Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  Dear Livvie,

  I still think about you. I'm sorry, but I do. I don't know why we drifted apart, and that bothers me. If we broke up for a reason, I'd understand. Is there some reason you left? Please tell me. I would like either closure, or an opportunity to make things right. Life was good when you were in it. I would like that again.

  Tyler.

  And that was it.

  Ros read through it one more time. Tyler sounded sweet, but clueless. What if his package had arrived while Livvie was still living there, and she did have a change of heart? Poor Tyler had forgotten to include his phone number. After all, no guarantee she still had it, after all this time. People lost their phones by accident, or lost others' phone numbers by deliberate.

  Then again, here Ros was on a bus going to Tyler's house thanks to the legally mandatory return address on the Rascalled package.

  Now here's a thing: what was she going to say to Tyler? "Hello, sorry, Livvie doesn't live there anymore, we don't know where she is, here's your box and your broken dreams back"? Or worse: "Sorry, wrong address."

  As she looked at the candy hearts within, "Sorry I'm only returning the box. Our cat tore it open and all the candy hearts spilled out/got lost/were eaten?" A finger hovered over a cheerful yellow one. 'Be My Grl', it said. She rumbled through the others, some saying, 'Marry Me', others saying, 'Sweet Talk', and even one that said, 'Txt me'. Poor Tyler!

  Ros closed the lid, but only after she snuck away the first yellow heart. Even left the note inside. Best to get rid of this box before temptation took over.

  Soon she alighted the bus and walked down a rather nice street in Applecross. Most of the original properties had been subdivided, original Jacaranda trees standing century-old sentinel in front, and new townhouses in the back. The distant hiss of traffic from Kwinana Freeway and the buzz of a saw somewhere warred with the sound of a pair of ringneck parrots arguing above her.

  Tyler's house was the only one on the block that hadn't been subdivided. It was a nice, if somewhat neglected place, all reminiscent of the Roaring Twenties with its California Bungalow style. The Arts and Crafts style pillars needed repainting. The sound of the saw was much louder here, possibly in the back yard.

  Up on the porch, she knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  That saw kept going, so Ros went around to the side gate. This was an old-fashioned picket affair, low enough she could observe the back yard without needing to climb.

  There she found the source of the noise. A man bent over a yellow Trident Workbench, his safety-glasses and bare hands guiding a piece of wood through the teeth of the sawblade. Sweat soaked his blue T-shirt, making it cling to his skin, and his straight black hair glistened with similar dampness. He moved ever so slightly, his focus totally on the cut. Such precision! Ros held her own breath, in case an accidental exhalation would ruin this vision of perfection.

  Ros's heart pumped and her lower belly clenched. Her left hand grasped a panel of the gate while her right hand clutched at the carved box.

  Was this Tyler? If so, Livvie was a fool to give him up.

  She waited at the gate, transfixed, until he'd finished his cutting. Then he turned off the saw, straightened, and took off his safety glasses. He was of Asian descent. Not Chinese, obviously. Japanese? No, not right. Perhaps Korean? Her knees weakened. He could have come straight from a K-drama.

  He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Underneath, his stomach was a solid washboard of dampened muscles.

  A whimper escaped Ros.

  He paused at the sound, then startled when he saw her. "Bugger," he let slip out, "I didn't see you there." His accent was purely Australian, delivered with a deep, resonant voice.

  Ros's mouth had dried. She swallowed, hoping to find words. "I didn't want to startle you while you were working." That’s how fingers got cut off.

  "Ta," he said. Then he lifted the collar of his T-shirt to wipe off the rest of his brow. This did not show off his bare stomach, and Ros found herself disappointed.

  He grabbed a water bottle, took a swig, and approached the gate. "I presumed you knocked?"

  Ros could only nod. She lifted the box. "I, uh, brought this back."

  He looked at it, a frown creasing his face. "Where'd you get that? You're not Livvie."

  Now she blushed. "Sorry," she muttered. What was she doing? He seemed genuinely disappointed she brought it back. With guilt, she held it over the fence. "Soli thought it was for me, then Rascal destroyed the post box, and Livvie doesn't live there anymore, and I thought you should know, Tyler. It's too beautiful and I couldn't keep it."

  He came forward and took the box from her hands. "I'm not Tyler."

  Ros blinked. "What?"

  Not-Tyler turned and walked away with the box.

  "Wait. Where are you going?"

  He stopped, glancing back. "You said you were returning it."

  "But you said you weren't Tyler."

  "Yeah, nah. Tyler's away on FIFO. Will be gone at least another week."

  Oh. "So, he lives here?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're his housemate, then?" Please say housemate, Ros prayed silently. Don’t say boyfriend.

  The man with no name nodded. Somewhere, a small dog began to bark. This moved him to action, and he retreated to the house. He opened the door and a small maltese cross came running out, the source of the barking.

  Not-Tyler went inside while the dog came to bark at Ros.

  Great. Her face flushed even warmer. Her heart had not quieted down either and the barking dog wasn't helping. Cute little thing, but annoying.

  Perhaps Rascal wasn't so bad. At least he was quiet when creating trouble.

  Not-Tyler soon returned. Instead of the box, his hands held two glasses of something clear and cold, if the beading sweat on the outside spoke true.

  "Here," he said, handing both over to Ros.

  In surprise, she took the two glasses. Not-Tyler grabbed the dog, tucking him under an arm, then unlatched the gate. "Come on in."

  At least the dog settled once picked up. The little guy's curiosity wasn't assuaged, though. He looked Ros over, inspecting her, perhaps, his little nose twitching. Could he smell Rascal on her?

  Not-Tyler latched the gate and put the dog down. At least he had the decency to remain quiet as he sniffed about Ros's ankles.

  Not-Tyler took one of the glasses from Ros. "Let's sit in the alfresco." He gestured deeper into the back yard.

  Away from the house stood a wooden gazebo with a couple of hanging wicker swings and a hammock. He strode up to one of the swings and plunked himself inside. Ros chose the other, for the hammock looked far too comfy. Besides, she wanted to study him. Something about his lines seemed... good.

  Her cheeks flushed again. "So," she began, more to distract from her awkwardness, "did you build this?"

  Not-Tyler sipped his drink. Ros followed suit, then pressed the cool class to her burning face. "Nah," he replied. "I only do small stuff."

  "Like the box?"

  He shrugged, his finger tracing the rim of his drink.

  "It is beautiful," she prompted. So was he, her traitorous mind mused, before she could stop that thought. Her stomach tightened. Lucky Livvie, if she had ever received the box.

  "I only do boxes."

  "What, no furniture? Or door frames?" Oh, duh! Why did she say that? Soli had been in such a rush to get her out of the house and off to returning the box, she never fixed the laundry room door. Who knew what further mischief Rascal would commit?

  The screws were still in her jeans pocket.

  This earned her a bemused look. "No, just boxes. I like how they fit together."

  Ros thought of Soli. Did she know Not-Tyler? Soli, among her many interests, had an Etsy shop where she sold whatever little crafts she made, or convinced other artists to have her list. "Where do you sell them?"

  He stopped mid-drink. "I... don't."

  "Why not?" Why make som
ething and not benefit from them?

  "I just don't."

  Ros looked back to the house. Were there dozens, nay, hundreds of beautifully carved boxes inside, shoved in closets, lining shelves, and used to prop doors open?

  One idea sprouted in her. What if she were to introduce him to Soli?

  Another idea quashed that immediately. No. No Soli. For some reason, she did not want Soli to know about Not-Tyler. As much as Ros had thought that it would be a good thing for Not-Tyler to sell his beautiful boxes, she found she did not want to share him with Soli.

  She didn't want to share him with anyone.

  How odd.

  She quashed that feeling right quick. It didn't make any sense. "So, when you're not making boxes, what do you do? Student?"

  At least this brought a smile to his face. Oh, he looked good wearing a smile. He looked good wearing that T-shirt. While he had changed it from a sweaty blue to a rather dull white, it still clung to his form in a way that pleased Ros's artistic eye.

  That's it! That's what she was feeling. She was looking at Not-Tyler with her artist's eye. It had started with the clean lines of the box that she had admired, combined with the wistful nostalgia of the candy love hearts, and then when she saw him at work, his hands creating something so beautiful, that's what it was. She'd transferred her admiration of the box to its creator. A wave of relief flowed under her skin, cooling it. She gave the drink a celebratory sip. She'd figured out her awkwardness.

  "I'm an actuary for an insurance company."

  Ros couldn't help but laugh.

  "What?" he answered, not half-amused himself. "Not what you were expecting?"

  Her laugh was also one of relief. "I didn't know what to expect. Here I find a weekend artist, and he turns out to have an office job."

  Not-Tyler seemed to relax as well. "Nothing wrong with an office job."

  "I know. I've got one too," though not as awesome as an actuary. "What's yours like?"

  Another shrug. Look at those shoulders move. "High pay, low stress, if you don't mind the tedium. I can't tell you how pleased my mother is. But really, it's all about calculating risk and achieving balance."

  "Oh, the glamour!"

  He smiled, with a set of beautiful white teeth. "Oh, and there's the regular exams."

  Exams? "I thought you said you weren't a student?"

  "I'm not." He sighed. "It's hard to explain. You have a series of exams you take over the course of many years until you finally qualify. As long as you're progressing, you can do actuarial work. Eventually you become fully credentialed. By that time, most actuaries have quit, so the rest of us can command the best jobs and the highest pay."

  "Oh," was all she could say. She didn't know that about actuaries. "And you come home and work wood as a hobby, then?"

  He nodded. "I like patterns. Works for my job, works for my off-time. I like taking something rough and smoothing it. I like focusing for hours on a project, working out the perfect balance between form and function. Sure, anyone could build a plain wooden box, but then when you carve it, how much can you carve, and how much is too much? You want to give the box a design but take away too much wood and the box weakens." He took a gulp of his drink. "I like it."

  That made sense. Also, he relaxed as he talked about his work. This comforted Ros. Once she'd figured him out, he didn't seem so... what was it?

  She shoved that thought aside. "So, you make them for your own personal pleasure. How did one make it to my porch? I am curious."

  Truly, she was.

  "I gave one to Tyler to shut him up." He didn't say anymore.

  Ros waited, hoping he'd continue the story. She had to prompt him to carry on.

  Was that a blush on his cheeks? He gulped more of his drink, the ice clinking against the side of his glass. She remembered her own, and sipped, waiting for the rest of the story.

  Finally, he continued. "Tyler was getting all mopey over his old girlfriend."

  "Livvie?"

  "Livvie. Kept saying how he missed her, and whinging about how she'd stopped returning his calls, wasn't ever available, that sort of rot.

  "I told him he should move on, find a different girlfriend, but no, it had to be Livvie. They knew each other since high school. You know how it is."

  Not really. Ros had never been in love. She'd had a couple of people she liked, but love? Not really. Never pined over anyone, never missed them like that. Soli couldn't understand it. "What happened?"

  "Told him to call her, but her number didn't work. Told him to go over to her house, but he didn't have the guts. Finally gave him a box, told him to write a love note, stick it inside, and to post it. Told him it would be romantic."

  Fair enough. The box had worked on Ros. "So, he posted it."

  At this, Not-Tyler snorted. "Hell no! He got half-arsed through a note, then wimped out." He licked his lips. "I did the rest."

  Ros couldn't help but blink at this confession. "You posted the box? Without Tyler knowing?"

  His gaze slid sideways. "I did tell him after the fact."

  "And?"

  Another half-shrug. "Seemed relieved."

  Oh. "But the box never made it to Livvie."

  "Yeah. Mixed blessing, that."

  Ros's curiosity turned to Tyler's apparently ex-girlfriend. Had she really broken it off with him, or had she drifted away? Ghosted, quite possibly, for even Soli didn't know where she was, not that she had expected her to keep track of old housemates.

  How depressing. "The candy hearts. Was that their thing?"

  Not-Tyler shook his head. "Nah. Mine."

  Ros's heart fluttered again. Would it ever stop? "I love candy hearts," she said without thinking.

  At this, he brightened. "Do you?"

  All she could do was nod. Why did she say that? After a bit of embarrassed hesitation, she explained. "It's a family thing. My grandparents send them every year." Along with beautiful letters Ros had treasured. She'd only met her grandparents a handful of times, but those letters never left her in doubt of their love.

  He nodded in understanding. "Would you like some? I've got a few boxes."

  Boxes...? "Sure, why not?" A small box or two would be lovely. She'd show Soli when she got home, if they survived the fifteen-minute bus journey. As a child, she could polish off a gift-sized box of candy hearts in under five minutes and have room for more.

  He rose and led her into the house. "Where you get them?" she asked. There were a few foreign shops about Perth where one could get all sorts of British or American goodies.

  "My sister. She's a marketing major. Earlier this year she did a publicity thing for an author friend of hers. I think they were a little ambitious in their expectations at the book launch. I think they were expecting dozens of fans. About four showed up."

  "Oh, how disappointing!"

  Not-Tyler opened a closet door. Inside was stuffed with cardboard boxes. He pulled one out and handed it to her. "There you go."

  She took the box--it had to be a good ten kilos--and looked at him. "Uh, thanks?" She looked about for a place to set it down.

  "Want me to take it out to your car?"

  He meant to give her the whole box? "Wait, how many boxes do you have?"

  He merely glanced over to the open closet.

  Her jaw dropped as she counted the contents. "Where does one get a hundred kilos of candy hearts?!"

  "I have no idea," he replied. He took the box from her hand as if it was full of tissues and not heavy candy. His biceps rippled ever so nicely. "Where'd you park?"

  "I came on the bus."

  Now he hesitated. "Oh. I didn't realise." He turned, but she put out her hand to stop him.

  The moment her fingers touched his arm, the heat from his skin jolted through them. She couldn't move her hand if she wanted to. "No, no. It's fine. I'd love to take them. Really, I do like them." Oh, how she liked them.

  And he'd given them to her. These were hers, not Livvie's, not Tyler's. "I just realise
d. I don't even know your name."

  He paused. Had he forgotten his name as well?

  "You do have one?"

  "It's Everett."

  Everett? "As in Rupert Everett?"

  "As in Everett Hughes."

  Ros had never heard of him. Must have been a sports figure or something. "Nice tameetcha. I'm Ros, Rosanne."

  He smiled. "I'm Everett."

  2

  Her hand was still on his arm. She let it fall, lest the heat of his skin burn her. "So you said." She took the box from him, to give her hands something to do. "I'm Ros."

  "Nice to meet you."

  "Likewise." She didn't know what else to say.

  He looked away first. "Um, thanks for dropping off, um, I meant, thanks for letting us know Livvie doesn't live there anymore."

  Ah, that. "Tyler won't be too disappointed, will he?"

  "He probably will." Everett ran a hand through his still-damp hair. How black it looked. Would it lighten as it dried, or would it remain the same? Did the curtains match the carpets?

  Ros inhaled. Where did that thought come from?

  He mistook her. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine. After all, he's been pining for years. Maybe this will be enough to get him to finally realise she's not coming back."

  Harsh. Maybe true, but harsh. "Do let me know how he goes." Was this box getting heavy?

  An unfathomable expression crossed his face. "Oh, you interested in him?"

  She reddened. "No!" Ros cleared her throat. "I mean, not like that. I mean--" Oh great. Here came the teasing. Anytime anyone thought she might be showing interest in someone, everybody had to have an opinion on it. "I haven't even met him."

  Everett leaned against the wall. "You only like guys you've met?"

  Ros didn't know how to answer that. She stood there, gaping like a stunned mullet, the box growing heavier in her hands. Finally, she said, "I've got to go."

  She turned, more so he couldn't see the blush creep over her face. Honestly, she was surprised her face hadn't been fully flushed the whole time she was there.

  "Wait," he said. "What's your number?"

  Ros glanced back. "Um, five?" she ventured.