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bending his knee, and punched his work boot toward the door, landing a hard blow just above the knob. The harsh sound of cracking wood split the spring air and a slow motion second later, the old door fell neatly inward, having come completely ­unhinged—­as well as broken at the lock—­landing flat in the little hall that led to the stairs. He’d done it as neatly and efficiently as any TV cop.
    They both stayed quiet, kind of amazed, then looked at each other.
    â€œI did it,” he said, as if surprised that he really
 had.
    â€œYou did. Thank you!”
    â€œThat’s what you wanted, right? You really wanted me to kick down the door.”
    She understood his confusion over it, even now. “Yes.” Though for the first time, she began to wonder . . . “How am I gonna leave now, though? How am I gonna lock the door when I go?” Oh no—­how had she not considered that part?
    â€œThat’s a pretty good question, Alice,” he said. “One I wish you’d thought of a minute ago.”
    But she merely released a sigh, determined to stay positive about this. “It’s okay. It’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.” She stopped then, blinked, bunched up her lips. “Unless . . . unless you can figure something out. While I’m getting ready. You seem like the kind of guy who . . . fixes stuff.”
    Just then, the door next to hers opened and old Mrs. Hart stepped out. “Lordy bee, what was that racket?” Then her eyes squared on the empty doorway where Christy’s door used to stand. “What in heaven’s name happened?”
    â€œI . . . was locked out,” she explained.
    â€œSo I kicked her door in,” her scruffy neighbor said.
    She flashed him a look. Maybe it would have become obvious anyway, but she didn’t really need him advertising it.
    â€œWell, that was an extreme thing to do,” Mrs. Hart said critically, sounding all too sensible at the moment.
    â€œYou broke down the door? You couldn’t wait ’til I got here? You broke it down? You’re gonna have to pay for that, you know.”
    They all turned to see a heavyset man Christy had never met before, and she said, “You must be my landlord.”
    â€œI can’t believe you broke down the door!” he said in reply. And she realized he was looking at her like she was crazy—­which was beginning to seem like a trend—­and that maybe he had every right to. But he just didn’t know all she’d been through, and all that was at stake here.
    That was when her handsome neighbor threw up his hands to declare his blamelessness. “She asked me to. I’m just an innocent bystander here.”
    Her only defense was to say, “Your wife couldn’t reach you. And the locksmith couldn’t come. And I had to get in. It’s important.” She checked her watch again. Ugh. Ten ’til seven. Jared could be here any moment.
    â€œWhat the hell was so important that you broke down the door?” the still clearly astonished landlord asked.
    â€œShe has a date,” her neighbor replied for her.
    â€œA date,” the landlord repeated.
    God, this was a nightmare. Like the rest of her life. “I—­I’ll pay for the door,” she said. “Not that I know how,” she added under her breath. “Or . . . I’ll figure out a way to fix it.”
    Her words hung quietly in the air for a moment before her neighbor quietly suggested, “ I can probably fix it,” and she and the landlord and Mrs. Hart all looked at him.
    â€œYou can?” Christy asked in a softer tone than she’d intended.
    â€œI’ll see what I can do,” he offered. “Just let me go grab my toolbox.”
    â€œI—­I—­really have to go get ready,” she said to the porch’s inhabitants at large. “I promise