me, breath me in.

Maybe it doesn’t matter if he’s keeping his options open with her.

He wants to see me; he wants to be with me; and yes he wants to have sex with me. Of course he does.

And I want him, too.

So, maybe…maybe I should be helping him…helping move things forward instead of being bummed out and twisted up over it.

Being all depressed and angsty is only going to push him away.

I can be fun, and pleasant, and desirable, and valuable, just like Mom says. Of course, a woman like that would be attractive to any man. Much more so than a weepy, suspicious, jealous drama queen! Of course.

I can relax and be myself and let go of the outcome. Or give it my best damn try, at least.

That’s the only way to be anyway. Everything else is just too much damn work.

And besides…why should he have all the fun?

Maybe…everything will be okay. I can do this. One step at a time. Just take things as they come.

I shower and do my hair and make-up, getting a soft, natural look just right. Getting dressed is easy, especially now that I know what kind of clothes knock Blake’s socks off. I don a knee-length, checked skirt in muted gray and black, and pair that with a brand new, tailored red blouse and wedge heels.

The girl in the mirror looks pretty good, even to me.

Yes. Maybe this is all a lot easier than I was making it out to be, in my head.

I join my mother in the kitchen for breakfast. She’s still in a good mood too. She tries to ask me about my silly behavior last night. I tell her I was just over-tired. She gives me a pointed look but lets it go.

We sit at the kitchen table, bathed in a shaft of morning sunlight, chatting about Blake as we eat our toast and have coffee together.

* * *

Half an hour later, Mom drops me off at work. I wave goodbye and sashay into the office with a smile on my face.

As usual, Flora’s the only one in the office this early in the morning.

“Good morning, sex-ay!” Flora says as I walk through the inner office doors. “You look grrrrr-eat!” She whistles appreciatively. Grinning, I give my hips a little shimmy in response.

“Why, thank-you” I say. “You look pretty damn good yourself.” And she does.

“Still feeling better, are we?” She’s beaming at me.

“Yup! A lot better.” I beam back.

“Good. Hate to poop in your corn flakes, but you’ve got a ton of catching up to do, chica. I wouldn’t wanna be you, today.”

“Oh, I know,” I say. “I’ve already gone through my messages and emails.” She grimaces sympathetically.

“The board members are coming in for an all-day meeting today.” She points at the thick pile of file folders on her desk. “They’re auditing one of the jobs. I’ve been pulling paperwork for them. Probably be busy with that most of the day. ”

Good. Less time to gossip about Blake.

“I’d better get right to it,” I say, heading into my office. I’m glad to have a lot of work to keep me occupied today.

“Have fun, dude,” she says, and goes back behind her desk. I give her a wink and a nod and then close my office door behind me.

My phone rings. It’s Blake’s ringtone. The sound of it sends a ribbon of pure nervousness through my being.

I fumble my phone out of my bag but by the time I get it into my hands, the call goes into voice mail.

So much for being Miss Take Charge and Have Fun, I think to myself, ruefully.

Then my office line rings. Taking a deep breath, I pick it up and answer it as professionally as I can.

But it’s not Blake. It’s a client, one whose urgent messages I listened to on the way in this morning. They need answers as soon as possible, which means I have to research their problem and get right back to them.

Thinking I can dispense with their query quickly, I fire up my computer and begin my research.

It ends up taking a lot longer than I anticipated. By the time I get back to the client with a satisfactory answer, it’s an hour later. Blake still hasn’t put in an appearance at the office and hasn’t called me back.

Strange.

Fearing the worst, I check his message. But it’s short and cheerful: First, he explains that he’s having my car towed to Murray’s Garage, who will take a look at it as soon as possible and let me know what they think will need to be done.

Second, since he’s not sure that I had time to eat, he wonders if I would like him to grab me a coffee and a take-out sandwich for breakfast. He signs off, saying to call him back and let him know.

I call him back. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hi babe,” he says cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”

“Great! Sorry I didn’t call you back right away. I had to call the safety guy at Renfrew. They had an emergency.”

“Aw, it’s cool sweetie, no worries,” he says, his voice tender. “When I left that message, I was on my way in to the office. Or so I thought. But something came up and I had to go to the Heathford site. It’ll probably be lunchtime before I make it into the office now.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I ate this morning, but, thanks for thinking of me.”

“No problem. Want me to grab you something for lunch on my way in? I could stop at Arnie’s diner, they have chicken parmesan on special today.”

“Sure, that’d be nice. Thanks Blake, I really appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. See ya later.”

I hang up and sit staring into space for a moment. His sweetness is totally disarming. My heart is going pitter-patter and I’m completely engulfed in warm, fuzzy feelings.

And also, rather aroused.

Honestly, I wonder if I’d know my elbow from a hole in the ground right now.

Shaking my head, I give up trying to figure my feelings out and just throw myself into catching up with my workload.

* * *

I lose track of time as my focus narrows into the flow of work; phone calls, emails, research and writing up reports blending into each other as the morning hours pass. Flora touches base with me once to see how I’m feeling. But otherwise, I remain deeply engrossed with work.

I don’t notice the passing time until my stomach growls, hunger pangs intruding into my consciousness. I’m surprised to note that it’s past the noon hour already.

I find myself enjoying being so deeply involved in my work. And I realize that this is one of the first days since I started here that I haven’t felt completely lost at sea; haven’t felt like I’m barely holding my own in the demanding scope of knowledge, expertise and ability necessary in this position.

Maybe my skills and training are starting to mesh, to fall into place in a way that I can finally put to use in this position.

It’s a good feeling.

I stand up and stretch, and then head to the ladies room to use the facilities and freshen up.

Walking back through the main area, I’m debating texting Blake to see if he’s still bringing lunch when Flora emerges from the meeting room, closing the door behind her. “Hey, girl,” she says, going behind the reception desk and picking up her purse. “I’m getting lunch for the board members,” she says, gesturing towards the room with a thumb. “You want anything?”

“Nope, I’m good thanks,” I answer.

Her gaze shifts behind me. “Oh, here comes Blake,” she says. I turn to watch him approach the building.

My heart does a little flip. Clad in his regular work attire, he looks hot as usual. He’s carrying a brown paper bag and a cardboard drink tray holding two cups.

“Aww,” Flora says, her gaze shifting back to me. “Looks like he’s bringing lunch for two. Is that for you?” I nod. “Hm. Guess I was wrong…maybe he did miss you yesterday.” She smiles, mock-innocently. “Can’t wait till he gets a load of how you look today,” she teases.

“Okay, get going, you shit-disturber,” I say, shaking my head and smiling. But my heart keeps beating faster. I hope he likes my look today, too.

Flora hurries out, passing Blake in the vestibule, where he juggles the bag and tray of drinks in a mighty attempt to hold the door open for her, even though his hands are full and hers are empty.

Aww! Dammit. Why’s he gotta be so sweet?

She pushes the door open for him instead, and stands aside, smiling, so he can go through it. Chuckling, he thanks her, takes a few steps forward, looks up and sees me.

He does a double-take and his step falters. His gaze goes down to my toes and then back up to my eyes.

“Good afternoon, Jennifer,” he says quietly, his voice rich with admiration. His eyes are shining with that look again. “You’re looking well today.”