Was that the cry of distress he’d dreamed of so many nights? Surely, his ears deceived him. A small knock sounded again at his front door. He tied his robe, not willing the girl of his dreams to be turned off by his less-than-perfect physique. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned the lock and doorknob at the same time.

“Chels?” Her mascara was running, beautiful face made even more lovely by the imperfection. “What’s wrong? Come in.”

This was really happening? He’d daydreamed this exact scene so many times, he pinched himself to make sure.

“I was.. f-fired!”

“From modeling?”

“The magazine said I was all wrong for the shoot!” She began to sob.

“Hey, hey, nothing about you is wrong.” She sniffed.

“I’ll never work again. I’m finished!”

“Nonsense, you could be anything.”

“I’m too pretty!”

“You’d make a great magician’s assistant,” he hedged.

She gave a tiny half-giggle. “You always know just what to say!”

He considered his options. “Hug?”

“No.” She stood. “Thanks. I’m buying a newspaper.”