Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My gift is a date especially for you.
Dress casual, be ready by 10:32—
He’ll be on your doorstep.
Love, Auntie Two
Lindsay St. Clair stared at the valentine in her hand.
Smiling cherubs and bright pink and red hearts shouted up at her. She couldn’t believe Aunt Cecelia had bought anything so garish, even a greeting card. But it was the so-called poem written in her aunt’s neat hand that held her attention.
“Cecelia”—she read it through again—“this had better be a joke.”
She spun toward the phone. Aunt Celie was just going to have to call this thing off! No way was she—
Her thoughts were cut short when her foot encountered a solid object: Doofus, her snoozing basset hound, grunted and pushed himself up, which only made him a slightly taller obstacle for her scrambling feet. The dog accompanied her headlong tumble with a sonorous howl. Normally Lindsay found Doofie’s bellows hilarious. Low and oddly melodious, they seldom failed to elicit a grin from her. This time, however, she added her own howl, filling her apartment with an impromptu duet.
“Aaarooooooo! Aaaroooo!” Doof sang out.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!” she accompanied as she bounced off the back of the sofa and landed, face down, on the carpet.
She lay there, absorbing the shock of the fall, wondering if she’d broken anything. A cold nose pressed heavy snuffles against her ear. Lindsay couldn’t help it . . . she grinned. Sometimes Doof sounded more like a walking sinus infection than a dog.
Groaning, she rolled onto her back. Doof responded to this sign of life with a glad wag of his thick tail—which set his entire hindquarters wagging—and lumbered forward to lay his heavy head on her chest. As one long ear fell over her face, Lindsay laughed and hugged the animal close.
“Fifty-five solid pounds of pure love, aren’t ya, fella?”
Doofus wagged his hindquarters harder, ecstatic that she was not only alive but still able to serve her most important role in life: paying homage to him.
Lindsay patted the dog’s broad head and scooted into a sitting position, leaning against the sofa. Doofus pressed against her leg, gazing up at her with those sweet, droopy brown eyes. His tail thumped the carpet.
She hugged him again. “Who could resist such devotion?” She laughed. “I’ll tell you, Doof, men could take a lesson—”
Men. Oh, good heavens. Celie’s ridiculous valentine.
Lindsay slid onto the couch and reached out to grab the phone. She dialed Celie’s number. One ring, two, and then—
“Salutations!” Celie’s refined voice greeted her, but before Lindsay could say anything the voice went on. “This is the Williams residence.”
Ugh. Voicemail. Lindsay hated voicemail. She tapped her foot.
“We are unable to speak with you at present, but if you’d be so kind as to leave a message, we’ll return your call in as expeditious a manner as possible.”
“Cecelia Rose—” she began in frustration, but she was cut off again.
“And if this is Lindsay, you might as well hang up. I refuse to talk with you until tomorrow. And, no, I will not call it off. And don’t try to appeal to Amelia or Ophelia for aid. We all think you need to do this. Besides, this man is quite perfect for you. So go get ready and, for heaven’s sake, have fun!”
Lindsay barely heard the beep that followed this pronouncement. She just stared at the phone in her hand as though it had grown a head and a set of horns.
“Have fun?” she sputtered. “Have fun?” She slammed the phone back into the cradle, taking a perverse pleasure in the thought that the sound probably recorded and would make her aunt’s ear ring.
So the aunts thought she needed to do this, did they? Well, who appointed them Grand Poobah Decision Makers in her life?
You know they only want you to be happy.
“I know.” Lindsay sighed and settled back against the soft cushions. “And I want the same thing, Lord. You know I do.” Her gaze wandered to the pictures on her fireplace mantel and came to rest on her aunts’ pictures. Lindsay stood and went to study them.
The Three Aunties, with a soft “A,” as Lindsay and her brother, Mac, called them (much to their chagrin), were triplets. Though fifteen years older than Lindsay, they’d been born when Lindsay’s mother was ten, a surprise to all concerned. As was their prodigious intelligence. It hadn’t taken long for Lindsay’s grandparents to realize they had three brainiacs on their hands.
Perhaps that was part of the reason they seemed such worlds apart from Lindsay.
Ophelia, Cecelia, and Amelia all boasted a peaches-and-cream complexion and blue eyes. All tall and willowy, and possessed of long, flowing hair and angelic features, they were a sight to behold, together or apart. Celie was a physicist; Phelia, a law researcher; and Melia, a senior professor of mathematics and statistical methods at the university. All wonderful, well-paying, judicious professions. Not “jobs,” mind you, but “professions.”
Interestingly enough, all three held a particular dislike of anything domestic, be it cooking, cleaning, sewing—even decorating their homes was left to “someone with a flair for such things.”
Namely, Lindsay.
She sighed. If she’d had a choice, she would have opted for being brilliant, like her aunts and her brother. Then, maybe, she wouldn’t feel so . . . well, lonely all the time. It wasn’t much fun to be the family oddity. And it wasn’t just on the personality side that the three didn’t mesh with her. Lindsay was different from them in almost every way.
Shorter than The Three Aunts, she was more athletic in build than willowy. And her hair shone a deep auburn, which made her stand out from her aunts like a sore thumb. Still, she thought her hair color went rather well with her forest-green eyes. As for her profession, well, it was something she absolutely loved, but it stymied The Three: Lindsay was a creative consultant. And though her aunts didn’t understand what she did—or why—they all were proud of the fact that Lindsay’s work was in high demand across the country.
If only they could be proud of her because she was doing what she loved, rather than because she was successful.
She longed to share her dreams with her aunts, to share her deepest feelings and hopes for the future. But she’d learned early on that The Three weren’t particularly nurturing concerning that side of their niece. Oh, they were creative in their own ways. In very . . . linear ways. But when it came to Lindsay’s everything’s-possible, just-close-your-eyes-and-you’re-there manner of thinking, their minds didn’t work that way. She remembered once, when she was quite young, going to her aunts and asking, “What if we’re really the reflections in the mirror, only thinking we’re the real thing?” The Three gave her blank looks and shook their heads in that pitying, at-least-she’s-a-pretty-child way. They loved her, she knew that. But they were more comfortable with each other.
That was probably why Lindsay had formed such a solid friendship with Kylie Hawk. No, she corrected herself with a smile, Kylie St. Clair. Her friend was now her sister. OK, sister-in-law. But Lindsay didn’t bother much with technicalities.
Kylie was her sister, plain and simple.
She’d felt like her sister long before she and Mac got married. It was such a delight to Lindsay to find someone with as creative a bent as she had. Someone who understood the way Lindsay thought.
Unlike The Three Aunties. When it came down to it, about the only thing she shared with her aunts was their faith in God. Lindsay would always be grateful that her aunts had been devout in their faith, had insisted that she and Mac attend church. The aunts did all they could to help Lindsay and her brother develop a sincere relationship with God. And they’d succeeded. Lindsay always knew she could ask her aunts to pray for her or even with her. And, for that moment, they would be connected.
But it seldom happened other times.
Lindsay thus had focused her energies on finding outlets for her creativity. Painting, writing, photography, sculpture, origami—it all fascinated her. Many of her favorite creations were displayed in her spacious apartment, giving it a personality that was a delightful mix of gracious beauty and lighthearted whimsy.
In the past several years, cooking had become one of her favorite pastimes. And though The Three Aunts found Lindsay peculiar, they were delighted whenever she brought her culinary abilities to their kitchens.
In fact, when she went to cook dinner a few weeks ago for Ophelia, it was the first time her aunt had ever ventured into that particular room of her own house.
“Oh, my,” Ophelia had remarked as she surveyed the kitchen. “It’s yellow. How . . . cheerful.”
Lindsay shook her head. Her aunts were, well, unique.
And ridiculously determined to see her settled. In other words, married.
Her gaze drifted to the collection of wedding photos on her fireplace mantel, traveling from one to the next . . . what was that old saying? “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” Yes, that was it. And that was the story of her thirty-five years of life. She’d been in so many weddings of so many friends, she felt like a professional bridesmaid.
She rose and went to pick up one of the pictures, the one of Terri, a friend from high school. Terri’s eyes positively shone with happiness as she gazed up into her groom’s smiling face. As for the groom, he looked as though he’d won the lottery.
It was the same in all the photos. Her friends were blessed in love. Each had found the man of her dreams—the proverbial tall and handsome, as well as devoted to God and family, in that order. As for Lindsay . . . well, she had Doofus.
That counted for something, didn’t it?
Lindsay glanced at the photo again. The Three Aunties had known Terri, too, and never failed to comment on the fact that Lindsay’s high school friend and her husband only grew happier with each year. That they lived a lovely life in a lovely home, complete with their two lovely children.
It was enough to make a person sick.
Lindsay set the picture back in its place with a loud thump and turned to Doofus. “I love my aunts. You know I do,” she told him.
Doofie gazed up at her. His tail gave one hesitant thump on the carpet—a sign he wasn’t sure if she was upset or not.
Well, that was only fair. She wasn’t sure, either.
“They just can’t wait for me to be in a state of marital bliss.” She paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.
Doofie’s head swayed back and forth as he followed her movements.
“It’s not like I haven’t tried!” Lindsay heard the slightly hysterical tone in her voice, but she didn’t care. “I mean”—she jerked to a halt and planted her hands firmly on her hips, staring at Doofus—“I was practically a candidate for the Queen of Dating, for Pete’s sake! Well, wasn’t I? Think about it. How many dates did I go on?”
“Rowf!”
“Exactly!” Lindsay’s arms flailed around. “About a million! And how many of them were enjoyable?”
“Rowwruf!”
“That’s right! Zero. Zilch. Nada. Zippo.” The last word surprised her by coming out as a squeak because of her suddenly tight throat. She clenched her teeth. She was not going to cry. She moved to the sofa, dropped down on it, and pulled her knees up to her chin. Doof scooted toward her and laid his own chin on the couch beside her. Swallowing hard, she looked down at him.
“I tried, Doofer. I really did. I prayed about it and I trusted God to bring Mr. Right into my life. But all I ever met were Mr. Wrongs.” She choked back a sob. “Or Mr. Not-on-Your-Lifes. There just wasn’t anyone out there who . . . fit.” She leaned her head back and blinked rapidly against the tears. “And I just got tired of it all, you know? Of meeting, and getting to know each other, and trying to sort the image from the reality. I got tired of the games . . . especially since I’m so rotten at them.”
The tears won out. They ran down her face in hot streams. Good grief. Pathetic.
A small whimper drew her attention. Doof looked for all the world as though he was about to bawl right along with her. The incongruous thought made her smile despite the depression threatening to settle over her.
“Declaring a moratorium on dating was the smartest thing I ever did. I know The Three Aunts were horrified, but that last date was sooooo bad! Do you remember?” She leaned down close to Doofus’s ear. “Remember . . . Gary?”
Doofus jerked back with a growl, and Lindsay laughed. It worked every time. Gary Brower—the last man with whom her well-intentioned aunts had set her up—was more than a disaster.
He’d been the nail in the coffin of her dating life.
“You’re both creative types,” Celie had said. “You have a great deal in common.”
“Creative, eh? What does he do?” Lindsay had been skeptical. The Three Aunts’ definition of creative and her own were worlds apart.
“He’s an editor.” Phelia spoke with such confidence.
“And a writer, I think,” Melia added.
This caught Lindsay’s interest, then—
“For a computer company.” Celie’s victorious smile flashed. “He works on books of some sort, to guide people as they work with their software or hardware.”
Lindsay’s heart sank. “He writes . . . computer manuals.”
“Right.” Celie beamed at her. “Sounds perfect, doesn’t he?”
“And you barely even notice those thick glasses.” Melia’s wide, innocent eyes were so sincere.
Phelia frowned. “Though you’d think he could find frames in some color other than black. . . .”
Lindsay should have stopped it right there. She knew she should have. But she didn’t have the heart to pop her aunts’ hopeful bubble. Instead, she’d suffered through two dates with Mr. Creative. Not only had he bored her to tears with detailed descriptions of the importance in society of algorithms, but he’d taken one look at Doofus and started to sneeze.
“Allergic,” he managed from behind a handful of Kleenex. “To dogs. Unsanditary beadsts. Can’d imagine why anyone would hab one id their hombe.” He sneezed again, then fixed her with a look of pure censure. “Do you hab any idea the bacteria one finds id a dog’s mouth?”
Doofus had felt the same dislike. All Lindsay had to do was mention Gary’s name, and the usually easygoing basset growled. And snorted. And—she would swear to this in court—sneezed.
All three had been relieved when Lindsay told Gary she didn’t think things were working out between them.
The Three Aunts, on the other hand, had been less than pleased. Especially when Lindsay informed them that she was finished. She wasn’t playing the dating game any longer.
“Are you insane?” Celie had screeched the words—a surprisingly emotional display. “You’ll never meet Mr. Right hiding in your apartment!”
“Cecelia, please.” Ophelia had stepped between them. “I’m sure Lindsay isn’t at all serious.”
“Yes, I am.”
Amelia planted those elegant hands on her tiny hips. “Do you truly believe this is what God wants for you?”
Cecelia brushed her youngest triplet aside. “Do you truly want to spend the rest of your life with no one to talk to but your dog?”
“He’s a better conversationalist than Gary was!” Lindsay shot back. Seeing her aunt’s crestfallen expression, she went to put her arm around her slim shoulders. “Hey, you guys, come on. I’ve given Mr. Right plenty of time to show. Apparently he’s not interested. And neither am I. Not anymore. As for what God wants, well, I don’t know. But I trust he’ll let me know if I’m off base.”
Celie had stared at her. “You’re hopeless.”
She’d met this with her usual equanimity—she’d stuck her tongue out at Celie, then kissed each of The Three and headed for home.
A year and a half had passed since then, and Lindsay was enjoying every minute of the emotional peace and quiet that came from not being caught up in the search for a soul mate.
As for those nights when she cried into her pillow, aching for someone to talk with, for someone who could share her heart and hopes, well, that was just the price one paid for giving up childish fantasies.
Lindsay glanced at the mantel clock. Almost nine-thirty. Her valentine date would be here in an hour.
“Ohhhhhhhh . . . rats!” It looked as though The Three were going to have the last laugh this time. They’d suckered some poor guy into playing valentine date, knowing full well their Lindsay would never just take off or not answer the door and leave the man standing there.
She sat for a few moments, thinking, then an idea began to dawn. No, she couldn’t . . . could she?
The truth shall set you free.
Lindsay felt goose bumps as the oft-repeated words of Scripture floated through her mind. “Really, Lord? Can it really be that easy?”
As if in answer, verse after verse flooded her heart: When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth. . . . Hold to the truth in love, becoming more and more in every way like Christ . . . under his direction the whole body is fitted together perfectly. . . . Give me an understanding heart. . . .
She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. The answer was so simple. Why hadn’t she seen it before? She jumped up from the couch, startling poor Doofus snoring away beside her.
“Sorry, Doof, old boy.” She leaned down to plant a kiss on his sloping snout, then cupped his droopy face in her hands. “It just feels good to know what to do, you know?”
With a little jig, she turned and headed for her room to get ready and to make a few phone calls in preparation—giggling all the way down the hall.