Holding Out for a Hero (2 page)

Kevin Costner is great, but for some reason, in this vivid daydream, Robin’s got blue eyes and gorgeous, dark, McDreamy hair. He sounds delicious and smells even better. Held secure on his lap atop his mount, we’d gallop off into the sunset, and I never have to pretend to agree with Eunice again. Life would be so good.

“What are you smiling about?” Mr. Walker snapped.

I blinked to return my focus. “I was just thinking about the day you become Mayor and turn this city around.”

“Darn straight I will.” He finally sat down at his desk, only to glare at me with irritation wrinkling his brow. “Well? What are you waiting for? I’m not paying you to just sit there. Get to work.”

Yeah, I know, with men like Eunice around, it’s a shocker I’m still single at thirty-three. He may be only forty-one and very good-looking with distinguished salt-n-pepper hair, but in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a first-class jerk. Like the Chai-spilling-cab-stealer.

With the fanciful Robin Hood daydream still vivid in my mind, I returned to my desk and decided to make Bonnie Tyler’s
Holding Out For A Hero
my theme song. Only trouble with that approach is there just aren’t enough heroes to go around.

I mean, Cinderella has dibs on Prince Charming, Beauty has the Beast, King Arthur loves Guinevere, Lois Lane’s got Clark Kent, Mr. Incredible married ElastiGirl, and Marion captured Robin’s heart a long time ago; to name a few. Every fairytale has its Happily Ever After, or it wouldn’t be a fairytale by definition.

Was it so much to ask for my own?

I drummed my fingers against my lips, giving the situation some serious thought as my elbow rested on the stack of research files patiently awaiting my attention. Come to think of it, since Prince Charming couldn’t seem to make up his mind between his glass-slippered princess, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty, I could have a chance in that story. I’d be the first to admit I’m no Sleeping Beauty, but I could give Snow White a fair run for her money even with my red hair.

No, on second thought, fickle Prince Charming isn’t good enough for me. When I consider the fact that I’d give him my heart and soul, till death do us part,
and take those vows seriously
, I won’t settle for anything less than a hero who would die for me.

Lunchtime arrived and I scooped up my bag for the walk to Washington Square Park. My PB & J would taste better in the sunshine while I discovered exactly what was the trouble with heroes. Seriously, I owed this research to myself so I could decide whether or not to hold out for one, right?

Nalinda passed me in the hall on my way out. “Did you see my grandmother?” she asked, a note of wonder in her unusually nasally voice. “I told her last night that I felt a cold coming on, and she came all the way in from Queens to bring me homemade chicken soup.”

Ah, that explained the kettle and pot holders. “That’s so sweet.”

“I know, she’s the best.” Nalinda smiled on the way back to her office, basking in the afterglow of her grandmother’s loving care.

A small ache throbbed in my chest. I would love to have someone who’d do that for me. I’m an only child, and my parents retired to Arizona three years ago, the quintessential cliché; they couldn’t take the cold and snow anymore. Besides a couple of good friends whose jobs kept them just as busy as me, I navigated the streets of New York all alone. Most days I didn’t mind.

Then there’s today.

I sat on the sunny park bench, but instead of opening the damp, Chai-scented book in my hands, I found myself thinking back over the morning and realized what a colossal idiot I am. Mr. Apology was so sincere in his remorse for something he didn’t even do. I should’ve been nicer to him, but no, I was too worried about being late so my boss wouldn’t be upset. And you know what I realized today, anyway? Eunice won’t fire me. No one else would put up with his crap.

What I really should’ve done was let the gorgeous man from the sidewalk deliver that coffee to my desk. Maybe I could’ve figured out why he looked familiar beyond the sexy hair. Struck up a conversation. Given him my number.

Oh, yeah—and found out his name.

I finished my PB & J and decided the next time a man was nice to me I’d be nice right back. To add emphasis, I got up to dunk my sandwich wrapper in the trash barrel. Kind of a throw out the old, bring in the new improved Kelsie. One step away, my heel wedged in a crack. Having already leaned forward to toss my garbage, I walked right out of my shoe and stepped in the remains of a half-eaten hot dog next to the can.

Soggy bun and ketchup squished up between my toes.

Eww
. Fighting my gag reflex, I retrieved the shoe I’d just purchased during yesterday’s lunch and sat on the closest bench to rummage through my bag. Where’s a darn tissue when I needed it? Then I remembered I’d used them earlier to wipe Chai tea off my things. Again, I was not surprised; it just went with my day.

Two designer-dressed women pushing luxury strollers passed by, and one eyed my foot with an expression of horrified disgust. From a distance, I bet the ketchup could’ve passed for blood. Now, do you think either one of them, or anyone else for that matter, would offer assistance with their precious bottled water?

That’s okay, I didn’t expect it, either.

A giggling child caught my attention, running as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him away from a woman who’d given chase. Mother or nanny? The child’s glee brought a smile to my face, until I realized he bee-lined for the busy street.

My heart lodged in my throat. I jumped to my feet, horrified to realize the woman would never catch him in time.

With barely a second to spare, a young man who’d jogged past me a moment ago dropped his water bottle and snatched the boy out of danger. The frantic woman grasped the child to her chest and collapsed to her knees.
Mother
. My own heart pounded so loud I barely heard her tearfully thank the man who’d saved her son.

I don’t feel bad about my ketchup toes. If
he’d
stopped to offer his water to wash my foot, that precious little boy might have been hit by a car. Carrying my unread book and damaged shoe, I teeter-tottered back to work, feeling like a jerk and beginning to wonder if I didn’t break a toe kicking the copier this morning. None of it seemed important after what I witnessed, but it still hurt.

The afternoon crawled by and I found myself contemplating the hero thing again. Earlier I was being goofy about it, but now I think I finally figured out the
true
trouble with heroes. Ask a hundred people their definition of a hero, and I believe you’d get a majority of similar answers. Our society is so enamored with Superheroes, and great BIG gestures that are easily recognizable and indisputably heroic, that the little everyday, wonderful things people do for others often times go unnoticed.

Superheroes are great, but they’re not real.

The man who saved that child is a hero, no doubt about that. He might even be super. But you know, so is Nalinda’s grandmother—to Nalinda. And Mr. Apology’s brother—to his wife. (At least, he better be.) And Mr. Apology himself, for trying to make things right despite my ungrateful attitude. Oh, to turn back time.

On my walk home, I looked around and was amazed at the whole new world before me. I searched for anything good and found signs at every turn. Friends hugging when they said hello, a woman assisting an elderly man onto the bus, couples holding hands, a little girl gazing at her father with hero-worship in her eyes.

I now realized we must look carefully every day, or we might end up missing what’s right in front of us.

Because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking, I stepped on an uneven section of sidewalk, twisted my ankle, and broke the heel of my unscuffed shoe. You know what? I didn’t even care. Laughing quietly to myself, I took off both shoes, stuffed them in my bag, and limped barefoot the last block.

I reached my building and started up the stairs a little after six, hoping there’d be hot water for a long soak in the tub, but not holding my breath. For some reason, a noise behind me caught my attention. I’d like to think it was because I was more tuned in to my surroundings after my epiphany.

Squinting across the street into the dim alley, I saw some kids harassing a homeless man. They laughed as they pulled at his clothes and kicked him where he lay on the ground. I knew his name was Jerry because last month I heard someone say “Good morning, Jerry,” to him. I’d kept walking that morning, pretending I didn’t see him, because homeless people made me uncomfortable.

Anger flashed through me—at myself, and at the kids for picking on someone less fortunate. Without thinking twice, I hurried across the street, fumbling through my bag for my cell phone. Jerry attempted to get to his feet, but one of the kids shoved him back down.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Leave him alone!”

The tallest of the three tormentors turned on me. He looked about high school age. I lifted my chin to meet his gaze, but he was in the process of assessing if I posed a threat.

“Who’s gonna make us?” he sneered.

 
 
Apparently, I wasn’t—a threat, that is.

“I mean it.” I stiffened my spine for an extra inch of height and glared up at the kid. “Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

To prove I meant business, I waved my phone in the air. The kid lunged forward and suddenly I didn’t have my security line anymore. He laughed in my face.

“Whatcha gonna do now, hero?”

Yeah, what
was
I gonna do now? I hoped he couldn’t see I was shaking in my bare feet. Newspaper rustled against the pavement behind me. My pulse skyrocketed into the red zone as I realized Jerry and I were now surrounded, neither one of us capable of protecting the other.

“You heard the lady. Get the hell out of here.”

Oh, my God—German Chocolate Cake! I never expected to hear his wonderful voice again. Weak-kneed with relief, I started to turn around, but he stepped past me to post himself between me and Jerry, and the smart-mouth little jerk. I would’ve laughed at the kid’s expression if I hadn’t been so darn scared.

Our rescuer’s six-foot-plus frame and broad shoulders outlined in a black T-shirt were enough to convince the spineless punks it was time to split.

“And don’t let me catch you here again,” he called after their cowardly backs.

His electric blue gaze shifted to me for a quick appraisal before he held out a hand to help Jerry to his feet. He spoke softly to Jerry while I concentrated on stopping my knees from knocking together. Mr. Apology then reached into his pocket with one hand while pointing across the street with his other. Jerry stared at him for a long moment before accepting a set of keys with an expression of dignified gratitude.

Jerry faced me, genuine appreciation reflected in his tired brown eyes. “Thank you, miss,” he said, his voice gruff.

“I didn’t really do any—”

His hand grasped mine, stopping my protest mid-sentence. “You saw. Thank you.”

Did he know only a month ago I’d pretended he didn’t exist? Shame cast my gaze downward, until his fingers tightened. “It’s never too late. Thank you.”

I swallowed hard in the face of his forgiveness. “You’re welcome.”

He gave one last squeeze and then crossed the street and entered my apartment building. I swung my questioning gaze back to our smooth-voiced champion. Who’d shaved and was yummier than ever.

“Do you live there?” I asked.

He offered that charming half smile I’d found so attractive this morning. “No, my brother owns the building.”

His statement effectively jogged my memory—he resembled my landlord! Only better. Younger. I glanced down quickly. Unmarried. I couldn’t have held back a smile if I’d wanted to, even though my stomach fluttered nervously. “You’re David’s brother?”

He nodded. “And, as you probably already know, the Super quit the other day, so the apartment’s open. I figured Jerry can stay there until David hires a new guy. Then again, considering how busy David will be the next couple weeks, I guess that’ll be first on
my
list. After I get you hooked up with hot water again.”

“I can’t believe it was David who dumped my Chai this morning. We talk in the hall every so often, but he never mentioned he and his wife were expecting.”

“Sheryl wasn’t due for another month, which is why he was so freaked out this morning.”

“I bet. Is everything okay? Or is she still in labor?”

“Everyone is fine. And David felt really bad when he realized what he’d done, but the taxi was already moving.”

I waved my hand. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

He smiled. “I sure hope so.”

The suggestion in his deep tone kick-started my pulse. “So…boy or girl?”

“One of one of each. Jessie James and Lacie Lynn.”

“Twins, wow. He will be busy,” I predicted. “And you’ll be helping out in the meantime?”

He gave a brief nod. “If you need anything at all, you can call me.”

Which reminded me, the bully kids had made off with my phone. I almost laughed. Believe it or not, I’d been looking for an excuse to upgrade that old thing. I glanced around the darkening alley before gathering the courage to gaze into those mesmerizing blue eyes. “I believe I can. Thank you for the rescue.”