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  They talked about my baked beans too? This meant they talked more than a little about me. This was more than a passing comment, “Oh you gotta try Mara’s barbeque chicken pizza. It’s the shit,” or something like that. This meant more than a few sentences. My baked beans were so good they had to be a whole other topic.

  Ohmigod!

  I remained silent and tried to level my breathing. Mitch kept working. Then he kept talking to the tap.

  “You got great taste in music, Mara.”

  Oh God. I liked my music. I liked it a lot. I played it a lot and sometimes I played it loud. Damn.

  “I’m sorry, do I play it too loudly that it bothers you?” I asked. His neck twisted to the side but his head was still bent so his eyes were on me but he wasn’t exactly facing me yet he was.

  “No, at least not so it’s annoying. I can hear it now ‘cause I’m in your house. The Allman Brothers, “Midnight Rider”, America’s, ‘Ventura Highway’, great taste.”

  God, of course. I was an idiot.

  “Right,” I whispered, “of course.”

  Then something happened to his eyes. Something I didn’t get but something that made a whoosh sweep through my belly all the same. It was stronger than normal and it felt a whole lot nicer.

  “Better than your taste in baseball teams,” he stated and it hit me that he was teasing me.

  Holy crap! Detective Mitch Lawson was in my bathroom teasing me!

  “Um…” I mumbled then bit my bottom lip and checked the impulse to flee the room.

  “Relax Mara,” he said softly, his eyes going super warm. “I don’t bite.”

  I wished he did. I really, really did. Just like I wished I was at least a Nine. He’d never settle for anything lower than a Nine because he didn’t have to. As a Nine, I might get the chance to find out if I could make him bite me and I’d get the chance to bite him.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  “But I am serious,” he went on, his eyes holding mine captive in a way I didn’t get but I still couldn’t look away no matter how much I wanted to.

  “About what?” I was losing track of the conversation.

  “I expect a knock on my door, you’re makin’ pizza or your beans.”

  “Um…okay,” I lied. There was no way I was knocking on his door when I made my pizza or beans. No way in hell. In fact, I was moving the first chance I could get.

  “Or just anytime you feel like company,” he kept going and I felt the room teeter.

  What did he mean by that?

  “Um…I’m kinda a loner,” I lied again and he grinned.

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Your imaginary friend who was over watchin’ TV last night sounded a lot like LaTanya though. Now she sings loud and it skates the edge of annoying. Luckily it’s more funny than annoying and it only lasts an hour.”

  Oh damn. He called me out on a lie. And double damn because I also sang with the kids on Glee. Hopefully he didn’t hear me but he wasn’t wrong. LaTanya thought she was Patti LaBelle’s more talented sister. She diva’ed her way through every episode of Glee that we’d watched together and we’d watched every episode of Glee together.

  “Um…” I repeated, my eyes sliding to the mirror but I wish they hadn’t because I could see his broad shoulders and muscled back leading to his slim hips. I could also see him straightening which meant I had his full attention. Not that I didn’t have it before just that now I really had it.

  “Mara,” I watched him call, my eyes at the mirror and they slid back to his then he kept talking. “What I’m sayin’ is, I get it that you’re shy…”

  Oh God. Totally a police detective. He had me figured out.

  He kept speaking and before he did, his body moved closer. I held my breath as he held my gaze. “But what I want you to know is that I’d like you to come over but because you’re shy, you gotta walk that breezeway, sweetheart. I’m tellin’ you you’re welcome but I made the first move, you need to make the next one. You with me here?”

  No. No, I wasn’t with him. He’d made the first move? What move?

  And he’d called me sweetheart which made the belly whoosh move through me like a tidal wave.

  I was pretty certain I was going to die right there, totally swept away.

  Then it I hit me as I stared into his beautiful eyes. They were so dark brown they seemed fathomless and if I wasn’t careful, I would drown in them. But I was careful and I knew who I was and what zone I lived in. So when it hit me, I understood.

  Derek and LaTanya were both Nines. Brent and Bradon were firm at Eight Point Fives in the gay world, the straight world or an alien world (both Brent and Bradon were gorgeous, very cool and very, very nice). But they all liked me. We were not only neighbors, we were good friends. And Mitch had been living across the way from me for four years. He was a good guy. He fixed faucets. He smiled warmly.

  Therefore, he was trying to be a good neighbor and maybe even a friend.

  “I’m with you,” I whispered.

  He came closer and when he spoke his voice dipped lower. “That mean you’re gonna knock on the door tellin’ me you’re makin’ pizza sometime soon?”

  “My barbeque chicken pizza takes planning and preparation,” I explained, his eyes flashed and I finished. “It’d have to be this Saturday when I have a day off.”

  He got even closer. I pulled in a breath because he was now really close. His head had to tip down really far and if I moved up on my toes, just a tiny bit, I could actually touch my lips to his.

  I felt another belly whoosh.

  “Works for me,” he murmured.

  Oh. Wow.

  “’Kay,” I breathed.

  He stood where he was. I stood and started drowning in his eyes. He didn’t move. I didn’t either. I felt my body lean towards his a centimeter such was his hot guy magnetic pull at the same time I licked my lip. His eyes dropped to my mouth but not before I saw them get even darker and more fathomless. My heart started to beat in my throat. His cell rang.

  Then his eyes closed and the spell was broken as he moved a bit away growling, “Fuck.”

  He pulled his cell out of his back jeans pocket, flipped it open and put it to his ear as his gaze came back to mine.

  “Lawson,” he said into his phone and I moved further away thinking distance was a good thing. He was a good neighbor. He didn’t need to be being neighborly and have the person he was being neighborly toward throw herself at him. That would be wrong. “Yeah, right,” he continued. “I said I’ll be there, I’ll be there. I got somethin’ I gotta do. When I’m done I’m on my way. Yeah?” He paused and kept hold of my gaze. “Right. Later.”

  He flipped his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket.

  “Work?” I asked.

  “Love it most the time, hate it right about now,” he answered.

  “Unh-hunh,” I mumbled like I understood what he meant when I didn’t. Changing a doohickey wasn’t the height of entertainment that you didn’t want to be torn away from to do work you loved.

  “Gotta get this done, Mara,” he told me.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  He stared at me and didn’t move. I did the same.

  Then his grin came back and he repeated, “Gotta get this done.”

  “I know,” I said. “You have to get to work.”

  “Yeah and I gotta get this done.”

  I blinked then said, “So, um…can I help?”

  “You can help by lettin’ me get this done.”

  What did he mean? I wasn’t stopping him.

  “Please,” I motioned to the sink, “carry on.”

  His grin became a smile. “Sweetheart, what I’m sayin’ is,” he leaned in, “you’re a distraction.”

  I was?

  Oh God! He was saying he didn’t need me hanging around chatting with him.

  I was such a dork!

  “I’ll, uh…go make dinner.”

  “Good idea.”

  I nodded. “And thanks, um�
��for, you know,” I motioned to the sink again, “helping out, especially when you’re so busy.”

  “Any time.”

  “Well, I hope it doesn’t happen again,” I pointed out the obvious. “But thanks anyway.”

  A sound came from deep in his chest. I realized it was an immensely attractive chuckle and he said, his voice deep and vibrating with his chuckle, “Mara.”

  There were many things I wished in my life. Many. Too many to count.

  But the top one at that moment in time, scratched at the top of that list in a way I knew it would stay there a good long while, was that I wished with everything that was me that my life would lead me to a new life. One where I would hear Detective Mitch Lawson say my name in his deep voice that vibrated with his laughter time and time and time again.

  “I’ll just go,” I whispered and turned to leave.

  “I’ll show you the valve to turn off the water another time,” he offered to my back.

  “Thanks,” I said to my bedroom.

  Then I was out the door.

  Detective Mitch Lawson left not ten minutes later. He was carrying his toolbox. He lifted a hand in a wave as he walked through my living room-slash-dining-room space. But he stopped at the door, his eyes leveled on mine and he said two words.

  “Saturday. Pizza.”

  Then all I saw was my closed door.

  Chapter Two

  Pizza

  I sprinkled the cheddar cheese liberally around the edges of the pizza dough to be certain when it cooked the dough would puff up. Those edges would be thick and soft, like they always were, and crusted with yummy cheese. Then I stood back, swiping grated cheddar cheese residue from my hands.

  I stared at the pizza. It was a work of art. My barbeque chicken pizza was great but I could tell this one was better than any I’d made before. I’d put the chicken into marinade yesterday morning, poking the breasts with the tip of a knife so the barbeque would sink deep. I hadn’t broiled it in the broiler. Instead I’d grilled it on my cast iron grill pan that had been seasoned with much use so the chicken pieces had deep charcoal grill marks. It was kind of a pain in the ass to do it that way but I knew it would taste a whole lot better. I’d bought the expensive black olives and taken time to chop the mushrooms fine. I used twice as much cheese and I bought the expensive kind of that too.

  Just looking at it, not to brag or anything, I knew this particular pizza could win awards. This particular pizza was fit for a king and it was definitely fit for Ten Point Five Detective Mitch Lawson.

  * * * * *

  My faucet had broken on Wednesday.

  On Thursday, I’d gone to work and because I was brimming with my encounter with Mitch, I had to tell someone. In a moment of quiet at the store, I grabbed Roberta and we curled up on one of the display beds. There, I told her everything (except my classification system of Ones to Tens and the fact that I was secretly in love with him, now more than ever).

  * * * * *

  I had been at Pierson’s for seven years and Roberta had worked there for five.

  She started out as a part-timer, doing something to bring in a little extra money for the household and to get her out and about so she didn’t spend twenty-four, seven with her kids. After that her husband decided he was in love with his best friend’s wife. He moved out. Then he moved from their home in the suburbs of Denver to Portland and suddenly Roberta was the primary breadwinner for herself and her three kids.

  Our boss and the second generation Mr. Pierson who owned Pierson’s Mattress and Bed was a top-notch guy. He was a family man, loyal to his family and to his family of workers so he put her on full-time even though it was a hit for all his salespeople. We didn’t need another full-time salesperson and we worked mostly on commission.

  Barney lost his mind and bitched about it all the time to anyone who would listen. But I figured Mr. Pierson knew Barney’s time was short since Barney was a dick and like anyone, Mr. Pierson didn’t like dicks. But since Barney was a good salesperson Mr. Pierson didn’t really have a reason to get rid of him that was legal. That was, until Barney tried to make things so difficult for Roberta that she’d have to leave. He did this by being an even bigger dick to her. I talked her into lodging a complaint, then Barney was gone and all was well in the world of Pierson’s Mattress and Bed.

  Roberta had been a Seven when I met her because she was pretty, petite, with thick brunette hair and a little extra weight that she held well. She was also happy with her family and her husband in their suburban house with two cars and vacations to Disney World. She’d slipped down to a Five Point Five when she got angry and moody and hated the world and mostly all the men in it after her husband left. Now she was back up and surpassed the Seven to be an Eight because she’d settled into her new life; her kids were great kids and came through the divorce really well because she was a great Mom. She’d realized her husband had always been a big jerk, she’d just not noticed it so much because she loved him. Therefore, she had come through to the other side stronger; an independent woman with a happy non-nuclear family and was secure in the knowledge that she was a good Mom and better off without her jerk of a husband.

  Oh, and she had a new boyfriend and he was really cool.

  When she heard about Mitch, it was Roberta that talked me into making the pizza.

  “You have to!” she’d nearly shrieked. She did this because I’d waxed on perhaps a little too enthusiastically about Mitch’s looks, his warm smile and his neighborly behavior.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He freaks me out.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Johnny Depp came in and fixed my faucet then told me he wanted to try my pizza that would freak me out too. But I’d still make him my freaking pizza.”

  Johnny Depp was hot, very much so, but he was no comparison to Mitch. Too skinny, not tall enough and I doubted when he said my name it would sound as good as it did when Mitch said it.

  “That’s easy to say,” I returned. “Johnny Depp is never going to fix your faucet. Mitch is my neighbor.” I leaned in closer to her. “You should have seen me Roberta. I was a total dork. I made an absolute fool out of myself. I don’t need to sit down to pizza with him. I might drop some on my shirt or something worse. I might talk with my mouth full. I could do anything, say anything, he freaks me out that much.”

  She examined my face and stated, “Seems to me he didn’t think you were a dork.”

  “He did, I’m sure he did. He’s just nice. You don’t come right out and tell someone they’re a dork, especially not if you’re nice,” I returned.

  “If he thought you were a dork and that was a turn off to him, he wouldn’t ask for your pizza,” she pointed out.

  I leaned back sharply and stared at her because this point held merit.

  She kept speaking. “Maybe he likes dorks. Especially cute ones, because if you were a dork, I bet you were a cute one.”

  I kept staring at her. No one liked dorks. Even cute ones.

  Did they?

  She grabbed my hand. “Mara, make him pizza. I know Destry jacked you around because Destry’s a jackass and that’s what jackasses do. But not all men are jackasses. It took me a while to learn that but I’m here to tell you it’s true.”

  She was there to tell me it was true. She’d been seeing her boyfriend Kenny for seven months. He was a really nice guy and wasn’t hard on the eyes. He had two kids of his own and he was a good Dad.

  But I didn’t understand why she was talking about Destry, the Five Point Five who broke my heart.

  Pizza with Mitch wasn’t a date. First he’d never ask me out on a date. Second Mitch was the kind of guy that if he wanted a date, he’d ask for one. If he wanted anything from a woman, he’d ask for it and get it. I knew that with the number of Seven to Tens that frequented his apartment. A date with Mitch would be a date, not coming over for pizza.

  “I don’t know,” I hedged.

  “Make him pizza,” she urged.

  “Really, Ro
berta, I’m not sure,” I told her.

  “Make him pizza,” she pushed. “You aren’t pledging your troth. You’re making a nice, handsome guy pizza. So you drop barbeque sauce on your shirt. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.” She squeezed my hand. “What would be the end of the world is if you stuck yourself in that apartment with your candles and music, having LaTanya over for Glee, going over to B and B’s for tarot card nights, coming to my place for action movie marathons and that was it in your life. No risks. No chances. Nothing that made your heart beat faster. Nothing that made your toes curl. Nothing that was exciting. Nothing that gave you a thrill. That, honey…” she gave me another hand squeeze, “would be the end of the world.”

  “I don’t need a thrill or not that kind of thrill. That kind of thrill is not for the likes of me,” I explained and her face turned funny as she looked at me.

  “Everyone needs that kind of thrill, Mara, and I don’t understand what you mean ‘the likes of you’. The likes of you should be having those kinds of thrills all the time. Honestly, I’ve wondered. LaTanya has wondered. B and B have wondered. Even Mr. Pierson wonders why you aren’t living a thrill a minute.”

  I didn’t understand what she was saying but explaining to her what the likes of me meant was explaining to her my One to Ten Classification System. I didn’t want to do that, especially explaining where I felt I came in on the scale. I’d learned not to share this information because friends who cared about you always tried to talk you into believing you were so far up that scale it was unreal. My oldest friend Lynette, who still lived back in Iowa, was the only person I’d told about my system. She even tried to talk me into believing I topped the scale at Mitch’s rank of Ten Point Five. She was convinced of it and tried to convince me. I knew she was wrong and I knew she was convinced of this because she liked me. I liked her too. She was a definite Eight Point Five. When she was in a good mood and her sunny disposition shone even more brightly, she soared up to a Nine Point Five so she had nothing to worry about.

  I couldn’t wander around in a daze of thinking I was in another league which meant making the mistake of making a move toward someone out of my league. This, as I mentioned, only led to a broken heart.