An Unexpected Valentine

"I'm sorry," Charlie said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

I lifted my chin. "No, no. It's all right. I'm here to prove to myself I'm over being dumped on Valentine's Day night. Right here. At this very table. I'm ready to move on."

          Charlie the waiter stood over my table in Mama Joy's Supper club and looked down at me, transfixed. A menu in his hand, he was just as I remembered him—tall and blonde with lovely blue eyes. Quite handsome.

"I never expected to see you again," he said, and smiled. He wore black slacks and a red shirt, his uniform for tonight. "But I'm delighted."

I pulled my chair closer to the tiny table and smoothed out the red tablecloth. Diners crowed the club; soft dinner chatter rippled everywhere.

"Valentine's Day night last year," I said, "was the worst night of my life."

"The guy was a jerk. You must've waited two hours before he showed up."

I closed my eyes a second at the memory.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

I lifted my chin. "No, no. It's all right. I'm here to prove to myself I'm over being dumped on Valentine's Day night. Right here. At this very table. I'm ready to move on."

"Good for you. Are you waiting for someone else this evening?"

I shook my head. "I'm alone."

"May I suggest our combo—steak, lobster tail, baked potato, and tossed salad. Choice of dressing. Something to drink?"

"A glass of white wine, perhaps."

Charlie bowed and disappeared.

That night a year ago while I sat at this table, waiting and waiting for Alex Knight, Charlie the waiter stopped at my table several times, asking patiently with a warm smile, "May I bring you anything? Are you all right?" I kept replying, "Nothing. I'm perfectly fine."

When Alex finally did show up all breathless, he sat down and said he was sorry he was late—he couldn't get away from the office. He knew I was thinking about marriage, but he wasn’t ready for a commitment. He thought he should tell me before I expected more than he could give. He apologized for hurting me this way, especially on Valentine's Day, and said he simply had to do this—right now—the sooner the better. It was the best for both of us.

I bolted from Mama Joy's Supper Club and staggered into the snowy night through the rear exit door, chocking with tears and embarrassment.

"White wine," Charlie said, snapping me back to reality and setting a sparkling glass of wine in front of me on the table. Then he cleared his throat and asked, "May I sit down?"

I thought it strange he should ask to sit with me since the place was bustling with customers, and he surely had other tables to wait. But I said, "If you like."

He leaned across the table. "I want to tell you something...something that may help you feel better. Even after all this time."

I looked at him curiously. "All right."

"I saw you dash out the exit door that night. What you didn't see is that a woman waited impatiently for your date in front by the register. I suspect she waited to make sure he broke up with you. A blonde. She'd probably given him an ultimatum. Do it now!"

I shivered. "Madison Farnsworth. He married her in the spring."

"Don't you see? This guy set you free. He did you a favor."

"I know. It just took me a long while to realize that."

Charlie smiled—I loved his smile. "Look," he said, "I'm going to take a chance here. My name's Charlie Joy..." He said his mom and dad owned the supper club. He worked here as kid sweeping floors, busing tables, washing dishes. Now he helped his folks out on busy nights once or twice a year, waiting tables. He owned his own business, Quality Home Repair.

I sat back in my chair, amazed. "I'm Eileen Hanson," I said. "I'm in real estate. I've seen your remodels. When I sell an older home, I always refer the buyer to your company—in case they want to make improvements." I shook my head. "I don't believe it..." My voice trailed off.

Charlie nudged the menu toward me. "Have you made a selection?"

I sipped my wine. "The combo will be fine."

"An excellent choice." He swallowed. He rubbed his head of blonde hair. "May I join you? Dinner will be compliments of the house, a Valentine's Day gift."

I stared into his soft blue eyes; I felt flushed. And tongue-tied.

"My mom and dad," Charlie said, "will understand my bailing on them and dining with the most beautiful lady in the place."

I blinked back tears. I remembered how bitterness overwhelmed me when I sat in this chair last year. I tried to speak now but a lump had invaded my throat. Finally, I managed, "This is so...unexpected."

"Perhaps an unexpected Valentine is the very best kind."

He touched my hand with his fingertips. I felt a spark and said, "I think you're right."

The End

Out of Uniform

I found the driver of the abandoned car. He was plodding along the roadside toward town. Snow whirled eerily through the night, cutting the visibility almost to zero. He turned and waved frantically, obviously trying to make sure I didn't pass him by.

Pulling off to the side of the road, I push-buttoned my passenger's side window down. He pulled his parka hood off and stuck his head in. "Can I hook a ride?" he asked.

"Are you Christopher Hanson?"

"Yes, yes—how did you know?" He was shivering, his teeth chattering.

"Checked the registration on your car back there—you left the doors unlocked. Hop in."

"Thanks, I'm nearly frozen to death."

He whipped the squad's door open and piled into the passenger's seat. "Cold out there," he said.

"About ten below. What happened?"

He stared at me. I think for the first time he realized he was talking to a lady cop. "Car conked out," he said. "I'm lucky I got it off onto the shoulder. Cell phone's dead. I know your next question: What am I doing out on a night like this?"

"Exactly."

"I'm a pediatrician. Got an emergency call from the hospital—the delivery of twins over in Goose Lake. All went well."

I cast a glance at him. He appeared strikingly handsome with wavy black hair worn a little long. Then I chided myself. I was a lady cop in uniform. I had no business even thinking he was handsome.

"Usually in weather like this it's best to stay with your vehicle," I said. "Wait for help."

He shrugged sheepishly. "I got impatient. "

"What do you want to do about your car?"

"Call a wrecker tomorrow. I wouldn't ask anyone to come out on a Saturday night like this. What time is it?"

"Almost ten. I'll give you a ride home."

He said he lived in an apartment above the Delmar Bank. His office was just down the street from the bank. On the way, he asked me if I liked being a lady cop.

I said I did, and he said he liked being a pediatrician—especially in a rural area like this where all the surrounding little towns were in dire need of a physician within driving distance.

His voice was warm and deep, a pleasant sound on a cold night.

We discovered neither one of us was married. Not even going with anyone. Both the same age. Thirty-five. He said I could call him Chris instead of Doctor. And I said he could call me Michelle instead of Officer.

The thought that we were both single made my heart speed up. But again I chided myself. I was an officer of the law, in uniform, on duty. Shame on me! for letting my thoughts wander.

Just inside of town, a Kwik Stop loomed on our right, the convenience store's lights sparkly in the snowfall. "Want a cup of coffee?" Chris asked.

"All right."

I parked in front of the store. Chris dashed in.

When he came back out, I reached over and pushed the door open for him.  He slid in, a cup of coffee in each hand. With the dome light momentarily on, I glimpsed a good look at him. Handsome, indeed. His soft brown eyes met mine. Held. My heart rate spiked. Michelle! Stop! The door closed. The dome light blinked out.

He smiled. "You rescue many strangers on snowy nights?"

"A few." I couldn't deny it: His warm smile warmed me more than the coffee cup I held. We drank, and I said, "How will you get to your car tomorrow to meet the wrecker?"

"I don't know—I'll have to call someone."

"Call Fred's garage. He'll stop and pick you up. "

I backed out of the Kwik Stop parking lot and drove down the street to the Delmar Bank, where I parked in front of the building.

"Thanks for everything," he said. He reached out, and his hand closed over mine in a firm, mittened handshake. "I owe you..."

"No you don't," I said. "This is part of my job."

We said good night. I hated to see him leave. I wished I'd met him while I was wearing a dress. Or jeans.

After my twelve-hour shift that morning, the sky bright and sunny, I drove home, changed, and then stopped along the recently plowed highway just as Fred was getting ready to tow Chris's car away. I pulled off to the side of the road, jumped out of my car, and ambled over to him.

"What are you doing here?" he said. "Where's your cruiser?"

"Finished my shift. Thought I'd check things out. What about your car?"

"Fuel pump, probably. Fred said he'd take care of it. " Then, "Look, I really do owe you. How about a monster breakfast somewhere?"

I don't know why I hesitated.

"Up all night and part of the morning," Chris said,  "you must be hungry."

"All right, I know a place."

Chris yelled to Fred that he was riding with me.

Chris and I tromped through the snow to my car. "You...look different..." He shot me that warm smile again. "Jeans. Pea coat. Stocking cap. Hair down."

"Is that good?"

"Very."

I smiled back. I couldn't wait to sit across from him at a breakfast table. Chat some more. Out of uniform.

The End

Bible Study

"It's raining," the Reverend Calvin Johnson said, and smiled, while standing on my front porch, dripping wet in a sudden downpour, a picnic basket slung over his right forearm.

"How can you tell?" I laughed and opened the door wider to let him into my house. "Put the basket on the kitchen table. I'll get a towel."

I fetched a white Turkish towel from the bathroom, hurried back to the kitchen, and handed it to him. "Forget your umbrella?"

He laughed, a deep laugh with another warm, blue-eyed smile attached. "It wasn't supposed to rain," he said, wiping his head, face, arms, and hands. "Not today."

He was the new minister at our church—tall, with blonde wavy hair. I first saw him five Sundays ago in church, when our retiring pastor introduced him from the pulpit. My widowed mom, leaned close to me in our pew, and whispered, "My, I've never seen such a handsome minister."

After the service, I officially met Reverend Johnson in the church basement at a reception to honor our retiring pastor and to welcome our new one. When Reverend Johnson and I were introduced, we gripped hands to shake, and my heart thudded crazily because for some reason his magnetic blue eyes locked with mine. I gulped. "Dr. Theresa Campbell," I said, as our hands pumped twice.

His head tilted. "The only dentist in town, I've heard."

"That's right—Rapid Falls' only dentist."

"Upper right," he said, pointing to his cheek. "Way back."

"Might be a molar."

Two days later, I pulled Reverend Johnson's ailing tooth—painlessly, I might add; he thanked me profusely. Then he said I could call him Cal, instead of Reverend Johnson and asked if he could call me Theresa instead of Dr. Campbell.

I said that was fine, and I couldn't believe what I was thinking. He was single. I was single. Neither one of us had ever married. We were exactly the same age. Thirty-eight.

Then: Stop it, Theresa! I told myself. He's a man of the cloth.

And that's what frightened me.

Quaint and quiet as this little town is, it's filled with gossiping tongues. Can you imagine how rumors would fly if the new pastor and the old-maid dentist were...well, even seen together in public? Holding hands could probably ruin our reputations.

Telephone calls, text messages, and emails between Cal and me followed his office visit. I learned that after ordination, Cal spent ten years in the service as a U.S. Navy chaplain, rising to the rank of Captain. He'd spent the last two years in Casper, Wyoming, as an assistant pastor. Now he'd come to our little town as pastor.

 I poured out my own story. Dental school at State College. Then I returned home to practice dentistry with my dad, until he died. I even told him about Roy—my high school and college sweetheart, who left town five years ago with someone else.

Cal handed the towel back to me now, and I draped it over a kitchen chair. "Our first date," he said, "—we're washed out. And I thought your idea of a picnic on a Sunday afternoon was such a great one."

I frowned. Cal and I were in a dicey situation. He had wanted to go to a movie this afternoon and then to dinner later; but—call me silly, if you want—I was afraid for us to be seen together. Too many wagging tongues in this town. Maybe after he'd been a pastor here for six months or so. Then maybe...

"Don't frown like that," he said. "We can move the coffee table in your living room, spread the table cloth on the floor, and still have our picnic—it's all in the basket."

"But your red Jeep," I said, "is parked in front of my house. People will drive by..."

Now it was his turn to frown.

"I don't want anybody to misjudge you," I said. "You're very important to this community." I held my breath before I said the rest: "And you're becoming very important to me."

While my heart fluttered, he stared at me. "Do you have a Bible?" he asked.

"Why, yes. Of course..." I fetched my Bible from the night table drawer in my bedroom, returned to the kitchen, and handed him the book, wondering what was next.

"First of all," he said, "all any of us need worry about is the Lord's judgment. And secondly"—he opened the picnic basket and pulled out a red-and-white checkered tablecloth—"if anyone asks why my Jeep was parked in front of your house, we'll tell them we had a picnic on your living room floor. And later we studied the Bible."

I smiled at that. I'd never had a picnic in the house, and I hadn't really studied the Bible since I was a kid. I couldn't wait.

The End
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A New Year's Eve Kiss

 "I'd like to kiss you at midnight," a handsome man with incredible brown eyes said.  He peered at his watch. "Not a lot of time left. Half hour."

As I glanced up at him from my table in the Starlight Ballroom, a wide smile curved his lips. Ordinarily, I'd be alarmed at such a request coming from a stranger, no matter how handsome. But this was New Year's Eve. Party time—music and dancing, laughing and kissing.

But tonight my date had walked out on me. "Just spotted an incredible long-lost friend," my date had said, dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the table. "For drinks and cab fare. I don't think I'll be back."

And with that I was left sitting alone at a table, red-faced, humiliated, and angry. Maybe a midnight kiss from a stranger is what I needed—a boost to my damaged ego. But I didn't feel like staying at this party—a thirty-year-old woman by herself. And I certainly didn't feel like kissing a stranger.

"I don't think there's a kiss in our future," I said.

"May I sit down?" the man asked, his voice soft and warm. "Please? Looks like your drink needs freshening."

"You may sit," I said. "But I'm leaving." I brushed the fifty-dollar bill toward him. "If a waiter comes by, tell him that's his tip."

The handsome man pulled out the chair across from me where my date—Eddie—had sat five minutes ago. Easing himself into the chair, the stranger picked up my glass, studied it, then sniffed. His left eyebrow cocked. "It's not wine. Not champagne."

"Ginger ale with a twist of lemon," I said, and shoved my chair back, ready to stand. "I'm a teetotaler tonight."

"I saw what happened."

I blinked. "What happened?"

"The man you were with—I saw both of you talking furiously. Arguing maybe. And then he got up and left."

My eyes dipped. Heat flooded my face. I lifted my gaze and studied his handsome face. Soulful eyes, dark-brown hair cut just a little long, square-jawed—a man like this shouldn't be running loose tonight. He must have a girlfriend or a wife here somewhere. "Do I look so alone and out of place," I asked, "that you're offering me a charity kiss?"

"Your boyfriend," he said calmly, "just left with my date. I watched them go out the door."

I froze. For a second, I couldn't hear the music in the background or the laughter and chatter. I lifted my chin and said, "He's not my boyfriend. I met him three weeks ago. Blind date. This is the second time we'd gone out."

The handsome man shrugged. "I'm sorry. Would you like to dance while I explain what I know?"

When he gently took me into his arms on the dance floor, my heart triple-timed; I forgot about being humiliated and embarrassed. The music was fast, sometimes bouncy, but we danced slowly. He said his name was Troy Hamilton. I told him mine—Jodi O'Donnell.

His date was a friend—Liza—who worked in his office; they sometimes escorted each other to parties and banquets so as not to feel awkward and alone. Turns out my date and his date knew each other from long ago in college. Later, they joined the Peace Corp together but became separated and eventually lost touch. Tonight they'd rediscovered each other in the ballroom. "I think they've been searching for one another for ages," Troy concluded.

"And they found each other tonight?"

"I know. Weird, huh? Life is sometimes stranger than fiction."

"Unbelievable."

I discovered Troy and I had more than our dates in common. Books. He was purchasing agent for our school system; I was a middle school reading specialist. I wanted to thank him profusely for not cutting library funds. But before I could say anything, the music stopped; someone started the traditional New Year's Eve countdown: "Ten, nine, eight..."

He looked down at me with those deep-brown eyes. Oh my gosh! Is he actually going to kiss me?

"...five, four, three..."

He drew me closer into his arms. His lips landed on mine, and my heart cartwheeled. "Happy New Year!" rang throughout the crowded ballroom. When we released each other, he said with a touch of shyness, "I hope I didn't offend you."

I swallowed. "New Year's Eve—everyone kisses somebody."

We ambled to our table and sat down. "Night's young," he said. "You still going to leave?" He offered another shy glance. "That wasn't a charity kiss. How about another ginger ale with a twist of lemon?"

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. His date, my date—his kiss—I couldn't believe any of it. I swallowed again. "I'd love a rum and Coke."

He smiled. "That's more like it."

I smiled back and handed him the fifty-dollar bill still on the table. "Let's really celebrate on Eddie and Liza."

The End
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A Tree for Christmas

          I didn't know how I was going to get through the holiday season this year—I hadn't even looked for a tree.

My husband had died five years ago. I'd learned to deal with that, but my daughter, away at State University, suddenly seemed so independent she no longer needed me. Looking for a shoulder to cry on, I called my sister Celia a week before Christmas and told her my sob story: My daughter Ashley had called and said, if I didn't mind, she'd like to go home with a friend just until after Christmas Day.

Please, Mom! She'd spend all the rest of her holiday with me.A young man was involved. Someone "very special."

"Didn't you tell her," Celia wailed over the phone, "that she was leaving her forty-year-old mom high and dry?"

"I didn't want to ruin her plans—I remember being that age. Being in love."

"Tell you what," Celia said. "Why don't you help me this week?"

Celia spent a lot of time during the week before Christmas at the Children's Hospital, delivering little gifts she purchased during the year from a novelty store. She and her husband had lost their only child to leukemia. The boy had spent a long time in the hospital, and this was Celia's way of cheering up other youngsters who were ill. I told her I'd be delighted to help.

During that week, in the afternoon, Celia and I sported Santa hats—hers red, mine green—and delivered tons of little gifts that we each carried in a basket: Christmas pins—angels, Santas, reindeers, snowmen, snowballs. And candy canes tied with a red or green ribbon. Miniature cars, trucks, dolls, dogs, kittens.

Suddenly I felt my own spirits lifting because I was lifting someone else's.

On the third afternoon, just before getting ready to leave the hospital, I sat in the waiting room on the third floor waiting for Celia. She'd gone to the restroom.

While I browsed though a magazine, a tall man with sandy hair stepped into the waiting room. "Nice hat," he said, and smiled.

My heart did a little flip-flop, and my hand flew up to the green Santa hat I wore. I pulled it off. "I'm pretending to Mrs. Claus," I said. "Sort of..."

I felt myself blushing.

"I know. I saw you and your friend yesterday in the first-floor hallway, and today my son said you'd visited him. Room 2030."

I prayed the boy's illness wasn't serious. "His name...?"

"Danny. Danny Wilson," the man said. "He's ten. He has mono—pretty serious—but he's recovering. Though I don't know if he'll make it home for Christmas. It'll be a pretty lonely house without him."

"I know what you mean. My daughter is gone."

The man looked stricken. "I'm so sorry..."

"Off to college," I said quickly, waving a hand. "Not like you were thinking..."

Just then Celia appeared. She smiled at the tall man and they both said hello. I rose and told him I hoped his boy got better soon. As Celia and I left the hospital to get our cars in the parking lot, she told me she knew the man—Patrick Wilson. His family and he had once lived down the street from her. He was a widower. His wife, in her late thirties, had died during childbirth. "He's handsome," she added, pointedly. "Don't you think?"

I wanted to tell her I hadn't noticed. But I opted for the truth. "Very handsome."

I met Patrick again the next day, accidentally. We were both climbing out of our cars in the hospital parking lot, all bundled up because of the cold and snow.

"Where's your buddy?" he said, puffing out a frosty breath.

"Probably waiting for me in the lobby."

"We haven't been officially introduced—I'm Patrick Wilson."

"Ellen Thompson."

"It's a wonderful thing you're doing, Ellen, cheering these kids up during the holidays."

"Thanks. I'm having a lot of fun."

"Watch out!" He gripped my elbow, guiding me around a patch of ice hidden under the light snow that was falling. His touch sent my heart flip-flopping again.

"I'll find out today for sure if Tommy will be home for Christmas—I've got to get a tree tonight. I've been so busy—I manage a furniture store in the mall, and sales are booming."

"I don't have a tree either. Tying it onto the roof of the car, lugging it into the house, getting it balanced in a stand—my daughter always helped me with that."

"Your husband....?"

"I'm a widow. Five years now."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm getting along fine," I said.

Inside the hospital lobby, where I met Celia, Patrick and I parted. But before he stepped onto an elevator, he smiled and waved at both of us.

"I think he likes you," Celia said.

"Don't be silly." But I wondered if it could be true.

After Celia and I finished our rounds, emptying our baskets, we headed for the hospital doors. We both spotted Patrick sitting in a chair in the lobby as if he were waiting for someone.

"He's waiting for you," Celia whispered.

"He is not!" I hissed.

"Why do you think he's sitting there?" She tugged the empty basket from my grasp. "I'm going home. Talk to him." With that she gave me a nudge in the back.

When I approached Patrick, he stood up looking so uncertain I thought something might have happened to Tommy. But he said, "Tommy will be home for Christmas—and I wondered...well, I wondered if we could look for trees together."

I blinked. I was so surprised I couldn't talk for a second.

"I'll help with the lugging and all," he said. "Even the balancing."

I tried to breathe evenly but couldn't. "I'd love to look for a tree."

He smiled at me again. "Nice hat."

But this time I left the green Santa hat perched atop my head. The hat, it seemed to me, echoed the warm holiday spirit I felt bubbling inside myself.

The End
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