Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19)

by Janette Rallison

He’d spent the few days since their pizza-and-writing party trying to decide how to move forward. He wasn't super good at words, so he'd figured if he picked the perfect Valentine’s Day gift, it would communicate his feelings for her in a way he couldn't. But if he was just going to mess this up after all the time they’d spent talking about how to pick a meaningful gift, then he'd probably be better off not trying.

  She was currently working on her balcony again. Neil tried to focus on his accounting homework, but his thoughts kept returning to her. Did she think of him at all in the way he thought about her? If there was nothing on her end but friendship, would he ruin everything by confessing his true feelings?

  But I can’t keep doing this either. Wanting something deeper and never even trying for it was out of the question.

  Helen snapped her laptop closed and dropped her head onto it. “I quit,” she said. “Writing columns is for idiots.”

  “Do you like being a columnist?” he asked.

  “Not at the moment.”

  He pushed his patio chair up to the balcony divider. “I mean, overall. Do you like it? Or would you rather be doing something else?”

  She lifted her head enough to look at him. “I like to write.”

  “That’s not really the question I asked.”

  She sat up again, and then slumped lower in the folding chair. “With this job, I can write and I can pay my bills. There aren’t many other options where I could do both.”

  “Again,” he said, “not my question.”

  She sighed and stood, crossing to the divider. She set her forearms on it, leaning forward enough for her shoulders and head to be on his side of the balcony, coming close enough to him for her perfume to fill the air around him. He did his best impression of someone who wasn’t secretly in love with her— a person who had no clue about his feelings. She wasn’t being flirtatious or trying to send any kind of romantic message. He knew that.

  “I’ve always wanted to write books,” she said. “But that doesn’t come with a steady paycheck. You’re an accountant; you know how that would work out.”

  “I’m not an accountant, yet,” he reminded her.

  “And I’m not a novelist. At all.”

  Interesting. “Why not?”

  She eyed him with more than a hint of annoyance. “I told you. I need an income.”

  “I work at the telemarketing company in the mornings so I can have an income while I work toward being an accountant.” He held her doubtful gaze with a confident one of his own. “Why not keep writing the column while you work toward becoming a novelist?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.” A heartbreaking tinge of fearful hope touched her words.

  “How about starting with, ‘It was a dark and stormy night’?”

  She laughed a little. “I do know enough to know that would be a really bad beginning.”

  “So come up with something better.”

  She straightened. “I don’t think I’d be any good at it. Look at how difficult it is for me to write a single column. A whole book would probably kill me.”

  Neil took a risk— a big one— and slipped his hand around hers. “You’re a good writer, but you’re not happy. It’s time you reached for something bigger.”

  She held fast to him. “What if I’m no good at it? What if it doesn’t work out?”

  “What if it does?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. She was pondering the idea, but she didn’t appear to be any more convinced than before.

  “Helen.” He stood, sitting on the dividing wall. “If someone wrote you a ‘Hey, Helen!’ saying they wanted to be a novelist, that they were a good writer with experience and a job that gave them the flexibility to try their hand at writing a book, but they were afraid to try because there was the possibility of failure, what would your advice be?”

  Her gaze shifted away. “I’d probably tell them to quit being a baby and just do it.”

  “Helen?”

  “Yeah?” She looked back at him warily.

  “Quit being a baby and just do it.”

  She laughed immediately, and he joined in.

  The time he spent with her always included a great deal of hilarity. He appreciated that about her. His parents had almost never enjoyed each other’s company. He’d spent most of his childhood promising himself that someday he’d find someone who was happy and cheerful, despite how hard life could be sometimes. Helen was all that and more. How could he not have fallen for her?

  “I’ll think about the book thing,” she said. “In the meantime, I have a day job, and I don't know how to answer the Valentine’s Day marathon runner without sounding too snarky. A little snarky, but not too snarky.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  She shrugged. “His girlfriend has a point: on a special occasion she ought to be able to have his undivided attention. But it isn’t like he’s saying he wants to run instead of going on a date with her.”

  Fair enough. “But didn’t he say that his goals shouldn’t come in second to Valentine’s Day?”

  “That wording is what I keep getting stuck on, too. She’s saying, ‘Hey. This day is important to me. This day and your efforts to make it meaningful are a reflection of your dedication to our relationship.’ And he’s saying, ‘Running doesn’t come in second to that.’”

  “Maybe he doesn’t realize what she’s saying?”

  Helen stepped back from the dividing wall. “So that’s how I answer: focus on what she’s saying, and that he’s likely not hearing her.”

  “I think that probably gets in the way of a lot of relationships: not hearing what someone’s actually saying.” His parents, for example, hardly ever said to each other what they said to him. That, he’d discovered, was 90% of their problem.

  “And sometimes a person doesn’t say what they actually mean,” Helen added.

  Which hit a little too close to home, and the things he was trying to convince himself to tell her. “Relationships are tricky.”

  “Which,” she said with a mischievous smile, “is why I have job security.”

  And why I have no idea what I’m going to do.

  Helen’s head snapped upward, her eyes focused on his sliding glass door. She did exactly that every time something snatched her attention. She jumped from one thing to the next with more energy than he could ever imagine having.

  “I think I heard your doorbell,” she said.

  “Really?” He hadn’t.

  “I’ve told you a million times, I have the hearing of a bat.” It was probably more that she never tuned anything out. She was hyper aware of pretty much everything.

  “Well,” he said, “if I ever need to travel entirely by sonar…” He gave her double finger-guns.

  She swatted him away. “Go answer your door.”

  Finding his dad there was a shock. His parents had only visited a couple of times in the thirteen months he’d lived in this apartment, and they’d always arrived together, however unhappy they’d typically been in each other’s company.

  “Hey,” was all Neil could think to say.

  “Can I stay here?” Dad asked. “Your mom changed the locks.”

  Neil held back a string of words that probably would have made Mom lock him out, too. He couldn’t turn his dad away, but letting the man stay meant being pulled into the middle of yet another argument, one that was apparently even worse than usual.

  He stepped back so his dad could come inside. A quick “thanks” was all Neil got before his dad dropped onto the sofa and grabbed the remote. No explanation. No estimate of how long he’d be there. No apology for the inconvenience.

  Neil ought to have stopped expecting either of his parents to take responsibility for the mess they’d made of their own lives, as well as his, but somehow he kept hoping. It was tough being the only adult in the family, especially when that had been the case since he’d been in elementary school.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said


  Dad must not have heard the dryness of his tone. He answered with an, “Okay,” then started flipping through channels.

  “I’ll just be on the balcony, studying.”

  “Are you still in school?”

  Honestly, his parents paid no attention to him at all.

  “It’s my last semester,” he said. “Then I’ll have my degree and can start a career.”

  Dad’s channel surfing settled on a baseball game. “Land yourself a good job, and you can find a nicer place.”

  Yup. And not tell either of you my new address.

  When he stepped outside again, Helen was typing fast and furious on the other side of the balcony. He dropped into his chair and grabbed his textbook, not wanting to interrupt her when she was on a roll.

  But she spoke right away, surprising him. “Who was it? The super finally coming to fix your garbage disposal?”

  “Nope.” He flipped a page. “It’s my dad.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  “Oh, it gets weirder.” He looked over at her. “Mom locked him out, so he’s staying here.” Neil gave a half-hearted “raise the roof” and an unenthusiastic, “Hooray.”

  “Has your mom texted about it yet?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. He knew it was only a matter of time. “You aren't friends with any criminals who’d like to come steal my phone, are you? Because I would not put up a fight.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that your dad is right inside, and you’ll have to listen to him all night.”

  Neil dropped his head in defeat. “I would rather be working an extra telemarketing shift. At least I wouldn’t be stuck here with him all night.”

  “So tell him you’re having dinner with a friend,” she said.

  “That might work. He'll probably still text me all night long complaining. Mom will be doing that anyway.”

  Helen closed her laptop. “Tell them you have a date. Then when you don't respond to texts, they'll assume you're distracted by your romantic evening.” She said the last two words with such an exaggeratedly flirtatious tone that he couldn’t help laughing.

  “How am I going to find a date on such short notice?”

  She shrugged a little; smiled a little. “Ask nicely?”

  Quick as that, his heart was lodged in his throat. A date. With Helen. He’d imagined asking her out a million times. Now he had the perfect opportunity. It would be a fake date, he knew that. And he knew she’d only offered so he could get away from his parents. But it was still a date.

  “Helen, would you like to have dinner with me?”

  She pretended to ponder it. “That depends. Is this a date?”

  He played along, matching her exaggerated tone. “A very romantic date. So romantic I will be unable to answer my phone or read a single text the whole time.”

  “Perfect.” She slipped her laptop under her arm. “I’ll expect you to pick me up as soon as humanly possible.”

  “See you in a minute.” He stepped inside his apartment once she disappeared inside hers.

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Dad asked.

  “There’s stuff in the fridge. Help yourself. I’m headed out.”

  Dad sat up a little straighter and eyed him. “Where are you going? I just got here.”

  “Sorry,” Neil said, even though he wasn’t in the least. “I didn’t know you were coming, and I already had plans.”

  “You can’t change them?”

  “It’s a date,” he said. “A first date. I’m not gonna break it.”

  Dad stood up, shock darkening his expression. “You’re seeing someone? I didn’t know that.”

  “A first date,” he repeated. “I’m not seeing her, yet, but I’d like to be. Being late would probably hurt my chances.”

  For a minute Dad didn’t seem to know what to say. Neil waited, bracing himself for some kind of argument. But then Dad sat down again. “Have fun.”

  That was it? Have fun? Neil grabbed his jacket and pulled the door open. If he left fast enough, Dad wouldn’t have time to change his mind.

  “See you,” he said as he pulled the door shut behind him.

  Chapter Four

  Helen hadn’t even had time to grab her stuff before Neil knocked. She opened the door, gave him the “just a second” signal, and snatched her coat from the closet.

  “Did he give you any trouble?” she asked.

  “Not once I told him this was a date.”

  She pulled on her coat. “I said he wouldn’t.”

  “That’s why they call you ‘Hey, Helen.’” He waited while she closed and locked her door, and then walked at her side down the hallway. “Where should we go?”

  “The Indian place down the street? It’s not too cold out. We could even walk.”

  He nodded. Nothing was said between them as they made their way down the complex’s exterior stairs. The corners of Neil’s mouth pulled down, and his forehead pinched in lines of frustration. His parents wore him down; she’d seen it countless times. When those two were weighing on him, not even a fake date was likely to lift his spirits.

  She threaded her arm through his as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. That earned her a questioning look.

  “I’m on a date,” she said, making her tone overly serious. “A little arm snuggling seems called for.”

  “Plus it’s kind of chilly.” He sounded a little less burdened.

  “I like the date reasoning better.” And, oddly enough, she found she meant it. Being on a date with a guy she had been friends with and a neighbor to for months and months ought to have been a little awkward, but it wasn’t. Not at all, actually.

  In fact, this was going better than her dates usually did, and she was only two minutes in. They were comfortable with each other. There was none of the weirdness of wondering what the other person thought, or if they’d be impressed or repulsed, or if they’d turn out to be a creep.

  “Your mind’s jumping around again, huh?” He always seemed to find that amusing, not in a mocking way, but as if he actually liked that about her.

  “Of course it is.” She wrapped her arm more snuggly around his.

  “You don’t have to put on a convincing show,” he said. “It’s not like my parents can see us or anything.”

  “I know. I just—” An unexpected and totally uncharacteristic bashfulness swept over her. “I just like holding your arm.”

  He gave her a smile different from his usual. It held an unexpected softness, without being sappy. She had no idea what to make of it.

  An abrupt change of topic seemed in order. “My editor really liked the ‘What Not to Buy’ column. She thinks it’ll get a lot of traction.”

  “It’s a good topic, good timing, and you’re a good writer.”

  Where had Neil been back when she’d first started working for a tiny, no account website and couldn’t convince anyone including herself that she could write worth anything?

  “My editor wants the next column to be a traditional question-and-answer format. But the one that’ll run on Valentine’s Day, she thinks should be more of a think piece, more insightful, less snark.”

  “Snark is your trademark, though.”

  She sighed. “Yup. So I either go against her advice and write my usual, or I try writing something really different from what I’ve written before. Neither choice is particularly appealing.”

  They stepped inside the restaurant. It always smelled amazing. This had been a good choice. They were shown to a quiet corner and a table with a lit candle and a sprig of flowers. This fake date certainly had the look of a real one.

  They had only just been seated when Neil’s phone announced the arrival of a text. He didn’t even glance at it.

  “That is some impressive self-control,” she said.

  “I’m on a date. I’m very good at dates.”

  The server arrived to take their drink order.

  “Ice water for me,” Helen said.

  “And a
bowl of lime wedges,” Neil added.

  He remembered that? Ages ago, she had told him she liked lime in her water.

  Once the server left with their order, she said, “You remembered.”

  “I told you. I’m very good at dates.”

  As the evening continued, she discovered how right he was. Their conversation was varied and fun. He asked interesting questions and genuinely listened to her answers. They joked around a lot, though they also touched on more serious topics. Even though they’d known each other for quite a while and had spent nearly every evening together, there were still new things to discover about him. And he found things to ask about that she hadn’t shared before.

  “Do you know yet which questions you’re going to answer in your next column?” he asked after the kheer pista arrived to end out the meal.

  “Marathon Runner,” she answered between bites. “One I got from a woman who’s single and wants to know how to make the day less miserable, and another one from a guy who doesn’t know how to tell the woman he has feelings for that he has feelings for her.”

  “Really?” His keen interest was a good sign.

  “It’s a good assortment: single, potential relationship, and struggling relationship.”

  “And you know what you’re going to say to— to all of them?”

  She nodded. “More or less. Though, heaven knows I’ll be at your house with pizza tomorrow night, running ideas by you.”

  He winced. “Dad might still be there.”

  That was a bit of a predicament. “Maybe you can come to my place instead.” She felt weirdly nervous the moment the invitation left her lips. She shook it off and adopted a light tone. “Tell your dad it’s another date.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t really want to lie to him.”

  “So don’t lie.” First nervousness, now a lump in her throat. Fake dates apparently messed with a person’s emotions.

  He spoke between bites. “Tell him I’m hanging out with my neighbor?” Neil’s gaze narrowed on her. “Or do you mean making it another date?”

  She shrugged to hide her sudden nervousness. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “I suppose not.” That wasn’t the most enthusiastic response.

  Though she’d made the offer to help him out of a difficult situation, his lack of excitement… hurt. She was having a good time on their “date.” Wasn’t he? It was weird how much she hoped he was. Helen didn’t know quite what to make of it.