Goldie Locks: Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

The perfect beginning to the perfect day.

I usually walk Trixie before and after work, but she’ll have to make do with some doggie pads for now. If I don’t get dressed and leave right now, I’ll be late and won’t have a job at all.

I hate leaving her alone, but right now I don’t have a choice. She whines and shivers watching me get ready and it breaks my heart every time I have to go.

“I promise I’ll be back soon baby girl,” I tell her, feeling like the worst doggy mom in the whole world as I dish her out some food and make sure she has plenty of water for the time ahead.

Growling as I pull the door shut after I make sure I have my keys and phone beforehand, I hustle as best I can to make the subway on time.

The whole way there though, I feel it again. Those eyes on me, like I’m being followed.

I turn and look a hundred times, but without knowing who or what I’m actually looking for, I have no idea if it’s real or if I’m just losing my mind.

Wishing Max was here, wishing I was kinder to him instead of bundling him out of the house like I did.

He’s so sweet, only trying to help.

Why?

Because he likes you is why stop trying to pretend there was nothing between you earlier today. You felt it and I know he did too.

I saw the effect it had on him. No imagining that either.

If it wasn’t for Trixie and now Max, I’d have nothing to look forward to. Nothing to get me through the next twelve hours of mind-numbing toil for not much money.

The thought of both of them is enough to cheer me up enough, even to get through the subway ride and then past the foreman ribbing me for almost being late.

It’s not hard work, and I guess I should be grateful to have a job at all. But the hours are long and the work repetitive, making it easy to zone out and think of other things.

Other places, other people. Maybe even a life away from all this work which is just a giant interruption.

Max seems pretty happy doing what he does though. A locksmith though, something tells me he’s a little more than that.

He seems so relaxed, in control. Not checking the clock and worrying about the little things.

He’s the first person I’ve ever met who seems to have solutions instead of problems.

I daydream about what I really want for an hour or so until reality kicks in. By the time my first short break rolls around, I’ve almost talked myself out of everything. Funny how hours at a box press will do that.

Now I have to come up with extra money to pay Max back, as well as keep my crummy little existence going.

As if a guy like that, old enough to me my father probably. As if he’d magically sweep me off my feet and make me the center of his whole world.

It’s a pleasant fantasy though, and one I tell myself I’ll file away for use when it feels like I can’t take it anymore.

But there’s something still stirring inside me. Like butterflies that won’t stop.

The good kind too.

I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what develops between me and Max. I figure at the worst, I’ve made a new friend.

Now for a soda and what looks like a day old sandwich from the so-called cafeteria sees me through until my next break.

Much like sleeping only when I have to wake up, I only really get my second wind at work when it’s finally time to go home.

I punch out, somehow wishing it would be for the last time ever before I make my way out the exit with everyone else.

It’s not the kind of job where people make friends or hang around for small talk.

You do your shift and then you go home, trying to forget about it for a few hours.

Passing under the bridge on the way through to the subway platform, I swear I catch a scent in the air.

A delicious scent.

The same cologne Max wore, mixed with hot coffee and something toasted.

Something nice.

“Good Morning,” I hear a deep, cheerful voice resonate from behind me.

I freeze on the spot, hoping it is him. Hoping all of this has been real and not my overactive imagination.

I turn slowly and notice the man himself. It’s Maxwell.

He’s holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and also a slightly grease-soaked paper sack.

The man is a wizard, not only does he know where I work, he’s brought us both an unhealthy breakfast, and I’m famished.

“I hope you don’t mind me meeting you at work,” he says, stepping closer.

I notice his five o’clock shadow.

A five a.m. o’clock shadow, which puzzles me.