The Bad Jokes #2: The Blonde

Chapter 18 (Gracie): A Stripper?

I heard it, faintly at first. 

After Mouse and I had talked for a while that morning while I had my coffee and he'd gotten high on some catnip I sprinkled on the floor for him, we were ready to get to work. My hair was up in a sloppy bun, I had my glasses on, and I was in my most comfortable sweats and hoodie. Definitely ready to relax into the world of my imagination and release the newest characters into my universe.

My mind was spinning with a new story, a crossover romance between one of my double-tongued aliens and one of my shifters who'd been rejected by her wolf pack because she was somehow a...kitten shifter? A baby seal shifter? A puppy shifter? Maybe a puppy shifter, but one that didn't look like a wolf. Maybe her puppy had a short coat and floppy ears...something definitely not wolf-like.

"Why is she a puppy shifter, Mouse?" I asked my cat who was too ridiculous for words when he was strung out on catnip and looked as if he'd lost all coordination. "I think that'll be part of the mystery. Maybe a genetic anomaly? All completely innocent? Oh! Oh! Or maybe her mother betrayed her father --"

I stopped and listened. 

"Did you hear that, Mouse?" I asked. I strained to listen and heard it again. It sounded like someone singing a country song, accompanied by a guitar. What on earth?

Was someone playing their music right outside my door? Before I could get up to investigate, my phone chimed with a text from Wyatt.

Open your door, Gracie.

Curious now, I headed to my front door and opened it. A tall man, a very familiar man, holding a guitar, smiled and tipped his cowboy hat to me.

"Gracie Matthewson? Wyatt sent me to deliver a message to you."

I couldn't even get any words out. Rio Hawkens was standing three feet from me.

He strummed a few chords and then began singing Calum Scott's You Are My Reason and accompanying himself on his guitar. His beautiful baritone voice gave the song a richness and depth that made my breath catch.

I'd climb every mountain

 And swim every ocean

 Just to be with you

 And fix what I've broken

When Rio finished, he took an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

"I...wait. I don't understand. Gah! I'm so sorry -- that was, that was incredible. Amazing. Thank you so much. But...how did...how did Wyatt get you here?"

"I owed Blue Hatcher a favor, ma'am, for agreeing to run a seminar this summer at the foundation, and my Polly and I were coming here to listen to a new talent I've been hearing about. Two birds, if you will."

"Let me go get my wallet to give you -- wait. You probably don't want a tip. I'm sorry. I'm a little stunned, and clearly my brain isn't firing on all cylinders if I was about to tip you. I mean, I'd tip you if you were delivering a singing telegram or if you were a male stripper. Not that you're going to take off your clothes. Are you? No, of course not. I'm totally not expecting that anyway. You know what? I'm rambling, so I'll stop now and tell you thank you again." 

He grinned widely at me and tipped his hat again. 

"My pleasure. You have a good day now, ma'am."

"Thank you! You were wonderful!" I called after him, feeling a little Twilight Zone-ish and a lot embarrassed.

I shut my front door, leaned against it and shook my head a few times to clear it. I was torn between seeing what was in the envelope he'd just handed me and calling my cousins to tell them what had just happened.

The envelope won because I had this need to know, so I opened it and unfolded the slip of paper that had been tucked in there. The note in Wyatt's block printing was short.

Gracie ~

You are my reason and I'll never stop trying to fix what I've broken.

Love,

Wyatt

P.S. A Soldier's Fight for Love

I sucked in a breath. A Soldier's Fight for Love was the third book I wrote. The hero left the heroine behind to finish the final four years of his service obligation in the Air Force, not knowing she was pregnant with triplets. Thinking he was doing the right thing by freeing her from waiting for him and worrying about him flying dangerous missions that he might not survive, he never took her calls, read her letters or opened her emails. For four years, he ignored her even though it killed him, and when his service commitment ended, he came home and saw her in town with his three boys. She'd been working at a diner, run ragged trying to care for the triplets, living in a one-bedroom apartment and sleeping on the couch so the boys could have the bedroom.

Obviously, the heroine didn't want anything to do with the hero, so he set about winning her heart because he not only loved her, he was also guilt-ridden because he was a secret trillionaire and she'd been working herself practically to death to provide for his children. One of the things he did after moving her into his mansion was send her a symphony orchestra flash mob to play I Wanna Grow Old with You by Westlife. It was a clear message to her of his intentions.

Wyatt had just sent me a pretty clear message of his intentions.

I'll never stop trying to fix what I've broken.

Not able to think about that, I called my cousins and explained that a man had just come to my door, sent by Wyatt, to sing me a song and hand me a note. Oh, and by the way, the man had been Rio Hawkens.

"Oh my God!" Justice screamed. "You totally buried the lede! RIO HAWKENS JUST SANG TO YOU! Send me pictures!"

Oh, shit. I'd been so stunned, I hadn't taken a single picture or video. I'd just stood there like an idiot, taking it all in.

"Ahh."

"A selfie with him at least? I'll even settle for duck lips," Rory begged.

"Honestly, I was so surprised that I didn't even think of it. I just kind of stood there with my jaw on the floor."

"Sounds attractive," Justice said. "Did you drool?"

"Only mentally. The man is gorgeous. He called me ma'am. In that southern accent."

"Dayum," Rory breathed. "He probably thought you were insane to not even ask for a picture."

I closed my eyes. He probably had. I thought of the huge grin he'd shot me at the end. He definitely had.

The three of us talked Wyatt's gesture to death before I said I needed to get to work and ended the call. Mouse, coming off his high, was now sitting by his food bowl and glaring at me because it was empty. It was time for his post-catnip munchies, and as the human assigned to be his servant, I needed to be on the ball regardless of some famous country music singer showing up to serenade me.

"You have no appreciation for what just happened," I scolded him as I gave him a scoop of kibbles. While he ate, I headed for my workroom and sat down at my desk, trying to settle down.

Before I could start writing, my phone pinged with a text from Wyatt.

You'd tip him if he was a stripper? You made his day, Gracie.