Once Upon A Valentine

by Emma Roman

  “Mick. VonBrandt is out back.” Old man Skinner’s voice hollered through the whole store. Using the comm system would be too easy for the old codger. Nope. The owner didn’t like “tech” as he called anything with a “chip” inside it. Mick had been lucky to convince the old man to upgrade the register five years ago when the twenty-year-old-antique had finally given the ghost.

  “Where’s Logan?” Mick shouted back, closing his email app and shoving the cell into his back pocket.

  “He called in. Something about studying for a test.”

  Mick rolled his neck and sighed. “Right.” He’d forgotten the young VonBrandt had asked for today and tomorrow off. It left them short-handed, but it wasn’t like there would ever be a rush on anything at the Feed & More. They could handle it. Correction. He could handle it. The only thing Skinner did, was stand around and jaw with the other retired customers.

  He turned the corner around pallets of feed stacked taller than his chest and yanked the strap on the loading dock door—yet another thing Skinner wouldn’t upgrade. It wouldn’t cost that much to put a motor on the damn heavy door. He groaned, throwing his weight against the strap until the momentum carried the steel door all the way up and over his head.

  Adam VonBrandt’s big black truck was backed into place, tailgate down, ready and waiting. The happy-go-lucky dude smiled at Mick and tipped his chin down. “Hey.” Mick couldn’t remember ever seeing Adam VonBrandt upset about anything. He’d been in high school with Adam and Berg Klein—even graduated the same year—but since he’d never been into sports, Mick hadn’t ever been in their “circle”. Even so, the guys were always inclusive and friendly.

  Mick nodded back. “Afternoon, Adam.” Then moved to the wall where the clipboard hung with the ready-to-go orders. He moved Adam’s invoice to the top and handed over the clipboard. “Just sign for me here.”

  Adam snagged the pen dangling from a string and scribbled his name on the invoice. “Logan’s not here today?”

  “That hurts, man.”

  Adam’s laugh boomed through the loading bay. “Always joking, Ramsey. How you been?”

  “Not bad, actually. You?”

  “Ranch always keeps me busy.”

  “Animals will do that.” Mick took the clipboard from Adam and smiled. “Hang tight. Lemme grab the forklift and get your order.”

  Mick maneuvered the forklift slowly through the loading area. It’d been weeks since he’d had to drive the thing and tipping over another order or slicing a hole in someone else’s feed order would not make his day go any faster. And he wanted it to move quick. He needed to email the contest coordinator back. Accept the tickets. Thank them… And he needed to make sure Charlie could cover his shifts while he was gone.

  Stopping the forklift at the edge of the drive, he extended the pallet until it was hovering just a few inches above Adam’s truck bed. A few minutes later the truck was loaded and Adam was on his way back to the VonBrandt ranch.

  Mick pulled the dock door down and swung the lever into place to lock it. “Charlie,” he said, pressing down the comm button on the radio hanging from his belt.

  “Yeah, boss.” Charlie’s voice rang over the channel.

  “Can you pop in the office when you get a chance.”

  “Be there in five.”

  “Thanks.” He crossed the storage area and sat in the chair in front of the one and only computer in the entire Feed & More store. He pulled up the February schedule and looked at the four days he needed to rearrange so he could enjoy the fruits of his winnings. He’d work longer days for a week, if that’s what it took to get Charlie to cover. Whatever it took. A chance like this was likely a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  Unless the script got bought. Then it could just be the beginning. Mick scoffed at his thought. The script was good. Good enough to get noticed. Apparently good enough to win a newbie contest. But selling it right off the bat was a pipe dream. Still, connections were made one at a time. It was all about who you knew. If Sumners really was interested in his voice, getting a job at the studio he was launching next year, might just be a possibility.

  He rubbed his palm over his thick beard and smiled. Excitement ran through his body, making his heart race. The same feeling he’d gotten when he found the perfect twist for the script he’d submitted. He’d have to call his mom and dad and tell them the good news later. They were the only ones who knew Mick had no intention of working in Skinner’s feed shop for the rest of his life. They kept his secret, even if they didn’t understand why it had to be hidden from his friends.

  “Hey, boss. What’s up?” Charlie’s wiry frame sidled through the door.

  “I have to travel in a couple of weeks and I need you to cover my shifts.” He pointed to the calendar on the computer screen. “I’ll work for you when I get back to make it up. I know taking those shifts means you’re working ten days straight without a day off.”

  “Man, Meghan will kill me.”

  “I need you here. Skinner doesn’t know his hand from his foot these days. I have to go.”

  “You know Skinner won’t approve the overtime. He never does.” Charlie frowned, his gaze glued to the ground.

  “I’ll pay you the overtime out of my pocket, Charlie. Do you think that would change Meghan’s mind?” He and his wife had three children under the age of five and another baby on the way. Charlie used to get overtime regularly, but last year Skinner made Mick hire a college kid—Logan VonBrandt—to cover the extra hours. He didn’t pay overtime to anyone now.

  “Yeah, she’ll be good, but I hate that, man. You—”

  Mick raised his hand, silencing Charlie. “It’s fine, really. It’s spur of the minute and I knew it might happen. I set the money aside just in case. Just don’t tell Skinner.”

  Charlie nodded. “You got it, boss. I do appreciate it. I’ve been taking extra jobs on the side already, so this will help out a lot for that week. It’s been a tough year.”

  “I know. I wish I’d been able to convince Skinner—”

  Charlie shook his head. “I know you were the one who got him to keep me full time. We owe you for that.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “I better get back up front before Skinner pisses off a customer cause he don’t know how to run that register.”

  Mick chuckled. It’d probably already happened. That old man needed to sell his store and retire. Should have done it ten years ago, but the old codger was stubborn…and lonely. His wife had died over a decade ago and since then the old man rarely left the store.

  Charlie slipped out of the office, leaving Mick alone with his thoughts. There were so many.

  And they were all clamoring for attention at once.

  He’d spent the last ten years trying to get to this point. Taking online classes. Joining forums for screen writers. The last five years had gotten him to this point and now change was coming. Movies had been his passion his entire childhood. His parents had owned the only drive-in theater in Somewhere. It’d closed when he was in high school. After that his dad had worked for old man Skinner. Then Mick had started after graduation. When Mick’s dad retired, Skinner had promoted him into his dad’s manager position and hired Charlie. This place wasn’t much, but it was reliable and it gave him nights off to work on his scripts and take classes without being obvious to his friends.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy getting out and hunting or fishing, but if given the choice he’d always choose writing…Or watching a good classic movie. Nothing quite like a little A Clockwork Orange or the Godfather. One of his dad’s favorites had been Chinatown. Of course Mick had always enjoyed the slapstick humor in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Variety was the spice of life…or so some people said. When it came to film, Mick wholeheartedly agreed. Drama, romance, comedy, action, mystery, and Spielberg epic tales all had their place.

  His favorite were thrillers. The kind of movies that kept you guessing and surprised you more than once. Probably because not
hing in his life as of yet had surprised him in the least.

  3

  Laurel handed Teri a red solo cup half full of the Bordeaux she’d grabbed at the grocery store down the street. The town of Somewhere was small, but not so small that a new person stuck out like a sore thumb. Especially since she wielded a thick Texan accent already.

  People had been downright nice, too. The checker at the grocer had even carded her for the wine. Sweet boy. He’d blushed cherry red when she’d shown him her license. She’d turned the dreaded twenty-nine this year. After thirty, it was down hill. At least that’s what her so-called friends back home all told her. Grey hairs. Wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. Meryl Latimer had insisted that weekly facials and retinol treatments were a must starting at age twenty-five.

  Laurel hadn’t been convinced extreme measures needed to be taken quite that early, but she hadn’t turned down the generous birthday basket full of creams and concoctions. Everything Meryl said she’d need to get her regimen started.

  “Well, I didn’t think you’d really do it.”

  “What?”

  “Move to Somewhere. There’s not even a mall, Laurel. What are you going to do about clothes? Shoes? Purses? I actually saw a woman carrying a denim purse with fringe on it at the gas station. Please tell me you won’t let them turn you into a country bumpkin.”

  Laurel couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up at her friend’s concern. “I assure you, just because I’ve moved out of the big city does not mean I’ve forgotten how to straighten my hair or dress to impress.”

  “I took every last thing out of my closet before I moved out. Every belt, buckle, shoe, and purse I owned. That twenty-year-old tramp isn’t going to get a single fingernail on any of my Prada, Gucci, Burberry or Dolce & Gabbana.”

  “Excellent. Except for the fact that I have to drive two hundred miles to borrow any of it.” Teri whimpered into her wine and gave Laurel a fake sob.

  “You could move out here, too.”

  “Not a chance, honey. I love you, but living without a mall just isn’t in my bag.”

  Laurel sipped the woody vintage from the plastic cup and grimaced. Add wine glasses to the list of must buy next. “I know. But this works for me. It’s far enough away that no one knows me and I can really start fresh.”

  “As a cat lady?” Teri shot over the rim of her cup.

  “I am not going to be a cat lady.”

  “You said you were done with men. Not that I can blame you, after taking a look around this place. The tight wranglers are nice, but once you move past that…it’s just dirt and the scent of manure. I can smell it everywhere in this town. I’m pretty sure the neighbors in the house behind you have chickens.”

  “Maybe I can get organic eggs from them.”

  “Always the optimist. Seriously. Can we just mourn the lack of shopping for a few minutes?”

  “I can order everything online that I could possibly want.” Laurel kept her tone light for her friend’s benefit. She was slightly concerned about being bored in a town the size of Somewhere, but it had been cheap to find a house and easy to secure a lease for an office space in town. Once she got her new match-making service up and running, she’d have plenty to keep her occupied and content.

  “When is the furniture getting here?”

  “In a few days. Until then, it’s an air mattress and this nice carpet,” she said, brushing the shaggy flooring where they sat against the wall of her empty living room.

  “You don’t even have a fridge.”

  “I have an ice chest. It will work until the fridge comes in a couple of days. Apparently there’s no such thing as rush shipping out here. You wait for your turn and that’s that. The lady in the store said I was lucky they weren’t backed up more than a week. She said normally it takes three.”

  “Three weeks.” Shock stretched Teri’s mouth into a large “o” shape.

  Laurel nodded. “That’s about what I looked like. She just shrugged and laughed. But it’s the norm out here. Every single person I dealt with seemed un-rushed and not the least bit concerned that I would’ve preferred more speedy service. They didn’t even care that I offered to pay more. It just wasn’t an option. So I’m stuck with no furniture for a week and no fridge, washer, or dryer for a few more days.”

  “Please don’t take your clothes to a laundry mat.”

  Laurel almost spit her mouthful of wine. “Never. There’s a dry cleaner just down the street. I need the washer and dryer for my non-existent sheets and towels.”

  Teri smirked. “At least you haven’t gone and lost all your sense.” She climbed to her feet and nodded toward the open wine bottle on the counter in the kitchen. “More?”

  Laurel shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Do you really think you’ll be able to get another match-making business going out here in this little college town?” Teri finished off the bottle and dropped it into the large black plastic garbage bag in the corner of the kitchen. The bottle clinked against the other bottles they’d consumed over the last few days. “Should I open another?”

  “No. It’s nearly midnight. We should probably call it a night and yes, I think if I reach out to some old contacts, I can get the business profitable by next year. I’m not crazy though. It will take a little time. But I got a decent settlement from Lance per our pre-nup. If I’m careful, I can make it work.”

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t take his ass to court. You could’ve gotten more.”

  Laurel’s throat constricted and the sip of wine in her mouth suddenly tasted like mud. “No. It wouldn’t have worked out in my favor.”

  “Why?”

  “It just wouldn’t.”

  “He has something doesn’t he? Some type of leverage?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Teri. It’s over and done. I’m finished with Lance. I never have to see him again. Never have to hear his voice. Never have to think about that little blonde tramp sitting in my office. Never again, Teri.”

  “They’ll go out of business in a year or two. You know you were the heart of that company. The brains behind all the matches. He’s just a snake that saw how he could make a fortune with your intuitiveness.”

  “Never again, Teri. I don’t want to talk about it any more. I’m done with letting my bitterness over him ruin my mood.”

  “You swore off men. Is that changing? Cause if it’s not, you’re still letting him win.”

  Guilt crawled into Laurel’s stomach and dug in its sharp claws. Her friend was right. No denying that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the opposite sex. She’d made such a mistake. Been blinded by Lance’s good looks. He’d said all the right things. Treated her the way she’d always fantasized about—great sex, nights out, more money to spend than she’d ever know what to do with. It’d been perfect…until it hadn’t.

  “I missed my chance, Teri. I wasted it on Lance.”

  “Bull shit. You’re only twenty-nine.” Teri sank back onto the carpet next to Laurel and frowned. “You have plenty of good years left. If you say you don’t then you’re saying I don’t either.”

  “You’re already with Greg and have been for a year. He’s great and totally in love with you. This time next year, you’ll be married with a baby on the way,” Laurel said, sipping the last of her wine.

  “Mmmhmm, sure Ms. Matchmaker.”

  “You will,” Laurel said, confidence filling out her tone. She knew a good match when she saw one and her best friend had found a great one. Greg’s brother had been one of her earliest successes. She’d known from the first time she met Greg that he was just what Teri needed. And after talking to him, Teri had checked all of his personal “boxes” too. They were yet another success on her long list of match-making accomplishments.

  Apparently her gift worked on everyone but herself.

  4

  Mr. Sumner will have a date, meaning you need to be sure you bring one as well. Air fare and travel accommodations are included in th
e attachments for two people.

  Mick read the email twice more. A date? Really? Why couldn’t he just go alone. It’s not like he was going to prowl around for a hookup at the Oscars. Plus, there wasn’t a single person in Somewhere that he could take at such short notice—or wanted to take. Especially the week after Valentine’s. It was a lost cause.

  And, if he took someone from town they’d out him in a second. Then he’d never hear the end from his buddies. It would be constant jokes and ribbing. He’d had more than enough of that to last him a lifetime. The teasing had ultimately been why he’d only stayed in Drama Club for a half a semester in high school.

  Everyone had given him hell. He’d been called every name in the book and he’d told Mr. Deaver right before Christmas that he wasn’t staying. The teacher had tried to convince him the teasing would pass, but it just wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. It hadn’t been worth it.

  He loved drama. Film. All the arts. But not enough to get tortured for it incessantly through four years of high school. After he quit, he’d joined the archery team. Done some wrestling. Participated in field sports when necessary. It’d worked out.

  His friends had forgotten all about his foray into drama. He was just one of the guys. He hunted and fished and played the occasional game of softball when called upon to fill in. It was fine. It just wasn’t what he loved.

  He kept his true interests under wraps. No one knew. Not even his few and far between girlfriends had been read in on his secret. His parents were the only people who knew his dreams. They supported him. And that was enough. It had been for years.