Once Upon A Valentine

by Emma Roman

  Light pressure from his arm guided her up the steps and under the porch. He closed the umbrella and set it against the railing. The wind sprayed the rain sideways every so often, but mostly it just fell, streaming over the rafters like a waterfall.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Just a hint of color reddened his cheeks. His mouth parted in a wide smile that made her insides go to mush. Not good, Laurel. Not good. He’s a client and you’re not looking for a relationship.

  “Neighbors in this town help each other out.”

  Three other trucks pulled into the drive behind his. The men that emerged were Mick’s size. All three of them looked like mountain men plucked from a National Geographic documentary. Flannel, beards, and all smiling and cutting up about the crazy rain. Well, one didn’t have a beard, but his five-o-clock shadow gave a nice outline of where it would be if he didn’t shave soon.

  “Evenin’ ma’am.” The first to climb the stairs held out his hand. “Chuck Rieves.” He produced a Tupperware container from beneath his jacket. “My wife sent over some cookies. Says she’ll be by to properly welcome you to town as soon as you’ve had a chance to settle.”

  “Laurel Hart. Thank you. I’m so grateful for the help and I look forward to meeting your wife.”

  “Good,” he said, moving aside so the man behind him could introduce himself next. “You can just count on being part of her circle from now on. We live just a few minutes north in the next subdivision.”

  So polite. All of them. And inviting. Where were these manners in the high society of Dallas? Those men cared about one thing. Who drove the fastest car. Who had the hottest wife. And where they could get their next drink. The women weren’t any better. What about me? Was I…Am I that shallow?

  “Ma’am.” The next man stepped up and took her hand right out of Chuck’s. He was taller than Mick and his dark hair and eyes captured her gaze in a second. “I’m Adam VonBrandt. My wife Paige and I live out south of town. But if you ever need anything, just ask.” Another married guy? I’m seeing a theme here. She couldn’t help the small smile pulling at her lips. Were all of Mick’s friends married? No wonder the man was looking for a date. She’d have to get right on that, although a small voice in the back of her mind was extremely uncomfortable with that scenario.

  “I can’t believe Mick called you all up and you came out in this mess. Thank you.”

  “We’d have been pissed if he hadn’t. Mick sometimes tries to take care of everything himself,” Adam answered, a teasing grin splitting his face.

  “Dude.” Mick growled from behind her. She jumped, having forgotten he was standing so close—almost standing watch. Again, the strangest feeling. She should feel smothered or crowded or annoyed, but all she felt was cared for.

  “It’s true.” The third man shouldered past Adam. His large hand swallowed hers next. “Gary Summers. Welcome to Somewhere, Laurel. It’s a pleasure to meet you and my wife Linda would’ve come with me, but the baby had just gone down.”

  Laurel smiled up at the burly giant. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it, ma’am. You’re not the only one Carl has put in a pickle.” He gave her a wink and took in a quick appraisal of her porch. “Let’s get this stuff inside, boys.” All four men moved toward the fridge, the closest item to the door.

  Mick caught her gaze and nodded at the closed front door. “Laurel, can you pull the front screen door open?”

  She nodded and scurried ahead of them, first fixing the front door open with the heavy phone book that had been lying in the foyer. Then she pushed open the screen and stepped around behind it, out of the men’s way. Bright orange straps had been wrapped around the unwieldy appliance and the guys had it through the door and on its way into the kitchen with barely a grunt.

  These country boys had muscles made to impress.

  Chuck appeared back out on the porch first, swinging the straps around in a circle at his side. Within thirty minutes the guys had moved all her appliances into place and every single piece of furniture. She wiped away a tear and gave each and every single man a hug and a thank you. “The weather would’ve ruined everything if you hadn’t—” She hiccupped and took a slow breath. Gratefulness washed through her like a rushing river sweeping away the preconceived notion that all men were self-serving jerks. They weren’t, she’d just apparently landed in a huge group of them during her last marriage. “I bought pizza and beer at the grocer on my way here, but you’d probably all rather get back to your families.”

  “Another time, Miss Hart,” Gary said, flashing her a wide friendly smile. “But that was awfully nice of you. Linda said she’d have a lasagna made for me to drop off tomorrow afternoon for you.”

  “There’s still a few pieces that need to be put together,” Adam said before he grabbed his coat off the back of her new couch. “Mick said he’d take care of them, though. So we’ll let you both enjoy the evening. Paige told me to let you know she’s bringing you a coffee cake by tomorrow.”

  Laurel smiled and shook her head, disbelief at their kindness toward a stranger shaking her to the core. I lived with that asshole and his stuck-up friends too long. I can’t fathom a world where there are nice people. “I’ve never felt so…welcomed. Ever.” No one in her last circle of friends would’ve taken the time to personally make something for a new arrival to the neighborhood. But they would’ve expected a tour of the house and drinks and a meal from the newcomer.

  Mick stepped up beside her. He didn’t touch her, but just his nearness gave her a jolt. Sent a tingle of unfamiliar excitement scampering across her skin, warming her cold and broken soul. She didn’t want to trust men. Appreciate men. Like men. At least not right now. But Mick Ramsey and his friends were making that very difficult.

  She did trust him. Appreciated him. Liked him.

  And she needed to find him a date. Not move in on the client herself.

  The other men left quietly and once the door had closed behind them, Mick headed toward the kitchen. “I’m starved. I hope you don’t mind me taking you up on your offer of pizza and beer.” His velvety bass voice ruffled through her still-raw nerves, soothing away the pain of the last few years. How it was possible, she couldn’t fathom. But every time he spoke. Every time he looked at her with those big brown eyes, she melted.

  “No, please. Help yourself. It’s on the kitchen counter. The beer is in the soft cooler on the floor.”

  He opened the top cardboard box and sighed the contented sigh patented by men around the world. The one that said I’ve-never-been-happier-to-see-food-and-this-looks-great. Mirth curved her lips upward. It’d been too long since she’d heard that sigh. Her dad used to make it. Her brother. She hadn’t seen them since her last wedding—five years Lance had kept her isolated. Each year becoming worse. Each year she’d buried herself deeper and deeper into her work. Then he’d taken that away from her too.

  She should’ve called her family when she got the divorce, but shame kept her from pressing the button. How they must hate her for abandoning them. She hated herself for it too. The least she could do is get a new business up and running. A house in some kind of order. Perhaps some semblance of a life. Then maybe, just maybe she could face her family. Show them the last five years hadn’t been a complete waste of her time. Show them her marriage to Lance hadn’t been a mistake. Hadn’t stripped her of everything in her life she’d valued.

  “Deep thoughts for pizza and beer.” She glanced up, taken by surprise at his again-nearness. Mick held out a paper plate with one slice in the center. “Slice for your thoughts?”

  Her mouth had a will of it’s own. “All of you surprised me today.”

  “In a good way I hope.” He nudged her with the plate again and she took it. He turned back toward the island covered in food and pulled out a paper cup. “Wine or beer?” he asked, his ass making her nearly forget the plate in her hand. The scent of pepperoni swirled through her nostrils, but her focus was too lasered in on the man in her
kitchen offering to get her a drink. The sexy-bearded-flannel-wearing man she needed to get a date. Get in the game Laurel. He is not for me. Even so, nothing said she couldn’t get to know him a little better as a client. It would help her find the right woman for him. The very idea of him going out with someone else grated against her psyche like metal shavings being ground in a food processor. It wasn’t going to be pretty at the end. And the processor would likely be broken in the end.

  “Wine, please.” She gulped a breath and pulled her stare away from the man’s perfect ass. At least he hadn’t turned around and seen her unprofessional drool.

  He stood with a beer in one hand and one of the single-serve wine glasses in the other. “I’ve never seen anyone drink these.” He peeled the seal off her wine glass and handed it to her.

  “No reason to buy good wine for pizza.” She shrugged and took a sip. “It’s actually decent for what it is.”

  His lips lifted just slightly. No smile, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Should we sit?” He waved his heaping plate toward her newly set up dining table.

  “Absolutely.” The long hand-hewn farm table was exactly what this old space had needed. The dark grey stain popped against the lighter stone-tiled floor. It would look fabulous once she got a designer’s opinion on some window dressings. Even though coming to Somewhere had been more of an accident than a purposeful choice, the house hunting had been taken very seriously. The old farmhouse reminded her of home. Of growing up in Tyler. Her dad would love it…if she could ever get up the guts to tell him she was here. Ever get up the guts to ask for his forgiveness for not listening to him when he begged her not to marry Lance.

  “There go those thoughts again. You okay, Laurel?” He sat at the end of the table, next to her, but on a corner. The perfect blend of closeness and space. She could see him. Touch him if she reached out, but wouldn’t accidentally bump into him without trying. Why am I considering bumping into him at all? I’m crazy. A mess. A man is the last thing I need complicating my life right now. But the only thing she could seem to imagine in the movie-screen-of-her-mind was Mick’s arms wrapped around her like a blanket. A big flannel afghan that cuddled. He was a cuddler. Something about him screamed that he was a giant teddy bear in need of a hug. Or two. Or ten.

  “Oh, just reminiscing about growing up. This place reminds me of home.”

  “I didn’t peg you as a small-town girl.”

  “Used to be. It’s just been…a long time.”

  He nodded and cocked his head at a tilt, studying her again with those turn-your-knees-to-jelly eyes. Honey-brown eyes like those shouldn’t be legal.

  “So tell me about yourself and this event you need a date for?”

  That broke the moment. The desire and eagerness and interest faded to insecurity and discomfort. God, why did he want to go to this event so much if the thought of taking someone with him was so stressful?

  He took a swig from his beer and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his wide chest, and cutting off the openness she’d been drawn to. “I really don’t want this getting around town.”

  She nodded, nibbling at the crust of her pizza slice. “Cone of silence.”

  He snorted out a laugh, letting some of the sparkle return to his eyes. “I won a new voice screen writing contest and a pair of tickets to the Oscars.”

  Air refused to move inside her lungs for several seconds. “Wow. That’s huge. Congratulations. I didn’t…” Laurel said, “I wouldn’t have—”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t really fit the bill, huh? Thirty-something-feed-store-manager from a town with literally no name screams Hollywood screen writer.”

  Guilt sobered her instantly. She shook her head. “People come with all sorts of wrappings. Look at me. You never would’ve guessed I grew up in a town half the size of this one. On a farm nonetheless.” No one had a right to judge him for his loves, especially not her.

  “You seem like the kind of person that makes anything work for them.”

  Laurel’s skin warmed and it wasn’t just the wine. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you the perfect date. Your trip will be fantastic.”

  His gaze dropped for a second. Just a flash of unhappiness, but it’d been there. She noticed little things like that. People’s faces were easy to read if you’d had enough practice.

  “I can do this. I promise.”

  He forced a smile and nodded. “I believe you.”

  “So tell me. What do you think you’d like in a partner?”

  6

  Like in a partner?

  I want you.

  Wasn’t it obvious?

  “I’m partial to brunettes,” he answered, admiring her long silky dark tresses. “Independent. Capable. Smart. Goal-driven.” How far could he push this without her seeing right through him? “Willing to ask for help when they need it. A person is only as strong as the people they surround themselves with.”

  She sipped her wine and then nipped a corner off her slice of pizza before flashing him a discerning glance. “Good. Good. Any other particular attributes?”

  He shook his head, even though he wanted to shout that the only attribute he wanted was for the woman to be her. He wanted Laurel Hart. He wanted her more than he should want a woman he barely knew. A woman he’d literally only met a few hours ago. She had baggage. An ex had been mentioned. An estranged family. Her heart was sad, showing through her eyes every so often. Showing through slips in her brave facade.

  But her spirit was exactly what he craved. Alive and free and willing to take a chance. She’d come to town with a blank slate. Not many people had the guts to do that. But she did and he wanted to know everything about her.

  “I can work with that.”

  He finished his food and downed the last of his beer. “I should get to work on that bed upstairs so you’re not sleeping on the floor again.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “How did you—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Mick chuckled and stood from the table. “You didn’t have any furniture.”

  “Yeah.” A heavy sigh slipped out with the admission. “I didn’t want to spend money on a hotel when I had a perfectly good house sitting here.” She waved her hand around the room.

  “Let me grab my toolbox from the truck. Be right back.” She nodded and he slipped out the front door with barely a sound. The sky was dark and the wind nippy at his bare neck.

  February in Texas was nearing the end of winter, but today felt like mother nature had forgotten that detail. At least the rain had stopped. He shivered through a chilly breeze, grabbed his tool box from the back seat of his truck and turned to head back into the house.

  The picturesque view in front of him made his stomach drop out. The farm house was dark outside, but all the windows were lit from the inside. But the one that truly captured his attention was the kitchen one. Warm and yellow and featuring a beautiful woman swiftly moving around the kitchen cleaning up their meal. He could imagine coming home every night to this picture. He could imagine little kids running around between her legs, squealing with glee and making her laugh.

  Mick shook his shoulders out and grunted. What he was being was ridiculous. She didn’t want him. Hadn’t shown any interest in him. He was a friend helping out. Not even twelve hours into a new relationship and he was already solidly in the friend zone. Thirty-five years old and he still didn’t have a clue on how to be more than the nice guy everyone depended on. Never the guy a girl wanted to stay with. Never exciting enough.

  “Hell.” He rolled his neck and headed back inside, securing the front door closed behind him. “I’m headed upstairs.”

  “Be there in a minute. I’ve got to dig out the new sheets I bought a few days ago.” Her voice rang out from the back of the house. Not the kitchen anymore. Probably the second living area where she had boxes stacked to the height of his shoulders.

  Climbing the stairs, he squeezed the handle on his toolbox harder and wished for once he had a person
ality more like his friend Jack. Jack was never afraid to ask for what he wanted. To set a goal and achieve it. Not that Mick hadn’t set goals in his life, but his accomplishments were something he kept to himself. Besides his parents, not a single soul on the planet knew he was writing screenplays. Maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe the secrets and ashamed part of him was holding back the potential to truly achieve.

  A loud screech from Laurel brought him barreling down the stairs. He caught the bottom railing and spun himself toward the living area.

  “Laurel?” Mick rushed across the open living room to the back of the house, the room filled with stacked boxes—except they weren’t so stacked anymore. Several towers had fallen and Laurel lay motionless beneath them. “Good, God, what happened?” He knelt beside her lifting several lightweight boxes, before getting to a very heavy small box resting squarely on her chest. He moved it aside too, and brushed a large sweep of her dark satiny hair from her face.

  She was gasping, like she was trying to speak, but air wouldn’t cooperate and enter or leave her lungs. Her eyes were red and tears leaked from each corner, leaving trails of discomfort on his soul.

  “Hey, try to breathe slowly. Do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

  Her head shook back and forth. That box must’ve knocked the air out of her completely.

  “Anything specific hurt?”

  “M-my e-ego,” she rasped, finally getting the slightest bit of air into her stunned lungs.

  Mick chuckled and breathed a sigh of relief. “You scared the bejesus out of me.” He swiped his palm over his bearded jaw. “Let me help you up.” Before she could protest, he’d slipped both hands beneath her arms and stood, lifting her without effort. She leaned her soft body against him, still struggling to return to normal breathing.