Daddy's Perfect Match

Chapter 4

The following morning

Charlotte's Point of View

There's nothing sneaky about it. Bringing cookies to someone who just moved into the the neighborhood is neighborly! Slightly less neighborly when you've been watching them naked(yum!) and you know that their fiancé just left them but... Still neighborly.
I slip on my poofiest pink tutu, an apron, the soundtrack to Tangled, and get to work on some chocolate chip cookies.

I'm spinning around in my tutu all over the kitchen. I never wear my tutu out of the house, it seems too childish, too embarassing. But I'm safe in my kitchen with my fuzzy socks.
"You know what my cookies need?"
I think, as I bounce from the mixer to the cabinet.
"Sprinkles!"

One hour later.

God I'm so stupid. I was so giddy and wrapped up in my pink little world that I put pink and glitter sprinkles in the cookie batter!
They do look absolutely fabulous but these cookies so not fit the mature and sexy image I wanted to promote to this mature and sexy man.
I wanna cry. I can't believe I thought I could project some sultry mature persona. I think of the other girls my age. They know how to toss their hair and pretend like they don't care whether a guy likes them. All I want is to be liked, loved, but I'm not sure I deserve it.
But I do deserve humiliation. I slam the cookies on a serving plate. I start heading towards his house like a death march. I don't even take off my tutu. He'll see me like this and dismiss me as stupid or the silly child I am and maybe it will cure me of this awful crush.

James's Point of View

I should feel sadder than I do. But this was inevitable. I make myself a pot of coffee, strong, an omelet, and as I rifle through the fridge for ingredients, I through out every last leaf of Cynthia's kale. I'm not working today. Today, I mourn for the vanilla life I thought I could lead with Cynthia. Tomorrow, I pull myself together.

I'm reading the New York Times and mumbling to myself like the crazy, lonely old man my kinky self will probably become when I hear furious little footsteps coming up my front walk. I swing open the door, coffee in hand to the cutest site. The neighbor with the big eyes and the lace curtains is in a tutu and fuzzy knee socks, glaring down at a plate of cookies, stomping towards my door, and muttering furiously to herself.

"Stupid immature stupid stupid"

She says it in time with her steps as she clomps up my porch.

"Can I have a cookie?"
Her head snaps up and her blush glows like I turned on a red bulb. It illuminates the tips of her ears and the sweet little hollow of her cleavage. I guess she didn't see me there.
"I was just.. Yes. Um. I sorta.. Well I kind of made them for you"
When I saw her, so sweet, so perfect, so agonizingly near, I thought she would just be another thing I couldn't have. She would never be interested in a dirty older man. Is this a sign she's interested? Or am I just reading something into a nice neighbors gesture?
"Thank you...." I snag one of the plate. oh god they're are almost as sweet as her, studded with pink and magenta sparkles sprinkles. They crunch when I bite down. I look her in the eye.
"It's, um, Charlotte" Charlotte. I love it. It's perfect.
"These are delicious Charlotte. I'm James"
"Thank you James" she peeps, still glowing an appealing shade of crimson.
Well I have to try. I want to hear her say my name over and over. If she's a little and all those sprinkles are a sign of affection, I might have to go to church and kiss the fucking cross.
"Would you like to come in? I have some Swiss miss hot chocolate."
"That's the best kind!" She chirps. she takes a step and I can see her suddenly remember that women aren't supposed to go alone into a strange mans house. I smile at her. She steps in further. Hallelujah.

Charlottes Point of View

I grip the cookie plate till I think it will shatter and step from the front entrance to the kitchen. It looks lovely but unused, a few final packing boxes on the edge of a marble countertop. One lonely dish is drying by the sink.
James follows me into the kitchen. He looks almost... Nervous? Do men like him get nervous?
He opens the half empty refrigerator, takes out some milk, pours it into a kettle, and puts it on the stove. Fancy. I just use the microwave at home.
He turns and smiles at me. He looks happy and a little cautious. The phone rings in the distance.
"I'm so sorry sweety, that's my work phone. Hot chocolate mix is in the cabinet to the left of the sink, mugs to the right." He speeds off and I'm left wondering did he just call me sweety?

I swing open the cabinet and snoop a little. There's whey powder, chia seeds, protein bars that look like bricks, those little energy gel packets for horrifying activities like endurance trail running. ew.
The way he looked me up and down had me fooled but of course he's not into me. He wants some fit, lean goddess who eats this crap. I eat my vegetables but I can't choke down this stuff and I'm sure not lean or muscular. I try sucking in my little tummy. Better?
Not better. There's a reason he offered me hot cocoa instead of a bowl of kale or something. He thinks I'm a silly child. Maybe even a fat silly child. I grab the Swiss Miss.
The kettle starts letting out a breathy whistle, then louder, then screaming at me!
I jump. I hate this part. I am not good in even tiny stressful situations.
I go to grab the handle of the kettle but as I walk it toward my mug it starts burning me! I drop it and hear the awful clang as it lands sideways, hot milk wetting my Mary Janes.
Uh oh.

James's Point of View

I hear the kettle whistle and the clang when my baby girl- shit no, stop thinking that - drops it. I'm running before I even think, pushing my office chair out the way, nearly running right into a door.
I skid in. The floor is slippery with milk, the kettle is on the floor, and Charlotte is holding her right hand and looking like she's about to cry.
"I need your help James"
Yeah, she's perfect.