Earlier this year I read an interview with JE, where she seemed pretty happy to get rid of the number centered book naming thing. It made me wonder about coming up with 27 number themed titles, and then pairing up story ideas with them. In the end, I came up with 31 story ideas (more, if you count the multiple ideas for several of the numbers), and The Number Series was born. Some stories are longer one-shots, some are short, and some developed into multi-chapter offerings. All have the title somewhere in the story. I have no set posting schedule for them.

#

#

#

#

All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich, I'm just playing.

#

#

#

Thirty Days' Notice

#

#

SPOV

My eyes do a slow scan of the apartment that I've called home for a good portion of my adult life. Pressure at the back of my eyes lets me know that tears are forthcoming. It's futile, but I still try and stave them off by pulling in large gulps of air and blinking. Moving on is supposed to be a happy thing, and I've wanted out of here forever, so why am I so sad?

Maybe because this crappy little apartment nestled in amongst the senior citizens has been my refuge for so long. I found it not long after I found Dickie playing hide the salami with Joyce on our new dining room table and ignored the quirks of the place while I pounded the pavement looking for work. The price was right and being able to pay the fixed rent was my last line of defense. Having to deal with everyone talking about my failed marriage was one thing, having to move back in with my parents was entirely something else.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I walk over to the kitchen. I don't have to try very hard to imagine Rex in his cage. My little buddy went to the big Hamster Wheel in the Sky not too long ago, but I swear I can still hear the squeaking as he got his aerobic workout in despite never making it anywhere. Looking up, you can still see where the lid of Lula's pressure cooker impaled my ceiling during that unfortunate barbeque phase. We tried to fill the hole in with spackle, but if you look closely, you can still see it. I never told Dillon about that mess.

A quick peek in the refrigerator shows that it's empty, this time on purpose. It never held a lot of food, but it kept the beer cold. And really, what more could you ask from a refrigerator? The freezer door no longer holds the Wonder Woman drawing by Mary Alice; it's been framed and hung in a place of honor at my new home. All the takeout menus are also gone; ironic, now that I have money to afford takeout.

Leaning against the counter, I think about all the things this poor little kitchen has seen. The two memories that stand out both involve Ranger… and chocolate chip cookies. I'd avoided the flipside of the deal for as long as I could, not sure where it would leave our friendship, where it would leave my heart. He'd already told me that his life didn't lend itself to relationships while we were driving around looking for Evelyn, and while I didn't expect a marriage proposal to come out of it, I didn't want it to change things between us, either. I was shocked as shit when he grabbed one of the cookies I'd baked to try and steady my nerves after finding Steven Sodor taped back together on my couch, but him suddenly announcing that it was time shocked me even more. Left up to me, we'd probably still be dancing around it.

It takes some effort, but my eyes remain on the cheap oak cabinets and not on the spot in the living room where things did, indeed, change for us. When he circled back with Hector to install an alarm system, our morning after talk left me disappointed and confused, hammering home that Ranger could actually hurt me with his words.

We danced around each other for a while after that, coming together and walking away. When I was hip deep in a mystery involving my grandmother, we stood here in the kitchen, eating cookies again. He told me that passion required being brave. It wasn't entirely clear what he was saying at the time, but I remember how right it felt standing in here together, like we were a team.

Running a hand along the counter, I move slowly to the living room, taking in how much bigger it looks with no furniture. I didn't have anything great to start with, so most of it ended up by the dumpster. Standing in the middle of the room, I spread my arms out wide, spinning in a circle. If I think hard enough, I can remember my first night here, sleeping on a pile of cheap pillows on the floor out here. I had little to nothing to my name, but I was determined to start over and not run home just because my life and marriage imploded spectacularly. My optimism dimmed in the early morning light, body cold and wrecked from sleeping on the floor, but the goal did not. I wasn't going to let Dickie and Joyce get the better of me.

After I got the job with EE Martin, I slowly bought furniture and appliances as my paychecks allowed. It's never been a showplace, but it was mine and it hurt to have to sell everything off piece by piece after I was let go and couldn't find more work.

I suppose memories of my time here wouldn't be complete without thinking about the time that Joe hid out here while he was on the run, and I was tasked with taking him in as my first job for Vinnie. I'd had ten years of hating him for the shit he wrote on the walls when I was in high school; we crashed back into each other's lives like a wrecking ball swinging wildly back and forth. Even though we met up again as adults, neither of us really acted like it.

There were plenty of nights of Joe staying over, though none of them stand out as much as Ranger sleepovers. Maybe because there were fewer nights with Ranger, and they tended to correspond to major upheaval in my life. I probably should have realized long before I did that Joe was just as likely to disappear from my life when the going got tough as he was to help.

A small smile ticks up the corners of my mouth when I think about Ranger breaking in while he was on the run during the Ramos mess. Grandma was living here and staying in the bedroom. I was so startled by Ranger that I tackled him (well, tried to), and we went ass over teakettle and landed on the floor. Good things were happening until Grandma stuck her head out the bedroom door, effectively killing the mood. The kiss in the parking lot might have started things between us, but that certainly ramped up the stakes and the deal happened not much later. Sometimes, I wonder how things might have gone if Grandma wasn't there that night.

Looking again, my vision gets caught on the spot where I realized I loved Ranger just before I almost lost him.

Many times, in the months that followed Scrog shooting him, I wondered if I should've moved. On nights when I couldn't sleep, I'd find myself standing over the spot, reminding myself over and over again that he was safe and sleeping a few miles away.

With that in mind, I take the few steps to put me in the bedroom. Lots of memories here. Not just the first night with Ranger, but also the time that Joe almost walked in on us when Ranger hid out here while we were looking for Scrog and Julie. Two more minutes, and we would have crossed the line. I guess when I was alone with Ranger, the feelings overrode everything and being together just felt inevitable. I'm not proud of the times that I skirted or blurred the line, but I think even back then both Joe and I knew that forever just wasn't for us. We couldn't even manage to stay together after fighting over who forgot to buy bread, for pete's sake. Compound that with feelings for other people, and it was a recipe for a mediocre attempt to be what our old neighborhood expected us to be—settled and miserable like everyone else.

Setting my hand on the window leading to the fire escape, I can't help but shudder at the memory of opening the curtains and finding Lula there, trussed up and bleeding. It's a vision, like Ranger bleeding on my floor, that lives in my nightmares, ready to visit when I least expect it. Benito made his point about being able to get to me, but it also strengthened my resolve. Lula survived, and until recently, was my partner in crime for more adventures than I should probably admit to.

Turning to face the room, I shiver as I remember the clown that attacked me while I was working undercover at Bogart's Ice Cream. Looking at the closet, I shake my head, remembering finding the rabbit costume hanging in there during Abruzzi's campaign of terror. Remembering that snakes that got lose in here, I take an involuntary step back, amazed that I lasted here as long as I did after that.

Shaking my head to put those thoughts out of my head, I head back out, stopping at the bathroom. All the years later, it's still the same orange and brown monstrosity, who the hell knows how it managed to outlive all the fires, bombs, and rockets. If I look really close, I can still see a small hole in the bottom of the vanity cabinet from a ricochet when I shot the shit out of Joyce's hairpiece in the middle of the night when she insisted on staying with me. What? I really thought it was a giant rat.

Lifting my eyes, my gaze settles on the shower rod, and I can't help the smile that forms. Joe might have meant to slow me down or scare me off, but neither thing happened. Sometimes I wonder what was going through Ranger's head when he answered my call. I asked him not too long ago, and his answer was to simply aim that wolf grin at me and say, "Babe." The resulting full body flush highlighted the missed opportunity all those years ago. Moving forward and standing in the bathtub, I reach up toward the rod, laughing. It would have been logistically awkward as fuck in here… but probably a helluva thing to look back on years from now when I'm old and causing problems in the nursing home.

Looking at the mirror, I remember Dave Brewer letting himself in and having to knock him unconscious and drag him to the hallway. I guess you could say this tiny bathroom has seen its fair share of action. Not bad for an old girl stuck in the 70s.

Dropping my arms and climbing out of the tub, the return to the living room only takes seconds. I shove my hands in my pockets. I suppose no stroll down memory lane would be complete without acknowledging the nightmares that were Jimmy Alpha, Benito Ramirez, and Orin. This little apartment that started out as my refuge has seen some shitty things, that's for sure.

Moving toward the door, I can't help but take another look, say another silent goodbye to the place that let me grow up a bit. Twenty-nine days ago, I gave my 30 days' notice to Dillon. Back when Grandma and I were searching for Jimmy Rossolli's keys, Ranger told me passion required being brave. Once I knew Grandma was safe, I started really thinking about what he meant, and what it meant in my life.

Turns out, following the recipe on the back of a bag of chocolate chips isn't that scary, but taking a batch of fresh baked cookies to Ranger and asking for clarification on the things he'd said was terrifying. I'm not sure I took a breath as I poured my heart out, knowing that even though it had been years since the morning after the deal, his words still had the power to hurt me. He could say, that's nice, Babe and pat me on the shoulder. He could remind me that his life didn't lend itself to relationships. He could crush my heart more than Dickie, more than Joe. But just like always, he didn't let me down and I found a place in his heart, his company, and in his life.

Arms encircle me from behind and I'm pulled back against a hard, Cuban chest. He kisses my curls. "Second thoughts, Babe?"

Definitely no second thoughts. Ranger had been telling me, in his own way, for a couple years that he was ready for more. All I had to do was take a leap. "Nope. Just didn't expect to get sentimental."

I feel him smile against my temple. "Some good memories here. Ready to go home?"

"Yeah. Let's go make some new memories."

Ranger holds my hand as we exit the apartment, closing the door behind us and on that chapter of my life.