“Delivery!”
Anne pulled her attention from her inventory sheet as the shop door opened to admit an unfamiliar gray-haired stranger. However, she recognized the name of the floral shop embroidered on the pocket of his jacket. Thinking he needed directions, she went toward the entrance to greet him.
“Hi. Can I help you?” she asked in greeting.
“Delivery for Anne Brown,” he said, holding up a long, white box. “Is that you, miss?”
She frowned. “I’m Anne Brown” she said, “but there must be—”
“Anne Brown. The Stitching Post. Nope, this is the right place.” He pushed the box toward her. “You’re gonna want to put these in water right away, miss.”
“Okay. But who are they from?”
“You’d know better than me, I suspect,” the man said with a cheeky wink. “I just transport ‘em. And believe me, today, it’s a big job. My car is full of orders to deliver yet this afternoon. Busiest Saturday I’ve had in a long time. Happy Valentine’s Day, miss.”
Before she could protest that she didn’t know anyone who would send her flowers, he’d headed back out into the cold, leaving the box in her arms. The glossy cardboard had no markings on it, but the package was heavy and cool to the touch. Curious, she carried it to the counter and set it down.
When she lifted the lid, layers of floral tissue, secured to the box by narrow red ribbons, hid the contents from her. A small card printed with care instructions was tied to one of the ribbons, repeating the delivery man’s directive to water the arrangement as soon as it was received. She carefully untied the bows, peeled back the layers of tissue then gasped out loud at the stunning arrangement of long-stemmed, deep red roses she found.
Normally, Anne disliked red roses, because they reminded her of the formal arrangements of them Jeffrey’s mother had kept year-round in her foyer and dining room. However these roses—there had to be at least two dozen of them in a tall, cut-glass vase—were such a deep red their petals might have been cut from burgundy velvet. The deep jade greenery was the perfect backdrop for such exquisite blooms. In awe, she lifted the arrangement from the box and stood it upright on the counter.
“Oh, Brad, you shouldn’t have,” she whispered as she released the shipping band holding the stems together. However, her smile negated her protest.
She touched a finger to the floral medium inside the vase. It was wet enough to keep the stunning arrangement moist for a few moments longer. She wanted to just stand and admire it since there were no customers needing her. She’d never received a Valentine’s Day bouquet before. Jeffrey had certainly never sent her one. In fact, he’d never sent her flowers — or any gift — during their entire marriage. It was one of myriad ways Brad differed from her ex, and she wanted to savor it for a moment.
Finally, she left the arrangement by the cash register where it could be seen by anyone who entered the shop and went to fetch water for the blooms. As she ran the water, she thought about the Valentine cards tucked inside the drawer at the register counter. The roses made her glad she’d decided to buy a card for Brad at the store over the weekend. She debated a long time before doing it and almost hadn’t. After all, Valentine’s Day was meant for sweethearts. She and Brad might speak on the phone every day and had shared a few steamy kisses since the one at Charlie’s Dump, but they weren’t technically dating. Still, he and Jennie had become such an important part of her life she couldn’t imagine not getting something for them.
Once she’d made up her mind to do it, it had been surprisingly difficult to find a card. There had been hundreds in the store’s selection, but most of them had been mushy, suggestive, or flippant. None suited Brad. Anne had finally settled for a lovely card with a verse addressed “For Someone Special.” Luckily, it had been much easier to find Jennie’s valentine. The minute Anne stepped over to the children’s section, she’d spotted an adorable card with a blond-haired princess on its front. She’d brought both cards to the shop with her in hopes the Carmichaels might stop by for a visit.
How had Brad handled the dilemma of addressing a card to her? She frowned and realized she hadn’t seen one on the arrangement. She was certain she’d have noticed if there’d been an envelope tucked among its dense foliage when she’d unpacked the arrangement. Still, she hurried back to recheck. Nothing. She looked inside the box then searched among the layers of tissue. Still nothing. No envelope on the floor either.
Smart man, she thought with a chuckle. He avoided the problem by not putting in a card at all.
She reached for the phone by the register to call Brad. The roses had to have cost him a small fortune, especially since florist shops raised their prices for the holiday. He shouldn’t have spent his hard-earned money this way. Before she could dial his number, the front door opened, admitting a blast of cold air.
“Hi, Anne!” Lila called as she entered The Post. “Is it cold enough for—”
The woman broke off when she spotted the arrangement sitting on the register counter. “Holy mackerel! Are those from your young man?”
Anne cheeks heated at her friend’s words, but she felt the corners of her lips lift. “Brad’s not my—”
“Those are absolutely beautiful,” the elderly quilter continued over Anne’s protest. “Back in my day, a girl’s daddy would question her suitor’s intentions over an arrangement like this.”
If Anne thought her cheeks were warm before, now they felt on fire. To cover her embarrassment, she hastily tucked the empty box on the shelf below the counter and mustered a polite smile. “How can I help you this afternoon, Lila? Did you run out fabric in your stash?”
“Not very likely. The way I buy fabric, I pity my kids once I’m gone. It will take them days just to sort through all the totes and tubs in my sewing room.” Lila laughed. “Not that I intend to go anywhere for a good long time.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Anne replied. “You’re pretty special to me.”
“I feel the same way about you, dear. Which is why I stopped by today. I have something to give you.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a small envelope.
“One year, when my children were small,” she explained, “I bought an extra box of valentines when I bought the ones for my kids to exchange at school. I guess I’m a kid at heart myself, because I addressed cards to my friends while my kids did the ones for their schoolmates. Let me tell you, I got a few strange looks when I gave those out. But most people got a real kick out of it. So much so that it became a tradition among my friends.”
She extended the envelope across the counter. “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”
“Wait!” Anne said and reached into the register drawer. She sorted through the boxes of candy conversation hearts she’d bought over the weekend for her friends in the quilt group until she located the package with Lila’s name on it. She came around the counter and handed it to the older woman. “I guess I’m a kid at heart, too.”
The two women grinned and exchanged hugs then chatted for a few minutes before Lila took off to deliver the rest of her valentines. Anne walked her to the door then went back to the shop to continue the inventory she’d been working on when her flowers were delivered.
A few minutes before closing, the door opened to admit a blast of cold air. A second later, a small blond-haired bundle of energy barreled into Anne and wrapped her in a big hug. “Hi, Miss Anne. Happy Valentine’s Day!”
“Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, Jennie.” She returned the child’s exuberant embrace. Taking Jennie’s hand, Anne walked over to greet the child’s father, who stood near the door with his hands behind his back. His brow furrowed as he eyed the arrangement on the counter.
“You got roses.”
“Yes, they were delivered a little while ago. Thank you so much, Brad.”
“Umm, Anne. Jennie and I stopped to deliver my — I mean our — flowers.” He brought his hands from behind his back and offered her the tissue-wrapped bouquet he’d been hiding.
Anne glanced at the vase on the counter. “But—”
He shook his head. “Those aren’t from me. I wish they were, because they make this bouquet seem pretty puny in comparison.”
“I don’t understand. I thought—”
Unaware of the undercurrent between the two adults, Jennie bounced at her side. “Open them up, Anne. I helped pick them out.”
Confused, Anne reached for the flowers then carefully pulled back the tissue. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the bouquet of delicate pink and white sweetheart roses. “Oh, Brad!”
“You said you didn’t like red roses,” he said, gruffly. “I thought you might like a different color. But—”
“Like them? Brad, I love these,” she said and threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug. “I really do dislike red roses.”
“So who’s my competition?”
“Competition?” She scrunched her nose. “Don’t be silly.”
“Well, if you don’t want to tell me—”
“Brad, I’m serious. I don’t know who sent them. There was no card. I thought they came from you, and you didn’t include—”
He shook his head and pointed to the bouquet she held. A small white envelope nestled among the leaves. Anne set Brad’s bouquet down on the counter. Compared to its dainty pastels, the arrangement of blood-red roses seemed cold and almost sinister.
Pushing aside the silly notion, she reached for the envelope, eager to see what it said. She glanced at Brad, met his warm gaze then slid the card from the envelope. The message inside was written in a male scrawl—Will you be our Valentine? Love, Jennie and Jennie’s Dad. It was better than any greeting card. Anne stooped to give Jennie a big hug then rose and wrapped her arms around Brad’s middle and gave him a squeeze, too.
“Nothing would make me happier, Jennie’s Dad,” she whispered then stood on tiptoe, intending to give him a peck on the cheek.
Instead, Brad’s hands bracketed her face, and he leaned down to touch his lips lightly to hers. A jolt of electricity shot through her as their lips connected. He must have felt it, too, as one of his hands moved to the back of her head, drawing her nearer for a deeper kiss. Aware of Jennie beside them, they separated after a moment then grinned at each other.
“So,” Brad began, “how soon can you close up so we can take you to dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“I thought we’d go to the Grand Villa for steak. Unless you have plans with your secret admirer,” he teased, pointing to the red roses.
Anne swatted his arm playfully then glanced at her watch. The shop wasn’t scheduled to close for another half an hour. She never closed early, hating to disappoint any last minute customers. Still, no one had been in since Lila’s visit earlier, and it was Valentine’s Day, after all.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. With a sense of mischief, she sent him a grin. “How about now?”
****
Brad and Jennie dropped Anne off at her apartment so she could change her clothes before dinner. She’d insisted on bringing home their arrangement of pink and white roses so she could enjoy it over the weekend. When Brad asked about the other roses, she shrugged and said they’d be fine at the shop until Monday. In honesty, she didn’t want them in her apartment where she’d fret over who might have sent them to her. There was no sense in getting all worked up over nothing. For all she knew, they might have been from Myra. Maybe her boss had wanted them as a decoration in the shop. Anne would call the florist on Monday and get it straightened out.
While she freshened up, Brad and his daughter drove the deposit to the bank’s night drop box. At first, Anne had been reluctant about having him do it and had argued she could make the run after she got home from dinner. But Brad had insisted, saying it would give him and Jennie something to do while Anne got ready.
“This way, you won’t have to worry about it later. Besides,” he’d added with suggestive wink. “Maybe I have plans for dessert after dinner.”
Blushing at the memory of their earlier kiss, Anne tried to come up with a suitable reply. Before she could do so, Jennie saved the day.
“Dessert?” the little girl chimed in. “Are we going to get ice cream for dessert?”
Anne wished she’d had a camera. The shocked expression on Brad’s face had been priceless. Apparently, he’d been so caught in the moment he’d forgotten they had a little audience. Laughing, she’d handed him the bank pouch.
“Go. Drop off the deposit. I’ll be ready for dinner by the time you get back… we’ll discuss dessert later.”
Now, she stood in front of her closet, studying the contents and wondering what to wear for dinner. Her wardrobe had grown a bit larger over the winter, so she had a few more options from which to choose. The Grand Villa was supposedly just a casual restaurant, neither too dressy nor too casual. But it was still a special occasion, and she wanted to look pretty. She flipped through several options, discarding each one. Finally, she decided on a pair of dressy, charcoal wool slacks from Goodwill and a new rose pink sweater. A matching pearl necklace and earrings, a Christmas gift from Myra and Ed, would add an elegant touch to the simple outfit.
She carried the garments into the bathroom to change and freshen up. After applying a touch of fresh lipstick, Anne considered her image in the mirror. Brad seemed to like her hair down, so she unfastened her ponytail tie and ran her fingers through the long strands. A few strokes with the hairbrush, and she was ready to go. She flipped off the light and returned to the other room just as a knock sounded at the door.
Expecting Brad, she threw open the door.
“Hi! I’m all set just let me get my—”
“Buona sera, Annie.”
“Mario! Umm, hello.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” the restaurateur said and glanced past her to the kitchen. “You are alone?”
The question made Anne uneasy, but she nodded.
“You should-a not open the door without checking, cara. I tell it to my Gina all-a time.” He offered her the white foam box he held. “I go to the shop to bring-a you some breadsticks, but is all closed up so I bring them here. You are very, very beautiful tonight, Annie.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the box from him. It felt awkward not to invite him inside, but she’d feel more uneasy if she did. “I didn’t realize you knew where I lived, Mario.”
If he noticed her uneasiness, nothing showed in the man’s friendly manner.
“Si, si! Helyn, she tell-a me when you first move-a here. She’s-a very happy to have nice girl like you for a tenant,” he explained. “Well, Mario must get back to the restaurant, cara. We are much busy tonight. You have the nice evening tonight and tell Mister Band Director your friend Mario say he is one very lucky man.”
Anne promised she would but had no intention of doing so. She stood in the doorway and watched Mario hurry down the steps then turn towards his restaurant. When he was halfway down the block, she finally went inside and closed the door, leaning against it with her heart thumping.
If Helyn told Mario where I live, who else might she have told?