Chapter 2- Heavy load, Helping hands...

The financial reports start to blur together as I blink wearily at my computer screen. I lean back in my ergonomic office chair, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. Christ, it’s already 5pm. Where did the day go?

A soft knock at my door makes me glance up. “Come in!”

Sheila peeked in, her expression half-amused. “Still burning the midnight oil, boss? You know it’s past time to clock out, right?”

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have that luxury,” I replied with a tired smirk. “No rest for the wicked and all that.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, clearly unimpressed with my workaholic philosophy. “Well, before you chain yourself to that desk for the night, you’ve got a call. It’s your wife.”

The mention of Emma sparked a jolt of energy in me. I perked up immediately.

“She’s on line one,” she smirked.

As she closed the door, I scramble for the phone, my fatigue momentarily forgotten.

“Hey babe,” I greeted. “How was the first day with the kids?”

“Hey baby,” I greet warmly, kicking my feet up on the desk. “How was the first day wrangling kids?”

“It was awesome!” Emma’s voice was full of excitement and I can picture her beaming smile. “The kids are so sweet, Mike. A little rowdy, but that’s to be expected. I think it’s going to be a great place to work.”

“That’s great to hear,” I responded, genuinely happy for her. “Those kids don’t know how lucky they are.”

“You’re too sweet,” she said, chuckling but I can hear the pleasure in her voice. “So, when are you coming home? No late nights, I hope?”

I glanced at the daunting pile of work still on my desk, “Uh, well, you know how it is...”

Emma sighs, a trace of disappointment leaking through. “I know, I know. But I was hoping ... I thought we could have a little celebration tonight. You know, pop some champagne, have a nice dinner, toast to new beginnings?”

Fuck. How can I say no to that?

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” I decide abruptly. “The deals will still be there in the morning. I’ll be home by seven, okay? We can celebrate properly.”

“Yay!” Emma cheers.

I could hear the relief and joy in her voice. I’m making the right call.

“Oh, I can’t wait! I’ll pick up something special on my way home. Maybe that ravioli you like from Mangia’s...”

As she chatters happily about our impromptu date night, a thought occurs to me. “Hey Em? Did you ever get a call back from the moving company? About your missing dresser?”

“No, and it’s the weirdest thing,” she replies, annoyance seeping into her tone. “I called them twice today and kept getting the run around. They insisted it was out for delivery, but wouldn’t give me an ETA or anything.”

I frown, a spark of irritation flaring. I paid those meatheads good money, the least they could do is return a damn phone call.

“Don’t stress over it,” I assure her. “I’ll get Sheila to chase them down tomorrow. We’ll sort it out.”

“My hero,” Emma teased. “My big, bad, furniture wrangling man.”

“Damn straight,” I laughed, playing along. “I’ll lasso that runaway dresser for you if I have to, little lady.”

Emma dissolves into giggles and warmth.

We banter for a few minutes more before saying our goodbyes. I started packing up, energized by the prospect of the evening ahead. Just the promise of an evening with my girl puts an extra spring in my step.

Of course, that spring turns into a slog as I hit the inevitable evening traffic. I drum my fingers against the wheel impatiently as my Beamer inches forward, suppressing the urge to lean on the horn. Goddamn NYC gridlock.

Finally, blessedly, I pull into our building’s garage. I barely have my seatbelt off before my phone is ringing again. A glance at the display shows it’s Sheila.

“Mike, I’ve got an update on Emma’s dresser,” she said by way of greeting.

“Oh yeah? What’s the word?” I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder as I grab my briefcase and head for the elevator.

“Well, I reamed Carl at the moving company a new one and it seems there was a ‘miscommunication’,” she delivered flatly, and I can practically hear the air quotes. “Apparently they did have the dresser out for delivery today, but the guy got lazy and just dumped it off in the service entrance before taking off. No signature or anything. Real professional.”

“What the fuck?” I snarl, stabbing at the elevator call button. “Are you kidding me? They just left it downstairs with no notice? What if someone takes it?”

“Oh don’t worry, I already put the fear of God and a lawsuit into Carl,” Sheila assures me grimly. “He’ll be groveling with a personal apology and a hefty discount by morning. But in the meantime...”

I sigh, running an agitated hand through my hair. “In the meantime, I’ve got to go fetch it myself. Perfect. Some celebration this is shaping up to be.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Sheila encourages before clicking off.

I make my way down to the service entrance, muttering curses under my breath. This damn well better be the dresser and not some wild goose chase, or I’m going full Karen on these fuckwits.

But lo and behold, there it is. Emma’s antique cherry wood dresser, sitting forlornly next to the service elevator like an abandoned child.

I squat next to it with a groan, assessing the situation. It’s not huge, thank God, but not exactly a one-man job either. If I huff and puff and put my back into it, I could probably wrangle it into the elevator. But getting it down the hall and into the apartment? Not happening.

“Need a hand?”

The sudden voice made me jump, and I turned to see a towering figure behind me.

He’s easily 6’5, maybe 6’6, with shoulders that wouldn’t look out of place on an NFL linebacker. And stacked to match - his biceps strain against the thin cotton of his T-shirt, the material practically crying.

I gape up at him - and I do mean up, Jesus, he’s huge - trying to kickstart my brain into forming words. “Uh...”

Smooth, Winton. Real smooth.

He cocks his head, full lips twitching with amusement. “That’s a two-man job, minimum,” he observes, nodding at the dresser. “You want some help getting it upstairs? I’ve got a few minutes to burn.”

“Oh! Ah, yeah, that would be amazing actually,” I manage to stammer out, rising awkwardly to my feet. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble? I’m on the 15th floor.”

“No sweat, man. I’m on 18 anyway. We can drop it at yours on the way.”

And with no further ado, he bends at the knees and hoists the solid wood dresser into his arms like it’s made of Styrofoam.

Holy shit. Who IS this guy, the black Hulk?

“Uh, right, okay wow,” I blather as I scramble to call the elevator. “Thanks so much, man, really. I’m Mike, by the way. Just moved into 1502.”

“Marcus,” he returns easily as he steps into the lift beside me, seemingly unbothered by the dresser’s weight. “Welcome to the building.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as the doors slide shut.

Well doesn’t this just take the fucking cake. Could this day get any more bizarre?

The elevator ride passes in slightly uncomfortable silence. I sneak sidelong glances at Marcus, trying to reconcile his sheer size. I mean, I’m not a shrimp - 5’9 is a perfectly respectable height. But next to this behemoth, I feel small.

The soft ding announces our arrival and I practically bolt out of the elevator in relief.

“This way,” I call over my shoulder, leading Marcus down the plushly carpeted hall.

I ring the bell, and Emma quickly opens the door. She was a vision in a little black dress that hugs her curves like a dream. Her face lights up when she sees me ... then morphs into confusion as she takes in my companion.

“Mike? What ... who’s this?”

“Em, hey,” I greet breathlessly, pecking her on the cheek as I usher Marcus inside. “This is Marcus, from upstairs. He helped me with the dresser,”

“Oh!” Understanding dawns and Emma turns a dazzling smile on our neighbor. “It’s so nice to meet you, Marcus. Thank you so much.”

Marcus shifts the dresser in his grip so he can extend one huge hand for Emma to shake. “Happy to help,” he rumbles, white teeth flashing in a friendly grin. “First week in a new place is always a bitch and a half. Gotta look out for each other, right?”

“Absolutely,” Emma agrees, slipping her much smaller hand into his. I notice she leaves it there a beat longer than is strictly necessary, a faint blush stealing across her cheeks.

Marcus shifts the dresser higher in his arms. “So, where do you want this bad boy?”

“Oh! Right, yes, the bedroom is just down the hall,” Emma flutters, a little flustered. She turns to lead the way, hips swaying.

I trail behind them, eyes glued to the flexing muscles of Marcus’ back as he carries the dresser effortlessly down the hall.

He sets the dresser down gently in its designated spot, dusting off his hands with a satisfied nod. “There you go, all set.”

“Oh, thank you so much again,” Emma gushes as we walk him back to the front door. “Seriously, we can’t thank you enough. Moving is such a nightmare, and to have this happen on top of everything else...”

She’s babbling a bit, a nervous tic I’ve always found adorable. Her cheeks are flushed and her hands flutter as she speaks, like anxious birds. Marcus takes it in stride, an amused little smile playing at the corners of his full lips.

“Like I said, it’s no trouble at all,” he assures her smoothly. “I’m happy I could help. Lord knows I could’ve used an extra pair of hands when I first moved in too.”

Emma laughs, high and almost giddy.

I glance at her curiously from the corner of my eye. It’s not like her to get so worked up over a simple favor. But then again, Marcus isn’t exactly a simple man. Everything about him is outsized, from his towering frame to his larger-than-life presence. I guess it’s only natural to be a bit overwhelmed.

“Well, we owe you one,” I interject, stepping forward to clap Marcus on one boulder-like shoulder. “Seriously, I appreciate you taking the time. You ever need anything, you just let us know, alright?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a beat of slightly charged silence before Marcus takes a step back, inclining his head. “I’ll let y’all get to your evening. It was real nice meeting you both. Welcome to the building.”

“You too,” she practically sighs. “Have a wonderful night!”