Hunky Joe was carrying the big boxes from the community center to a van parked at the curb. I soon realized the heat flushing my cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

“Is that all?” Joe finally asked.

Coming back to my senses, I said, “There are two more boxes in the basement. They have big pink sticky notes on them that read ‘shelter.’”

He gave me an efficient nod, swiped his brow with the back of his hand — which conveniently flexed his bicep — and then headed toward the basement door.

We’d recently had a massive amount of donations for our annual drive benefiting the local women’s shelter. Having a strapping young man to help haul the boxes around was a blessing.

“A blessing,” I muttered... Read More