Chapter Three

Ignoring the doorbell with the innie instead of an outie, I knocked on the bright pink door and waited. Somehow, I was freezing cold in this Valentine’s Day drizzle while sweat poured off the slopes of my shoulder blades, down my spine and into parts unknown. Parts unseen by the waking world in what felt like years. Centuries.

The door cracked open, giving me a view of the granny’s cottage deep in the woods just before a wolf showed up for brunch. I raised the brown box up, a smile slapping to my face, when five blurs launched off the paisley couch. My heart leaped into my throat, my eyes straining in agony to note the sharp claws striking into shag carpet, slicing against peeling white furniture, and all at the ready to cut me to ribbons.

At the last second, the door slammed shut. I winced, expecting to hear five small bodies hit with thuds, but the attacking creatures must have rebounded in time. “Sorry about that,” a dusty old voice called from inside, “my cats get so excited whenever visitors show up.”

Excited for fresh meat, no doubt. Was this the modern update of Arsenic and Old Lace? Invite some beleaguered AirB&Bers to her cottage, then unleash the highly trained murder felines on them to finish the job?

And I’d clearly been walking these sleeting streets for far too long without a break.

“Ma’am,” I said, bouncing higher on my toes, “I have a package for you.”

“Who from?”

“Helen’s Florals.” My boss was not named Helen, but she’d determined that Helen tested best in focus groups. Apparently, it was friendly.

I expected to hear a click of the doorknob, my body clenching in anticipation of the deadly claw attack, but the lady on my order slip said, “Right, yes. I plum forgot. Um, my babies are rather riled up. Why don’t you pass me the box through the window?”

The window? I glanced above the rickety cement stairs I stood on to the upper window. Where no doubt bright daisies and marigolds would grow in spring, a mud garden sat directly under it now. Wonderful. Fantastic.

The customer, no matter how batty, was always right.

“Okay,” I called through clenched teeth and began to climb over the tiny fence to stand in the garden. My shoes squelched in the mud, dragging me deeper into the frozen abyss. But I didn’t need to worry about the suit. No, in a delightful turn of luck, it was three inches too short for me. So it was only my exposed socks that were plummeting into the earthen pull. That polyester monstrosity would live to see another day. Fantastic.

At least the box wasn’t heavy with whatever was in there. I rarely cared, and once they signed the receipt, it was their problem if something was wrong or the flowers weren’t floral enough. But, as I extended the practically-just-air box above my head, I began to wonder. What did the murder cat lady order for Valentine’s Day? Was it a boutonniere for her next victim? A wreath to lay over the casket as she buried another body in her basement?

The window I strained to reach opened, frail hands cutting through the gray air. “Ah, young man, I’m afraid I can’t get it.”

Like a fool who’d been up since four a.m. and had walked ten miles in a suit designed to both humiliate and torture the wearer, I glanced around the dead garden to find a ladder. Why would there be a ladder? Did this lady often force delivery crews to hoist her packages up to the window?

Sighing, I cupped one hand under the box and began to stagger up on my tiptoes. My other palm rested against the peeling siding because otherwise, I’d wind up chin-deep in the mud. Though that was still probably going to happen.

“Yes, yes,” the customer called, barely the tips of her fingers reaching out into the frosty world. “Just a little farther.”

For the love of God, lady! Lean out and take this from me! Biting my tongue hard enough that I was sure I broke something, I strained with every tendon in my scrawny body. Slowly, I lifted the heel of my palm, watching in the back of my brain the way one does a horror victim walking down a flight of stairs. It was going to fall. She would reach for it, knock it out of my hands, and I’d have a hundred bucks’ worth of Werther’s hard candies smash me in the face.

“Got it,” she called and I collapsed against the house. My raised foot slammed into the mud, splattering the tops of both my shoes but not getting a single drop on that lucky suit. The window above me slammed shut without so much as a by your leave while I tried to rub life back into my muscles.

“Um, ma’am?” I shouted, digging out the damn sheet my boss insisted upon. “I need you to sign for that.” Please.

Oh, God. A vision flashed through my mind of the old lady trying to lean out of her window, her frail body tumbling into my arms. It’d probably be a romantic interlude if she wasn’t a murderous cat woman, I wasn’t gay and it wouldn’t most likely break her hips.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” she called, evaporating that mess of fears.

Wringing the drizzle out of my ‘oh, let’s call it chestnut’ hair, I staggered back to the stairs and waited for the threat of the attack cats. But this time, the door opened to the woman I’d only seen the hands of. A pained smile twisted about her lips as she slipped out to the cold porch beside me.

“You needed something from me?” she began, waking my weary bones.

“Yes.” My body slipped into auto mode, passing her the pen while I held the pad. “Sign here, please.”

While she left behind a signature worthy of wedding invitations, I listened to the house. There was a low hum from inside but no threatening growls. “If I may…ma’am?”

“Hm?”

What have you done to your murder cats? I shook off the real question and asked instead, “What was in your order?”

“They don’t tell the grunt workers, eh?” she chuckled, jabbing the blunt end of the pen at my midsection as if it was a hilarious shared joke. “It’s catnip. Every year I order a bundle for my kittens on Valentine’s Day.”

Catnip. I had to shove a bouquet of catnip through a window while my toes froze in the mud. Yep. Sounded about right for how this day had been going.

Bundling the soggy receipt book back into my pocket, I nodded to the old lady who just wanted to treat her murder squad. Before I could turn to leave, she said almost as if to herself, “Men aren’t worth the trouble.”

It was hard for me to argue. Twenty-four years on this planet and I’d only had one sort-of boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. He was filed under the sort-of label because I’d thought he was and he hadn’t. Which had made for a fun after-Valentine’s Day surprise. The rest in my meager existence were made up of me giving cheap cardboard to girls I pretended to like, acting as if I didn’t care at all in the high school to college years, then carrying love tokens to every other couple in this city.

Falling into the driver’s seat of the delivery truck, I leaned back against the headrest. So maybe I wanted what all those squeeing secretaries and dental hygienists got. A guy, preferably hot—though I’d also take cute and charming—who’d put in a bit of effort to romance me before barebacking in his hot tub.

Shit. I laughed while starting up the truck. After the year I’d had, a sack of burgers and a blow job would have been the height of romance. The trip back to the shop was an infuriating increase in bumper-to-bumper traffic. It wasn’t until I was at the turn-off when I realized it was nearly five. No wonder.

Over ten hours shuffling flowers and love notes across this drizzly wasteland of glass and concrete and I still had another dozen or so stops to go. God, I cursed at myself while strolling into the shop for the last load. People were gonna be pissed. They needed their flowers to show off, to impress. No one wanted a frazzled, muddied and sopping wet delivery man to wander in during the middle of a candlelit dinner.

On cue, my stomach grumbled courtesy of the half a peanut butter sandwich I’d crammed in my mouth while changing lanes during lunch. It had been the best I could manage on both my salary and my schedule. And I couldn’t cook to save my life.

Lauri caught me stumbling for the storage room and jerked her chin at me. “Look at what the…” She paused to sniff the air. “Were you attacked by an army of rats?”

“Yes,” I sighed while dropping the receipts on the desk for her. “A mess of them tried to take off with the flowers, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Stood my ground armed with only a single-stemmed rose and a trashcan lid.”

She stared me down, her arms crossed. “Now I know you’re delirious. Well, last round.”

“Thank fucking God,” I cursed, not caring if the boss was in. Not even caring if she ran out shrieking at me for it. In my mood, I’d have let rip some really special swears I’d saved up.

Sweeping the last pad of deliveries into my hand, I moved to gather up the baskets, when Lauri clucked. She did it to get my attention, which worked because a woman with a nose ring squawking like a chicken always draws every eye to her. Flicking her tongue at me, she said, “What’s taking you so…?”

A ring carried over the phone, and I groaned. “Why is that on? Shouldn’t we be closed for the holiday?” Though, given the desperate ghouls wandering the streets with no Val-day gift and needing anything as appeasement, we should really have boarded up the windows as well.

Lauri moved to pick up the old headset when the machine rolled it aloud. “Um, hello.”

All the blood rushed from my face to my gut.

“This is Mr. Nguyen. I was wondering if you had an ETA on when my order will be delivered today.”

Fuck. Shit. Crap and a half. How did I forget? Okay, I didn’t forget forget, more put it so far out of my mind it might as well have been something a version of me in another universe had to deal with. And Lauri was glaring at me.

Still, she slipped on her sweet voice and spoke into the phone. “He should be arriving within ten minutes, sir.”

What?!

“Delightful. I’m glad that I…” Tan’s sweet voice paused and he restarted. “I’ll wait for him.”

With that, Lauri hung up and spun in her chair to face me fully. My tongue tried to spit out curses that’d wither her lineage for generations, but all that came out was, “How? Why? What did…? Huh?”

“You heard him. The customer is—”

“For fuck’s sake, how am I supposed to get across town in time?”

She laid her hand on my arm and leaned tight to my face. “There’s this thing called speeding, Jack.”

I sneered, tempted to roll my eyes clear back in my skull. “No shit, but I’ve got another eleven baskets to deliver before I can even—”

“I took care of it.”

My jaw shattered through the mud-stained floor. Blinking rapidly as if that could clear out my ears, I asked, “Come again?”

Lauri was already shrugging on her coat and inching towards the door. “You were behind, so I figured I’d deliver a few myself. And look at that.” She curled her hands under her belly. “My womb didn’t fall out or nothing. Anyway, I have a hot date with a pair of pajamas and my backlog on Netflix.”

I snorted at her idea of a good Valentine’s night, but Lauri didn’t go in much for the romance side of life. Any aspect, really. “You know, maybe I should try that asexual thing. Seems easier.”

She paused at the door, her keys twisting the lock in place. Running a cold gaze over my body, she said, “You wouldn’t last a week.”

“Probably not,” I admitted, my cheeks burning at the truth.

“See you tomorrow for return day,” Lauri laughed while slipping out into the darkening street. Just before the door closed, she spun on her heel to say, “And have fun tonight.”

Fun? I whipped my head to try to spit back how excited I was to eat freezer-burned pizza rolls roasted over the flames of this suit, but she was already gone. Hefting up the box, which sent a cramp in my spine racing down my hips, I groaned.

The damn thing had to weigh thirty pounds easy. What did he request for his date? A set of barbells?

Laughter wouldn’t catch at the idea of a horrified woman having to lug around heart-painted weights for Valentine’s Day.

Date. I was delivering roses, and chocolates and what had to be a solid gold llama statue so Tan could get all romantic with someone else. And I’d better hurry or risk him chewing me out in front of said date.

I had foolish dreams that the traffic would have eased up because of the muddy rain and no one wanting to be out on February Fourteenth. Either everyone else failed to get the update, or people were seriously excited to cram on ties, sit in prissy restaurants and pay a hundred percent markup on alcohol just for sex.

Had I moved fully into bitter single territory? Maybe a house full of cats wouldn’t be the worst future. At least I wouldn’t die alone, and they’d probably eat me, so cheap funeral. Okay, after this was done, I needed to drink all the leftover Christmas wine in my fridge. Maybe in one giant cup with a curly straw?

My GPS chirped that I was at my destination and I craned my head out of the window to find a sparkling glass skyscraper rising to the clouds. “Of course he lives here. He probably has a butler and a footman and sits naked at his piano at two in the morning composing love ballads for models.”

Spinning in my seat, I picked up the mysterious package and a dangerous spike of curiosity lanced through my heart. What’s in here anyway? I could have asked Lauri, as she’d packed it, but I didn’t have the nerve. Now the question wouldn’t leave me. What special requests did he make to warrant the long receipt? How high class a gift did he spring for? Just how little expense was spared for his wooing?

It was stupid. I knew it the second I twisted my keys around and plunged them through the tape. But I had to know. In that ‘if I don’t figure it out it will haunt me until my dying day before my cats eat me’ kind of way. The broken line of packing tape taunted me, but it was too late now.

Halfway through hell, and all that.

Yanking the box open, I reached inside to find a red wicker basket shaped like a heart—our biggest one. Opalescent cellophane covered the outside, but I knew enough to guess through the translucent shield. It didn’t have much by way of flowers, just a single long-stem rose, red as lust. But the rest of the gift set my green-eyed monster prowling.

A slim bottle of champagne and two plastic flutes took up the middle. A curious box wrapped in shiny white paper sat near the back. I knew we didn’t have any wrappings for that. Did he bring it in himself? Please don’t let it be jewelry. It looked too big for that all-important ring, but even a necklace or bracelet could be…?

Could be what, Jack? Why do you care?

A small cutting board with three varieties of hard cheese vacuum-sealed to it along with a tiny knife. The handle had an adorable heart on the tip, of course. There was a not-so-fresh loaf of bread to accompany the cheeses, its crust hard but the insides probably still tender. And the whole package was finished off with a box of Swiss chocolates nestled on the side.

“What, no strawberries?” I muttered to the world, as if I had to impress someone. As if I wasn’t a bubbling vat of envy because that would never be meant for me. Absently, my hand batted at the scarlet ribbons tied in a perfect bow at the top. A move just like those imaginary cats who’d one day get to feast upon my lonely corpse.

My gaze slid to the dashboard clock, and I flinched. Five o’clock! How? I was just…? There was no time to re-tape this up—I’d just have to present it as is. Maybe I could spin a minor box shortage across the city? Or just drop it on the doorstep and run. That seemed the best idea. Forget the signature. I’d rather take a chewing out over having to look a ready-to-get-down Tan in the eye.

At least it had stopped raining. It was little comfort as I dashed through the murky puddles for the door. By the time I got inside, told the receptionist who I was and skedaddled into the elevator, my resolve was pudding. Maybe one look wouldn’t hurt.

How fancied up would Tan get to seduce someone? A silk shirt barely tucked into tight trousers? His serious suit but with the unknotted tie hanging off his neck for later? A full-on tuxedo?

God, he looked fantastic in that. Most of my memories of prom were brittle edges of my mother tricking me into taking a girl from church. But tucked in between the awkward small talk and the even awkwarder dancing was Tan in a rented tux that looked like it was stitched by elves for just his perfect body.

The elevator opened and my heart plummeted to the ground. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t drop it before the door and knock. What if he was waiting? Drop it, then call from the truck to tell him it’d been delivered. Drop it and hope he checked himself?

Every stupid idea that I knew would get me either reprimanded or fired faded as I approached apartment 642. Taped just below the keyhole was a piece of folded paper with the words Delivery Man written on the front. Did he mean me?

It seemed weird for someone to have specific instructions for a floral drop-off, but that cursed curiosity won over. I read quickly.

 

The door is open. Please follow the red string.

 

He wants me to what?

My numb palm landed on the handle, not expecting it to budge. But it fell smoothly, as if the entire thing had been recently oiled. The door slid inward. A string of red yarn was knotted against an umbrella stand and stretched up a set of floating stairs.

Stupidly, I flicked on the yarn with my fingers, watching the taut string tremble up to wherever it ended. Well, I’d already had to shove a box through a window to humor cats. Was this really that odd?

The ‘customer is always right’ motto I’d had tattooed onto my brain drove my feet up the stairs. Every few steps, I’d drop my hand from the basket to glide my fingers over the yarn as if I still couldn’t believe it was there. Rather elaborate setup for a delivery man.

Unless… He wanted me to be there. To set up the goodies while his impressed date watched. To pop the champagne and pour it for them. To stand around like a moron as they kissed while I struggled to keep my soul from fleeing my body.

At the top of the stairs, my brain screamed at me to run, but I was in too deep. The string took an unexpected turn towards a pair of French doors overlooking a balcony. I couldn’t see much beyond the sun sinking behind the skyline. Perhaps there’d be another note telling me to leave the basket on the table. That Tan wasn’t even here, he was still at work.

I reached the end of the red string knotted to the handle and tugged both down. Just before taking a step outside, I caught a silhouette of a man standing before the cement balcony, his arms stretched across the stone railing, his head facing out to the city. So much for my ‘he’s not even here’ theory. Nor was he in a tux, though, damn, the things those jeans did for his ass…

As I eased out into the falling February night, my brain threw up one last fear. What if he made me sing for her? I eyed up a patio table where a trio of candles flickered against the shadows, and moved to place the basket on it. My feet remained firmly planted in the doorway as if that would save me. Just a little bit more, then I could book it out of here.

“Ah.”

Oh shit.

That perfect face turned, his strong arms sweeping off the banister to cup together. Tan smiled brightly as he caught me. “You’re here.”