Midnight Valentine

by J. T. Geissinger

  It slams against the wall with a tremendous boom. Splinters of wood fly everywhere. I rear back in shock, lose my balance, and drop the album and my phone, falling on my ass in the process. Moving with incredible speed, Theo runs down the hallway toward the kitchen. He throws open the basement door. I hear heavy boots pounding down stairs. A heartbeat passes, then the entire house is plunged into darkness.

  Panicked and disoriented, I scream his name.

  Off in the distance, the wail of a siren breaks the night.

  Within seconds, the thud of Theo’s footsteps echoes hollowly on the wooden basement stairs. Then a blinding white beam of light slashes through the darkness. It moves toward me, bobbing in time to the heavy thump of footsteps growing closer. He sweeps past me on his way into the parlor, so focused, he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.

  Along with the flashlight, he carries a sledgehammer and a fire extinguisher.

  “Hello? Are you there?”

  The tinny squawk of the dispatcher’s voice comes through my cell phone, lying on the step beside me. Ignoring it, I gather the photo album in my arms and stumble after Theo into the parlor.

  As I enter the room, he’s setting the flashlight on the floor. It’s pointed at the wall, illuminating the outlet the smoke rises from in a wedge of white light. Then he takes the sledgehammer in hand and swings it high overhead.

  The sound of plaster smashing into pieces is so loud, I jump.

  With long, smooth strokes, Theo swings the sledgehammer over and over until he’s broken a large hole into the wall above the socket. Smoke pours out. Exposed to a new surge of oxygen, small licks of orange flame jump and flare.

  Theo drops the sledgehammer, grabs the fire extinguisher, and sprays white foam over the wall, the fire, and the smoking socket, until there’s nothing left in the canister and it sputters out.

  The wail of the fire engine’s sirens grows closer.

  Theo sees me standing in the doorway, clutching my wedding album in my arms, shaking so badly, my teeth are chattering. He’s breathing hard. All the cords are standing out in his neck. In the play of light and shadow over the bones in his face, he looks beautiful, otherworldly, and terrifying, like an avenging angel coming to settle a score.

  I say hoarsely, “W-what…how…” My stammering is interrupted by a hacking cough, brought on by all the smoke in the room.

  Theo points to me, then he jabs his finger toward the front door.

  I know he’s telling me to get out, but I can’t move. I can only stare at him. Shock has frozen me in place.

  He drops the fire extinguisher and crosses the room in a few long strides. Then, with a swift bend of his knees, he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. He walks to the front door while I cling to him with one arm and my wedding album with the other, my heart jackhammering inside my chest.

  I stare at his profile as he carries me out into the night and across the street. He sets me gently on my feet on the sidewalk, makes sure I’m steady, then turns back toward the house.

  “Theo.”

  He stops and looks at me.

  In a shaking voice, I say, “How are you here?”

  Engines roaring, the fire truck turns the corner and starts to barrel up the street. Theo whips out the small pad he carries in his pocket and begins to write. When he’s finished, he tears off the sheet of paper and hands it to me. I take it with trembling fingers, and he turns and strides back into the house.

  When the fire engine slows to a stop in the middle of the street in front of me, I read his words by the red flashing lights, the smell of smoke stinging my nose, the sea breeze a cooling balm against my flushed skin.

  I’ll always be here.

  11

  “You got really lucky, Miss Dunn. An electrical fire that starts inside the walls is extremely dangerous. We’ve seen whole houses go up in minutes. These old Victorians are especially susceptible because of the outdated wiring. You’re gonna need to get all the electrical replaced, like, yesterday.”

  A firefighter named John is speaking to me. Under his yellow-and-black fireman’s helmet, John has sparkling brown eyes and a toothy grin, and seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. I think he’s disappointed there wasn’t more action when he arrived, because he immediately started barking orders at his men, deploying all the hoses and every piece of equipment from the truck, and marching around the property like a big game hunter out to bag an elephant.

  It was like watching a general rousing his troops for the final assault of the war, only to find one scrawny guy with a slingshot waiting for them when they got there.

  “Uh-huh,” I respond absently, my gaze glued to the front door of the house for any sign of Theo.

  I’m standing across the street where Theo left me, in my sleep shorts and T-shirt, barefoot and shell-shocked, oblivious to the cold. My wedding album is smashed against my chest, and my arms are wound like a vise around it.

  “Yeah,” says John, grinning. “Electrical fires are a real bitch. Heat in the tens of thousands of degrees from the initial arc flare. Combine that with an enclosed space filled with combustible materials like insulation and wood framing, you’re lookin’ at a nightmare. We had one call last month where this guy had about ten things plugged into a really old power strip—”

  “Here you go, ma’am.”

  Another firefighter appears, interrupting John’s story. This one is younger and more serious than John. He settles a blanket around my shoulders, then shares a nod with his boss.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You okay, ma’am?”

  “Yes. And please call me Megan, I’m not that much older than you.”

  His smile is bashful. He’s cute in a clean-cut, all-American-boy sort of way. I wonder if Suzanne has met this guy. If I told her about him, she’d probably set her kitchen on fire.

  “How’s it going in there?” I ask him.

  “We’re making sure there are no other hot spots. For now, it looks like you’re good, but we have to check everything before we leave. Theo was real smart to shut off the power when he arrived. That probably prevented things from being a whole lot worse. As long as the current is live, the arcing can continue farther along in the wiring. If that happens, you can kiss your house good-bye.”

  At the mention of Theo’s name, my attention snaps into focus. “You know Theo?”

  The cute fireman shrugs. “Sure. Everybody knows Theo.”

  Of course they do. Seaside is a small town, and Theo’s lived in it his whole life. I’m the stranger here, not him.

  “Did he happen to mention how he got here before you did? Is he on the volunteer fire team or something?”

  John says, “Nah, he’s just a night owl, I guess you’d say. We see him wandering all over the place at night. Likes to keep an eye on things.”

  Things? I look up and down the beach. The nearest structure is a three-story condo building a quarter mile up the coast.

  I think of the man I saw standing on the beach just after I got off the call with Craig this morning. The man with wide shoulders and long legs, wearing a black windbreaker. The man staring down the beach with an air of melancholy, like he was looking for someone, or something he’d lost.

  That was Theo. Now I’m sure of it.

  I should be disturbed by that realization, but oddly, I’m not. There’s no fear, only curiosity. Perhaps a case of wishful thinking, but my intuition tells me Theo Valentine isn’t a danger to me.

  If anything, though I don’t understand why, I think I’m far more of a danger to him.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, Theo appears in the open doorway. Across the distance, our gazes meet. He’s lit in flashing red and amber from the fire truck lights. He’s removed the windbreaker he was wearing when he came in and stands in a white long-sleeved T-shirt smudged with soot. There’s a big black smear like war paint straight across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. It highlights his eyes, darkly glittering under a lowered brow.


  He makes a beeline for me.

  “Oh, here he comes,” says John. He holds up a hand in greeting. His cute subordinate waves.

  They like him. Everyone likes him, this sphinx of a man who roams the town in the middle of the night, mute and sleepless from whatever demons haunt him.

  A sharp pang of empathy chews at my stomach as I watch him walk toward me. Loneliness recognizes loneliness, like the howl of a solitary wolf rising to meet the distant cry of another on a cold winter’s night.

  When he reaches us, he pauses, nodding first at John, then the cute one. Then he looks at me, his eyes as sharp as laser beams.

  I say, “I understand you might’ve saved my house with your quick thinking.”

  His stare doesn’t waver. He doesn’t smile, or move, or even blink. He just waits.

  “John here tells me I need to get the electrical replaced in the Buttercup ASAP.”

  John says, “Oh, definitely. Tomorrow isn’t soon enough. You shouldn’t turn the power back on until you get an expert out here to fix it.”

  Okay, universe. You win.

  “So, you’ll start tomorrow, then,” I tell Theo. A sense of inevitability weighs the words, as if my lips have known all along they’d be forming them. “Today, technically. First thing in the morning if you can.”

  Holding my gaze, Theo slowly nods.

  “Just the electrical to start. Then we’ll see where we’re at.” With us, I mean. With him attempting a show of normal human behavior. “Deal?”

  One thudding heartbeat, then two, then Theo extends his hand. I shift my wedding album to my other arm, then slide my right hand into his. My palm is swallowed in his big, rough mitt. We don’t shake, we just stand there, holding hands and staring at each other, something like electricity crackling in the cold air, until John clears his throat.

  “Well, that’s good. I feel better knowin’ you’ll be takin’ care of the job, Theo. Place this size might take you a week or so, eh?”

  Theo releases my hand, but not my gaze. He holds up three fingers.

  “Three days?”

  Theo nods, then John chuckles, turning to me. “Count your lucky stars, Megan. This here’s the best contractor in the area.”

  Theo’s smile comes on slow, but it keeps growing until it takes over his entire body, until he’s practically glowing from the inside out. I can’t remember the last time I saw something so beautiful.

  I say faintly, “So they keep telling me.”

  * * *

  By the time the firemen leave, I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. I feel like a wet washcloth some angry giant wrung out and flung against a brick wall. I watch the fire truck rumble off down the street, lifting a hand in farewell when one of the firemen waves from the cab.

  Then I’ve only got the sound of the surf to keep me company as I go inside to pour myself a glass of whiskey.

  Theo melted into the night like a phantom before I could ask him any questions about exactly why he was at my house when the fire broke out, but if he thinks his disappearing act is going to stop me from asking tomorrow, he’s got another thing coming.

  I have so many questions, my head is practically exploding with them.

  With the blanket wrapped around my shoulders and the album safely tucked under my arm, I shuffle into the house, shutting the door behind me. Destroyed by the savage kick it received, the doorknob falls off when I touch it. Sighing, I leave it where it lands.

  Ignoring the splinter in the sole of my foot, I head to the kitchen, navigating through the dark house with a big flashlight John gave me before he and his crew left. Along the way, I’m treated to a depressing view of the guts of my house, spilling out from gashes in baseboards and holes punched through the plaster near the ceiling in various places where the men evidently searched for more “hot spots” in the wiring. The house is a mess, but it’s standing.

  Thanks to Theo Valentine.

  Who, for some inexplicable reason, showed up before the fire department did. Who knew exactly where in my house a fire extinguisher, flashlight, and sledgehammer were located. Who picked me up and carried me in his arms with no more effort than it took me to carry my wedding album, and I’m no tiny, delicate flower.

  Who added one more piece to the ever-growing puzzle with his mystifying note.

  I’ll always be here.

  I tucked the note between the pages of my wedding album because I didn’t want to lose it. It feels important somehow. Meaningful, like a clue.

  I walk into the kitchen, set the album and the flashlight on the counter, open a cabinet, and grab a glass. Then I get the bottle of whiskey from another cabinet and pour myself a drink. I down it in one go, shuddering as the fumes sear my nose, then pour myself another.

  When I turn around, I let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

  Theo leans against the marble island with his arms folded over his chest, looking at me.

  I thunder, “Jesus Christ, Theo! You scared me half to death! What the hell are you doing!”

  With a worried expression, he points at me, then makes the OK sign.

  “Yes, I’m fine! God!” I put a shaky hand to my forehead, breathing hard because of the sudden spike of adrenaline crashing through my body. “I thought you left!”

  Solemnly, Theo shakes his head.

  “Well, now I know, obviously!”

  He watches in stillness as I sag against the counter for support, tightening the blanket around my shoulders and fighting to regain my calm. After a moment, I manage to pull myself together enough to stop shouting, though I’m anything but pulled together. I’m unraveling at the seams.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you, I’m just not good with surprises. Don’t sneak up on me like that again, okay?”

  He nods, looking contrite, and now I feel like a jerk for losing my cool. The man saved my house, after all. The least I can do is be polite.

  “Okay. This is me apologizing again. But I’d like to also add that it’s a little weird you were standing in my kitchen alone in the dark. Actually, it’s more than a little weird.” My laugh is rueful. “But I should be used to that with you by now. You give weird a whole new definition.”

  When Theo smiles, the room brightens by degrees. It’s too bad he does it so infrequently, because a smile like that could end wars.

  I take the opportunity to swallow more whiskey, grateful I didn’t drop the glass in my shock, or I’d probably start drinking right from the bottle.

  “Here.” I set the glass on the counter and reach for the paper towel dispenser. I rip off a white square and hold it out to Theo. “You have some soot on your face.”

  He takes the paper towel and wipes his face with it, smearing the soot all over instead of cleaning it off. When he stops and looks at me for confirmation that it’s better, I sigh and shake my head.

  “Worse.” I moisten a cotton dish towel under the faucet. Then, because apparently I’ve lost all touch with reality, I stand in front of Theo and start to clean his face.

  Alarmed, he stiffens.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say. “But if you can be weird, so can I. And you did save my house after all. I can’t let you leave looking like you just got off a double shift at the coal mine.”

  He breathes shallowly, watching me with hooded eyes, his body so taut, it could snap in two. His hands curl around the edge of the marble island, as if he’s using it to hold himself up.

  “Relax, Sunshine. The torture will be over momentarily.” I meet his gaze. “Then I’ll start the interrogation.”

  He swallows.

  “Yeah, you should be afraid. I’ve got questions, pal. Tons of questions.”

  He looks pained, then resigned, briefly closing his eyes. When he opens his eyes again, he reaches up and grasps my wrist.

  I freeze. My heart starts thumping. I’m not used to physical contact, having gone without it for years, and Theo’s big hand wrapped around my wrist is all kinds of contact. It’s skin on sk
in, and a sudden sharp heat in the air, and a rushing noise like the ocean in my ears.

  When his fingers press lightly against the pulse in my wrist, as if he’s timing the beat of my heart, I’m swallowed by a dark, painful déjà vu.

  Cass used to touch me like this. His fingers always sought the places where my pulse showed itself—throat, wrist, the hollow between my thigh and hip—resting lightly against a throbbing vein until the blood beneath it quickened at his touch.

  And it always quickened. The same as it’s doing now, jumping to life under the light, seeking press of Theo’s fingertips, beating, then beating faster until it’s a wild, racing thing, uncontrollable, like a leaf spun high into the sky by a fierce wind.

  This is the first time I’ve truly felt alive in years.

  My intake of breath seems loud in the quiet room. Theo watches my face with extraordinary focus. Our noses are mere inches apart. Under the burn of his eyes, I feel exposed, all my defenses laid bare, all my carefully constructed boundaries flattened like a house of straw blown over by the big, bad wolf.

  I feel naked.

  I yank my arm away and back up several short steps. The blanket falls from my shoulders and slips to the floor.

  Theo holds up a hand, fingers spread, like Stop. Or, It’s okay.

  God, who am I kidding? I have no idea what he means. Maybe he’s telling me I’m a five on a scale of one to ten.

  “It’s late,” I whisper, my mouth as dry as bone. Suddenly, all my questions don’t seem nearly as important as getting him out of my house so I can be alone with the sea of fire boiling in my blood. Sweat has bloomed over my chest, and I’m breathing so fast, I’m almost panting.

  This isn’t fear, or shock, or anything nearly as simple as those. I recognize this feeling like I’d recognize the face of an old friend, glimpsed from afar after a long separation.

  Desire has a particular flavor that, once tasted, can never be forgotten.

  All from the press of his fingertips on my wrist.

  He pushes away from the island, stares down at me for several beats in blistering silence, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. I’m glad for once that he doesn’t speak, because it means I don’t have to either.