Unfortunately, that chill morning I'd hoped for was not to be. The second I stepped into the kitchen, I nearly crashed into the red-faced housekeeper.

"Harper! Thank goodness you're here. Mrs. Castillas has ordered a party this afternoon."

"I'm not here this afternoon, Elsa," I reminded her. "I'm only here until I take Pablo to preschool."

"Pablo is the problem!" She threw her hands into the air and let out an exasperated sigh. "We cannot get him to leave us alone!" Her flushed red face almost glowed under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

When is Pablo not the problem? Poor kid is so bored practically raising himself.

"I'll take him outside," I said, not bothering to remove my coat and scarf despite the heat of the room. "Do you know where he is?"

My question turned out to be superfluous. A crash of dishes to my left alerted me unequivocally to the presence of the only person who could cause such chaos in such an overly organized house. "Pablo!" I called. "Leave poor Mr. Sanders alone and let us go out!"

The little boy's black hair bobbed through the kitchen and my phone was almost constantly buzzing in my pocket by the time he reached me. Clearly Olivia had a very dramatic story to tell, but I couldn't risk taking my phone out right there. Not with my holey pants and the possibility of Mrs. Castillas finding me at any moment. Olivia would have to wait.

"Come on, big guy." I reached out for Pablo's hand. "Let's get you dressed and go play in the park."

"The park?" he asked with an wink that was more like an out of sync blink.

"Yes. Get your boots."

The little boy practically skipped over to his outerwear, hearing our secret code for his favourite activity. Quicker than Elsa could order more than one of her employees to a new task, Pablo was dressed and we were out the door.

When we finally reached the park, my phone was near constantly abuzz in my pocket to the point where I had turned it off. Sorry, Olivia, but I'd be an awful person if I lost a preschooler because I was catching up on a juicy story.

The ducks were mingling with the children as Pablo went off toward the forest for his favourite game: slinging mud at everything and using it to draw pictures on his arms. Please don't tell his parents or I will definitely be fired.

I chased him into the forested area along the side of the park, slowing to a crawl as we neared the edge and his tiny legs stopped him from clearing the brush with any speed.

"Wait up, little man!" I called after him. "I'm an old person, remember."

"I know!" He turned around and threw his hands into the air. "What are you like a hundred?"

The tea I was at that moment trying to swallow ended up inhaled when I tried to respond. All that came out was a few sputtering coughs as tea dripped down my chin with very little ceremony. He just stood there with his hands on his little hips until I composed myself enough to respond. "I am not a hundred years old. Who told you I was a hundred?"

"No one had to tell me, Miss Harper. I figured it out." He shrugged and continued climbing over the brush toward his favourite mud pit. It wasn't so much a mud pit as a general dip in the forest that tended to collect water, even on the driest summer days. But if it works it works.

"And how did you figure it out?" I pressed.

I shouldn't have pressed. In my haste to follow him and hear what would surely have been a ridiculous answer, I snagged one of the holes in my sweats on a stray branch and tore those holey pants right down the side with a loud shredding pop.

And there, in the middle of a forested park, being called almost four times my age by a seven-year-old, my pants left my legs and began a harrowing journey toward the ground.

I did manage to rescue them before they landed completely in the dirt, but with one half in each hand, how to secure them around my waist seemed a puzzle even the greatest mathematicians would need time to solve. And I had maybe fifteen seconds before Pedro disappeared into the forest.

Quickly tying the waistband into a small knot, and making the pants uncomfortably tight around my hips, I pulled my scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my waist like a skirt, tying it on the other hip to at least conceal my probably kitten patterned underpants from view.

Pablo, of course, noticed nothing at all as he continued his climb through the forest, finally reaching his favourite place. 

I spent the entire time Pablo was in the mud searching my purse for anything that might hold more of my pants together, and had discovered two safety pins, one clip, and a hair elastic. So by the time we had to leave the park, most of my pants were secure enough that I would not die of embarrassment before I got home.

"So, Miss Harper," Pablo began while dragging me away from the mud and toward the fountain where he would wash before I returned him home for lunch. "If you aren't a hundred, but you are old, how many years do you have?"

"How old are you?" I corrected, just as his parents had requested.

"How old are you?" he repeated.

"I am almost twenty-eight."

His little eyes popped out of his head. "Then how old are my parents?"

I sat on the edge of the fountain explaining how ages work while he washed his arms, legs, and face in the cool water. Once he was clean, we made our way toward the street. I was in the middle of explaining how birthdays worked when I crashed right back into the adonis from the Cafe.

What on earth are the odds of this?

"It's you!" the man from the cafe gasped, looking me up and down, frowning when his eyes reached my tattered knees.

"Yeah..." My hand on the back of my neck didn't comfort me as well as it usually did. "Yeah, it's me from this morning. Sorry about that."

"This morning?" His brows furrowed, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

I am going to die of embarrassment right here. And my headstone will read: 'Here lies Harper Holland. Beloved daughter and klutz.'

The heat crept up out of my chest and into my cheeks. The man had pulled out his phone. Does this mean what I think it does? My hands grew cold. Pablo ran up and threw a fist full of sand directly into my face.

Perfect. Where did he even find sand?

I tried to look back toward where I knew Mr. Sexy to be. "So, as I was saying..."

"Ms. Holland? You need to come with me."

Did he just ask me to go with him? That doesn't sound so bad. Oh no! I can't! I have to watch Pablo.

"Please turn around. You are under arrest."

Not where I saw that going. 

* ~ * Author's Note * ~ * 

And here we are at the end of chapter two and the first official threshold for the contest - 2000 words! I will be back as usual with a third chapter next Wednesday! 

In the mean time, thank you for reading! Votes and comments are always appreciated, especially if you enjoyed some of my (potentially personally inspired) embarrassing events... Anyway, enjoy! And I will see you again soon!