The Valentine's Day Resolution

by Ava Hayden

  “Hey, you look great in this.” She glanced up as Paul set the bag on the table.

  “Tea?”

  “Sure.” Sukey plopped into a chair as Paul filled the kettle. “Carson looks awesome too.”

  “Yes.” Paul spoke over his shoulder. “He had a big date, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Aw, poor guy. He’ll find someone one of these days.”

  Paul sat down with two plates and put one in front of Sukey. He reached into the white bag and pulled out a Chocolate Guinness donut. “God, I love these.”

  “Hey, I know this other guy too,” said Sukey.

  Paul’s brows rose. “Huxley?”

  “Well, I know him as a customer. Yeah, he comes in every Tuesday morning like clockwork, him and the same guy.”

  Paul was glad his mouth was full of donut so he had to chew and swallow before he spoke. He got up to pour the tea, grateful Sukey couldn’t see his face.

  “Do you know the other guy?”

  “Nope. They just come in, place their order, and take off.”

  “Right.” Paul stared at the donut on his plate. Odd that Huxley hadn’t told him he was here every Tuesday morning. He had mentioned he liked Sukey’s donuts and cookies, but…. He was overthinking.

  Why would he never let Paul drive him home? Was there something there he didn’t want Paul to see? Or worse, someone?

  “Earth to Paul.”

  He jerked his head up. “Sorry, sorry, just woolgathering. Long day.”

  Sukey grinned. “I know what you mean.” She clapped her hands and sat upright. “Oh, and you’ll never guess. I’m going to rent the space over the bakery and use it for an office and back-stock supplies up there. We’ve totally grown out of our work space.”

  “That’s great.”

  They chatted until Sukey finished her tea, and then she left, done for the day. Baker’s hours. Paul was glad he was a florist. Starting work at 4:00 a.m. was not his idea of a good time. He shoved himself to his feet and stowed the dishes in the small sink. Time to get back to work.

  THAT NIGHT after finishing dinner, Paul hesitated, finger poised over the phone. He took a breath and called.

  “Yes, dahlink. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Hey, Carson.” Now that he was actually speaking to his friend, he couldn’t bring himself to give the real reason for his call. “Just haven’t spoken to you lately.”

  “No, you haven’t, but I thought you were too busy to do anything but eat, sleep, and work, and not in that order. Color me shocked.”

  Paul laughed. “True, but it’s good to check in with friends sometimes, right?”

  “Hmmmm.” Carson sounded suspicious. “All right, tell Miss Gordine what’s really going on.”

  With that Paul broke down and told him everything—his attraction to Huxley, his fear Huxley was hiding something, how Huxley always seemed to be holding back.

  “Sugar, I’ve got to tell you, I didn’t pick up that kind of vibe at all. I thought he was a sweetheart.”

  “Yes, but….” Paul recounted the story of the Tuesday-morning donut runs.

  “Well, I suppose it might be a little odd that he didn’t mention it, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

  “There may be. What worries me is that the explanation might be he’s seeing another guy he forgot to mention.”

  “You haven’t had the exclusive talk yet, have you?”

  Paul pushed a hand through his hair. “Well, no, but—”

  “But you thought he was acting like a guy who was going to be exclusive.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Honey, there’s only one way to know.”

  “I know.”

  “When are you seeing him again?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Have that talk.”

  “Yeah.” Paul bit his lip.

  “And then call me and spill. I want details, and I mean every word.”

  Paul laughed. He asked Carson about his love life, but he was unusually coy. Carson claimed he’d put his online dating profiles on hiatus.

  “I mean, I have work, sugar. Lots and lots right now. And I have to focus on my stage career. Things are taking off. One of these days, Mr. Right will be there at the stage door, and he and I will just know.”

  Paul didn’t point out that Billy Boy’s didn’t actually have a stage door, per se. Before they hung up, he agreed to come and see a show soon. He always felt better after talking to Carson. And Carson was probably right. He’d see Huxley on Saturday, and they’d have that talk.

  ON FRIDAY morning Paul picked up the phone. His face grew pale as he listened to Desiree at Oilton Glassworks.

  “I know this is just an oversight. We’ve never had a problem with your store. But the payment due didn’t come through, so I wanted to let you know.”

  “Right, right.” Paul grimaced. “I’ll check on it. Something must have gone wrong at the bank. I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure the payment goes through today.”

  Paul was already logging in to his business bank account as he said goodbye. The problem was obviously a lack of cash in the primary payments account, but why? He tracked every penny and knew the timing of all outgoing payments.

  Ah. Deposits had been delayed. Why? Didn’t matter. They were in now, but the balance wasn’t high enough when the scheduled payment was put through. The bank had notified him by email and online message. He just hadn’t had time to check business email this morning, and this was his first time to log on today.

  He made sure the bill was paid and sent Desiree an apologetic email.

  How long could he keep this up? He was dancing on the edge of an abyss. One or two more incidents like the one with Oilton Glassworks, and word would get around. People would talk. His business’s name would be mud.

  Paul went into the staff washroom and splashed cold water on his face, exhausted. Not enough sleep. Bags under his eyes. Part of him wanted to curse Leo, hunt him down, and beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

  He couldn’t deny the part he’d played in this mess. He’d let Leo explain away inconsistencies, oddities, things that didn’t make sense. He’d been happy to because he had a gorgeous man fucking him blind, and that was exactly what he had been. Every time a little voice whispered in his ear, he tuned it out. Every time his gut told him something wasn’t right, he ignored it. He’d been a fool. He was ashamed. So ashamed.

  Paul was in no place to start up a new relationship. He didn’t have time even for casual dating. It wouldn’t be fair to Huxley, and besides that—his gut was still telling him something was off. Huxley was hiding something. He would never ignore his intuition again. Never.

  He bit his lip. He really liked Huxley, but—the business had to come first. It was his livelihood. It helped support his parents’ retirement. He’d already fucked it over once in favor of his love life. Not again. He splashed more cold water on his face.

  Paul blotted the moisture away with a towel and hoped Sue would believe his eyes were red because he hadn’t slept well.

  When a last-minute commission for ten boutonnieres and ten corsages came in for a Saturday-night event, he didn’t hesitate to accept.

  Chapter 14

  HUXLEY COULDN’T concentrate. He hadn’t heard anything about the Saturday-night date—hadn’t received any communications at all. Just before noon he slipped down the stairs and climbed into the taxi waiting for him in the drop-off zone.

  Huxley pushed into Floribunda to the familiar sound of chimes, and Sue stood up from behind the counter. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon. Is Paul around? I thought he might want to go to lunch.” Huxley shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

  “In the back.” Sue leaned forward and whispered, “I hope you can get him to eat lunch. He could use a break.”

  Huxley nodded and navigated a path through the shelves and displays. He stepped inside the workroom. Paul was wrapping the base of a bouquet. His face looked pale and tired
in the winter sun coming through the rectangular windows that ran the length of the wall, high up near the ceiling. “Hey.”

  “One second,” said Paul. He glanced up with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  The niggling uncertainty Huxley had tried to convince himself was paranoia mushroomed into a ball of worry in his gut. “Sure.” He took off his coat and hung it on the coatrack by the back door.

  Paul secured the bouquet and placed it in a cooler. He wiped his hands on his apron and sat at the little table, beckoning Huxley to join him.

  As Huxley took a chair, he spotted the folded Oilton Herald page featuring their photos from Saturday.

  Paul followed his gaze. “Sukey recognized you. She said you’re a regular customer.”

  “I—yes.” What exactly had she said? “On Tuesdays I get donuts for a meeting.” Should he mention Bishop? But then he’d have to explain… everything. All the way back to being the kind of spineless guy who caved and let his mum drive drunk. The kind of guy who allowed his father to control his life now for a payout down the road. The kind of guy who couldn’t ride in a vehicle like a normal person.

  An awkward silence followed his words. Paul’s eyes were flat. Even the color looked colder, like someone had swirled in white paint to make a dismal battleship gray.

  Still the silence spun out. “The managers really like them,” Huxley said at last.

  Paul looked down at his hands, fingers entwined, holding together with such force that the knuckles were white. He swallowed and looked up at Huxley.

  “I meant to call sooner. I’m sorry.”

  Things have been busy, Huxley recited in his head.

  “Things have been busy. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do Saturday night after all. I had a commission come in, and it’s too good to pass up.” A shadow crossed Paul’s face, and for a moment, he looked like Huxley’s Paul and not a mannequin. “I really need the cash.”

  “I could loan you some money.” Even as he spoke, Huxley knew this wasn’t the right way to make the offer. This wasn’t the right time. “We could write up an agreement with a repayment schedule. All aboveboard. Same interest I’d make with it just sitting where it is right now.” He had a rainy-day fund in a high-interest savings account, six months’ of salary, the way all the financial advisors said you should. He didn’t give a shit about the interest, but he knew Paul would never accept an interest-free loan.

  Paul was already shaking his head. “Thanks. It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I think we should cool things off for a while. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, but my business is so difficult right now…. You’re a great guy. You deserve someone who can give you his full attention.”

  It’s not you. It’s me, Huxley anticipated.

  “It’s not you. It’s me,” said Paul. “I’m not someone who can be in a relationship right now.”

  Huxley never missed an episode of the Savage Lovecast. He knew exactly how to interpret Paul’s words. He was being dumped. “Cool things off” was a let-you-down-gently way of saying “we’re through.”

  Possible responses swirled in his brain like leaves in a gust of wind. Should he be angry? Stoic? Should he beg? He’d never felt about anyone else the way he felt about Paul. He couldn’t think.

  Really there was no need to think. No point in sticking around. Huxley knew the rules of being dumped. Dumpee, exit with grace. He pushed out of the chair, retrieved his coat, and crossed the workroom, pausing at the door. He placed a hand on the doorjamb and looked back—and realized he had no idea what to say. So he left.

  THE LOOK on Huxley’s face when he walked away gutted Paul. He squeezed his eyes shut as Huxley’s footsteps receded. A moment after the chimes over the front door rang, he heard Sue’s sensible work shoes clop-clopping on the hardwood floor.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Just fine.”

  Sue nodded, her expression uncertain, but she returned to her work out front.

  Paul had done what he needed to do. Everything should be copacetic. But the gut he’d listened to now felt as if his intestines were twisting into cat’s cradles and bosun’s knots. He pushed up and reached for the next order form on the stack waiting and went to the cooler to fetch the flowers he needed. No time to think. No time to brood. He just had to push on and keep the business running.

  AMELIE CAME out of the coffee shop just as Huxley passed by on his way to the stairs. She fell in beside him.

  “How was your lunch?” she asked.

  “Oh, I—I didn’t eat. I’ll grab something later.”

  He felt Amelie looking at him more than once, but she didn’t say anything. Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell as they climbed. On the landing for their floor, they initialed the Heart Health Challenge sheet before going in.

  “Can I speak with you a minute?” said Amelie.

  No. Absolutely not. I want to be alone, and if a meteor struck me dead right this minute, it would be okay with me. “Sure,” said Huxley.

  He led the way into his office, and Amelie closed the door before taking a seat. Huxley took the other armchair instead of retreating behind his desk. He wasn’t sure he had the will to make it that far.

  “You look like somebody died.”

  Huxley blinked. “Nobody died. Just—I had some bad news.”

  Amelie nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it. Should I bother you with this another time?”

  “No. I could use some distraction.”

  “Okay.” Amelie angled toward him. “Short version of this is that a couple of nonprofits here in town—all of whose members are our target market—saw the baskets we donated to the Oilton Health is Wealth Fair and loved them. They want to make five hundred Valentine’s Day-themed ones to sell at a fundraiser, and they want us to sell them products at cost.”

  “You think it’s a good idea.” Not a question. Amelie wouldn’t be wasting his time otherwise.

  “I do.”

  Huxley nodded. “Approved.”

  Amelie smiled. “That’s great. Thank you. They wondered about asking your friend’s business to do the work. Do you think he’d be interested?”

  Huxley knew his face had gone red. He picked lint from his trouser leg. “Yes.” He looked up to find Amelie’s concerned gaze focused on him. “They probably shouldn’t mention me. Just that they liked his work on the other baskets.”

  “I’ll tell them.” Amelie stood. “I won’t take any more of your time.” Huxley lurched to his feet. At the door Amelie paused. “If there’s anything I can do… if you need to talk….”

  “Thanks.”

  After Amelie slipped out the door, Huxley zombie-walked across the room and fell into his desk chair. He reviewed past encounters with Paul. He must have said something or done something—or not done something?

  Paul’s work had to be draining him, but if he had wanted to continue with Huxley, he would have found a way. Work was just an excuse. So why hadn’t he wanted to continue?

  VALENTINE’S DAY approached far too quickly, but Paul would be ready. He reviewed his plans for V-Day minus one.

  Leslie was putting in extra hours, plus he’d scheduled a student from a local floral design program to assist leading up to Valentine’s Day and on the day itself. Sue would work overtime if necessary. His regular delivery guy, Haruni, was prepared to put in extra hours that week and would work all Valentine’s Day, as late as necessary. He knew to expect nonstop deliveries.

  Paul and Sue had already started taking advance orders. He would stock the front cooler with impulse bouquets for people in a hurry. And then there were the five hundred small gift baskets. The Oilton Foods products occupied a small pallet in the workroom.

  He’d almost turned the order down, but careful questioning revealed Huxley wasn’t behind the request. He couldn’t accept a favor that put him in Huxley’s debt. But the contact person placing the order convinced him he was getting the commission beca
use they liked his work, so he said yes. The profit margins were too good to turn down.

  Huxley. Something in his gut clenched when he thought of the man’s sweet smile, the way he blushed so easily. Stop thinking about Huxley. Don’t think about him in the workroom, watching the game, in the dining nook. Don’t think about him in the bedroom.

  Bubbles bounced across his monitor. He’d been staring into space for so long the screen saver had kicked in. What the hell was he doing? Focus.

  AT NIGHT Huxley couldn’t sleep. Instead he recalled each encounter with Paul, trying to figure out what he had done that frightened Paul away. Had Paul thought Huxley was using him the way his thieving ex had?

  Nearly ten months since he started at Oilton Foods, almost a year since the accident, and all he had to show for it was a string of failures. He couldn’t do much about his failed romance, but the other problems he could address.

  Huxley scheduled meetings with each of his unit managers, meetings that should have happened months earlier.

  He steeled himself to sit in the SUV twice a day, adding in a seat belt or a closed door each time but never quite managing both at the same time. He would ride in the front seat by Valentine’s Day. I will.

  At lunchtime he bundled up and walked blocks and blocks, the entire hour, letting the cold air scour his brain. It wasn’t as if he was hungry.

  Chapter 15

  ANOTHER TUESDAY-MORNING donut run. This time Sukey assembled their order, which Huxley appreciated. The week before, Rally, the twentysomething employee, assisted them. Rally didn’t make conversation and made it clear through bored eye rolls and lip curls she thought Huxley was a corporate drone who wasn’t worthy to enter the doors of Oilton’s bastion of hip donutry.