As soon as Bella left, I had headed over to Halley’s job, half-heartedly promising my employees that I’d be back to help in an half-hour. Yeah, right. I ended up talking to Halley in her office for 2 hours. She apologized for not telling me about Him, saying she was protecting me. *Que dumbstruck look*

“You have got to come up with better excuses,” I told her, standing up to leave. On the outside, I was pissed, but on the inside, I could feel a piece of my heart start to crack. After all this time, I was still the worst friend-finder ever.

She grabbed my arm, and I almost swung at her, ready to knock her off her Gucci pumps. “He called me because he was asking permission to date you.”

I laughed. “Well… wow” He was sexy and all that jazz, but completely not worth the pain.) I have enough pain with the holidays coming like a slow-speed train is coming toard me and I’m stuck on the tracks, unable to move… watching it creep ever so.

After we talked about her skirmish with Eddie, (that’s what I’m calling the non-existent fight) I went home and turned up the Nickelback, which is the ultimate music with songs for every occasion. I had just started singing along with “Another Hole In The Head” when there was loud knocking on my door.

Throwing on my glasses, pulling my hair into a clumsy bun, and checking for clothes (no more flashing for the rest of the year), I answered the door. It was my mucho caliente vecino. He waved and I stifled a laugh. “Good afternoon.”

“Hi.” Again, I’m so eloquent in the best situations! As he was about to say something I blurted, “I’m sorry I showed up naked to my door. I’m a little hungover and was in the shower. I’d like to start over if that is possible. My name is Caroline.”

He laughed. His laugh was like molasses to diabetes, making me feel shaky and giving me a rush. “Scott.” Buzz cut, dirty blonde hair, not-fake tan, Paul-Newman blue eyes, and the muscles of a weight lifter completed this ensemble of yum.

We instantly hit it off. Over coffee down the street, I learned he had moved here from Alabama to take a job at a popular magazine as their new editor-in-chief. As I laughed, (it’s a woman’s magazine) he touched my hand for the briefest second and said, “Would you like to go to dinner?”

“I have plans tonight, but here’s my email address. Email me tomorrow with details.”

“Bet on it. I want to know about you next time,” he added as he got up and walked away.

I spent the rest of the day replaying the view of his butt in those Dockers as he left.