Page 3 of The Good Guy on My Porch

“Good morning, Dilly,” May Belle, the owner of The Morning Brew, said from behind the counter. Her smile could resurrect a dead man.

“Morning, May Belle. Love the ‘do.” Her hair was all natural today, with bouncy curls that fluffed like a halo around her bright face.

“Thank you, sweetie. What can I get you?”

“I’ll take the biggest Mocha Latte you can make and one of those double fudge muffins I adore.”

“I’ll get you the coffee, but I just sold the last muffin.”

I followed her gaze to a table a few feet from where I stood. A familiar man sat there, muffin paused midway to his lips. He lowered the carb-filled treat slowly, clearly having heard us talking. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m willing to share.”

The guy was decent-looking, almost a foot taller than me, with a lean runner’s body, and a nice enough face. His dark hair was a disordered mess every time I saw him, but the look suited him somehow. He was a good friend to Aubrey, Carrie’s sister-in-law, but at the moment, I hated all men. And I wanted nothing from any of them. “No thanks, Oliver,” I said. “It’s a full muffin kind of morning.”

I turned back to the counter and looked at the muffin options on display. There was one lone gluten-free wheat grass muffin and a peach muffin. I hated peach pastries. Peaches should be eaten fresh, not mushed into muffins. “Busy morning?” I asked as May Belle passed my coffee over the counter and I handed her cash.

She nodded and smiled apologetically. “There’s some sort of conference going on at the university this week. Sorry, Dilly.”

“You can have mine,” Oliver said, stepping up next to me, so close I could smell the chocolatey goodness of the muffin he was holding out just beneath my nose. “You look like you need this more than I do. I’m trying to watch my sugar intake, anyway.”

It was a kind gesture, it really was, but then he had to throw in the bit about sugar content. It was the kind of thing Abram would do, not that he’d ever offered me a muffin, the greedy, smug man. “I’ve had a really rough morning. The man I was beginning to think I might spend the rest of my life with has a wife and kids he forgot to mention. Can you explain to me how anyone could just forget to mention he has a wife and kids? Isn’t that the sort of information that should come up if his relationship is as open as he claims it is and he’s totally happy with the whole no commitment lifestyle?” Oliver was staring at me wide-eyed and it occurred to me that I sounded like a crazy woman, but I couldn’t seem to shut up. “I mean, it seems really sweet that you’re offering me your muffin, but is it actually kindness that’s behind this act of generosity or is it a product of your own inability to commit to your reduced sugar-diet plan?”

Oliver smiled, genuine amusement in his eyes, and I wondered if he was the crazy one and why I’d never noticed how bright his brown eyes got when he smiled. “I lied about cutting out sugar. I was just trying to give you the muffin without making you feel like you were depriving me of something I really wanted. If taking the muffin would make your day better it would make me happy, and we’d both win.”

Ugh, why did he have to be so nice? It was impossible to hate all men when one of them was standing in front of me being kind and entirely unhateable. “Can I buy you a muffin?” I asked, feeling more than a little guilty about my outburst. “Maybe the peach?”

His grin widened. “I’m more of a bran muffin man, myself. But I’m good.” He handed over the muffin. “Enjoy it.” Then he left before I could even thank him.

“His name is Oscar,” May Belle said, her frown more than a little disapproving. “He’s a good guy.”

I wanted to sink through the floor. “I’m getting that. And feeling like a total brat, right now.”

Her frown faded. “We’ve all been there, girl. If you want, I’ll make sure I have bran muffins here tomorrow and you can buy him one. He stops by every morning about this time for tea.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a bit better. “That’s a great idea.”

I didn’t have time to sit and properly enjoy my muffin, so I waved to May Belle and stuffed half of it in my mouth as I walked out the door. That muffin was history by five steps past The Morning Brew. I pulled out my phone and lifted it to my ear, taking a swig of coffee as the phone rang precisely five times.

“Dilly? Is that you?”

“Morning, Momma. I’m at work. Just wanted to let you know I got here okay.” Yes, I was lying to my mother. If I waited until I got to work, I’d have to have this twenty-minute conversation in front of my colleagues, and they’d ask questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Oh, good, sweetie. It’s late. I was starting to worry.”

I bit back a sigh. I was precisely two minutes late, but my mother had noticed, she always noticed. “Yeah, I stopped at May Belle’s for a muffin. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, that’s okay, sweetie. I understand it’s difficult for you to call me every day. I know my worries burden you. It’s just that I had a bad feeling this morning and the weather says there’s going to be a nasty thunderstorm. I’d hate to think you’re out in it. I wish you wouldn’t walk to work when the weather’s bad.”

“I drove.” Lying to my mother had become such a habit, I didn’t even flinch. “I do listen to your worries, Mom.”

Overhead, thunder rumbled, and I picked up my pace. My mother often predicted life-ending weather or accidents that never happened, but that didn’t make me immune to lightening.

“You drove? Did you have the car inspected last week like I suggested? And the oil changed?”

“Sure did.” If there was a place in hell for liars, there was a reserved table there with my name on it.

“Good,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Just don’t drive if it’s raining, honey. You can stay at the library if the storm is really bad, right?”

“I can. And I will.”

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