Once Upon A Valentine

by Emma Roman

  There was no need for the status quo to change.

  But who the hell was he going to take to the Oscars? He certainly wasn’t passing up the opportunity of a lifetime because he needed a date. It couldn’t be that hard to find somebody in town that didn’t know him, right? He flipped to the contact app in his phone and scrolled down the list, his shoulders sagged further with each swipe of his finger. All too soon he was at the bottom of the list.

  The only female numbers in his phone was his mom’s cell, his cousin Deirdre, Anna Granger from the therapy ranch outside of town, and the real estate agent—Edie—who’d helped him buy a house a few years ago. All married. Not that they would’ve been options if they weren’t.

  He didn’t even have his ex’s number saved. But last time he’d seen her, she’d been doing the two-step with Ronny Gilt—banker extraordinaire—at Everyday Joe’s and had that doe-eyed-hook-on-you-look plastered on her face.

  Again.

  Not an option.

  “Mick, what’s up, dude?” His long-time hunting buddy Jack strolled through the front door of the feed store and up to the counter. “Hey, Charlie.”

  The clerk nodded a quick hi and went back to checking out the customer buying a large order of oats.

  “Just keeping busy. How did your fishing trip go?” He walked around the counter to meet his friend halfway.

  “Great, man.”

  Jack nodded over his shoulder to the door. “You been across the street? That’s one fine piece of ass setting up shop. You’ll have more business at the store just from guys hanging around to catch a glimpse of her.”

  Mick frowned, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know it’d been rented.”

  “Some fancy chick in a skirt and heels that I wouldn’t mind—”

  “Jack,” Mick coughed, casting a sideways glance at the customer scribbling their signature on a receipt.

  His friend shrugged and raised his eyebrows, a wicked gleam in his gaze. “I helped her down from a step ladder. Let’s just say the view was spectacular. I mean this chick was—” Jack made a guttural groaning sound. “Day-ummm fine.”

  “You do realize this is why you can’t get a date?”

  “Whatever. Look who’s talking. I don’t see you doing any better in your flannel and beard. At least I keep nice and clean for the ladies.” He rubbed his bare chin and chuckled. “You let your hair get any longer and people will start calling you Thorin from that Lord of the Rings movie.”

  “I cannot guarantee your safety. Nor will I be responsible for your fate if you continue to diss the beard.”

  Jack cackled and slapped Mick on the arm. “You would be the one who can quote the damn character I’m trying to tease you with.”

  Mick humphed and crossed his arms. “Should I go check on the lady in question or will the sheriff be showing up shortly to haul you away for harassment?” Mick leaned to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the shop across the street. He’d seen the lights when he’d arrived to open the store, but hadn’t seen anyone actually in the space. Certainly not a gorgeous-high-heeled female like Jack’d described.

  “She’s fine. I just hung up her Matched sign and came over here. Scouts honor.”

  Mick purposefully rolled his eyes. “You’re not a scout.”

  “When do you get out of this joint? You want to go grab a beer with me at Joe’s?”

  Mick cracked his neck from side to side. “Not tonight. I’m closing.” Charlie caught his quick glance and flashed a smile of appreciation. “Catch up with me later this week. When do you leave for the next fishing tournament?”

  “Not till next Wednesday.” Jack’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. “Got to run, Mick. Talk later, man.”

  “No prob.”

  His friend hurried out of the shop, rambling something about plane tickets and crappy hotels. Mick’s chest shook, a chuckle rolling all the way through him. “You go ahead and get home, Charlie. It’s only two hours till close. Pete’s picking up his order in a few minutes. But I doubt we’ll have a run of customers in that time I can’t handle.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  It was almost dark out when Mick locked up the feed store and started for his truck parked around on the side of the building but yelling—between rumbles of approaching thunder—across the street caught his attention. A distinctly female voice filtered through humid evening air. Storm was on its way.

  He waited for a car to pass and then crossed the cobbled street toward the swinging MATCHED sign hanging from the eve of the building. Matched to what? Clothing? Jack had mentioned the woman he’d seen was dressed to the nines. Not the norm for most in this town.

  The yelling got louder and Mick couldn’t help smiling at the curses coming from the woman’s mouth. By the sound of things she was teaching her furniture a very harsh lesson. Or it was teaching her something?

  He tried to peer through the glass, but the reflective coating did its job well, blocking any attempt to view what was behind it. “Ma’am.” Mick rapped on the glass door. “Everything okay?”

  The deadbolt on the door clicked and the door swung open revealing a flash of black hair and two of the damn prettiest cornflower-blue eyes. And those lips. No wonder Jack had been about to bust a gasket about this woman. Those lips were pulled down into the cutest frown he’d ever seen. He wanted to kiss it right off her face.

  Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

  “Sorry, I’m just a little frustrated with a desk. I didn’t realize anyone outside could hear me. Between the bottle of wine and the missing pieces, I’ve just about had it.”

  “Need a hand?”

  She shoved the door wider and flashed a smile that would’ve put the devil himself under a spell. “So much. Thank you.” Her tone spoke to her relief. “I’m Laurel,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Mick. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands and he couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of her small soft fingers entwined with his. “Where’s the culprit?” Mick asked, stepping into the office space fighting to hide the amusement in his voice. “Not just the desk, I see.”

  There were pieces of furniture everywhere. Little bags of screws and dowels. Paper pamphlets littered the floor like someone had turned over a recycle bin. A hammer and a few screwdrivers lay in the center of the room with their tags still attached. It looked like an IKEA had projectile vomited its entire catalog.

  “I started on one and couldn’t figure it out. So I tried another.” Her frown had returned and genuine worry darkened her angular face. “I know what to do, but most of it I swear I need eight hands to follow the directions.”

  “Did you open everything?” He tugged on his beard and tried to decide where to start.

  “Probably,” she answered, her tone sheepish. Embarrassment brought a lovely pink color to her creamy cheeks.

  “What do you need first?”

  “The desk,” she answered, gesturing to a large stack of different-sized pieces.

  He followed her over, picking up the pamphlet from the top of the stack. Flipping through a few pages, his eyes crossed at all the direction. She wasn’t kidding about needing eight arms. “I’m going to need you to hold the top panel still while I attach the sides.”

  “Absolutely. Please, I know when I’m in over my head. Just tell me what to do.”

  Mick grinned. He liked a woman who could ask for help. Although, he mostly just liked being able to help.

  After his parents moved to Florida and most of his friends got married, life was more than a little on the dull side. Now a lot of his friends were also having kids. Even the hunting trips had all but completely stalled. Life was passing him by, but nothing he seemed to do ever brought him any closer to finding someone who meshed with his— tastes? Was that the right word? It wasn’t like there was a dating site for bearded dudes in flannel who were also movie geeks.

  He picked up the desk top and stood it on its side. “Here. Just stand behind this and hold it st
ill.”

  “Got it.” She stepped behind the large board and took over holding it upright.

  Mick knelt to the floor and dug through the pile of pieces until he found the one marked A-2. “So what is Matched? Clothes?”

  The amused laughter that spilled from her luscious red lips made his heart skip a beat in his chest. He felt like a teenager crushing on a hot girl. God, was this why Jack acted the way he did all the time?

  “No clothes. I’m a matchmaker.”

  “Like for dating?” He chewed the inside of his cheek and fitted the next piece into place. The desk was coming along well in spite of the crappy directions.

  “Yes. Nothing better than finding the right two people and putting them together. Are you single?”

  “I—”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I’d be happy to extend my business services to you for free in exchange for the help with my furniture.”

  “How would that work exactly?”

  “We’d meet and talk about what you were looking for. I’d come up with a group of good candidates and then we’d talk about a test date with one of them.” She continued chattering on about her process of selection and how she’d helped sixty-two couples find that “right” someone last year.

  Mick kept trying to decide if throwing himself on the mercy of a matchmaker from out of town was better than just trying to find a girl on his own. What could she possibly do that he couldn’t?

  “Well?”

  He looked up into her bright blue expectant eyes and gulped. Forget the candidates, he was more interested in her. She wasn’t giving off any hint that she was mutually attracted though. Beards and flannel probably weren’t her thing. Probably not any of the movies he watched either, judging by the flashy heels and tailored clothes that fit her like a second skin.

  “I…uh…I have this event I’m going to in a few weeks. I need a date for that, but someone who won’t go spilling the beans to everyone in town. It’s a problem.”

  “An event here in Somewhere?” She tipped her head to the side just a hair, her eyes sparkling with interest.

  “No. LA.”

  “Oh,” she answered. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  He fit another piece of her desk into place and secured the last few screws. Very minimalistic. No drawers. Just slick and white. He stood from the floor and took hold of the top where she held. “It has presented a problem.”

  She released the desk and stepped back, eyeing him carefully.

  He lifted the desk and rotated it so the side walls supported the top. “There you go. At least you have a desk. Not sure I have time to do all this tonight, but I’d be happy to help you some tomorrow.” The lights flickered through another crack of thunder, much closer this time.

  “Thank you. Would you like to meet for coffee in the morning to discuss your expectations for your match? There’s a place call the crumb or something just around the corner.” She flinched beneath yet another roll of thunder. Then the steady patter of rain followed.

  “The Wild Crumb,” he said, letting the chuckle rumble up from his deep chest. Matchmaking. Was he really going to do this? Let her do this? A stranger?

  “I know you have doubts, but I promise, I’m really good at what I do. I ran a multi-million dollar matchmaking company in Dal—” Her face darkened and the smiles she’d been flashing so freely disappeared into the gloom. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to—I can’t—”

  “Fine by me. But why would you leave something great to come to Somewhere? We’re not even a fraction of the Dallas scene. In fact, I’m not even sure we have a scene.”

  “Ugly divorce. And someone said Somewhere was a good place to get a fresh start. So here I am.”

  “Well, welcome to town.”

  Her face lit up again, erasing the pain that’d showed through at the mention of her divorce. Must’ve been a real jerk. Mick couldn’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to let her go, but then appearances only ran skin deep. He didn’t really know anything about her.

  “You’re the first person to say that. I really like the charm of this—” Her phone buzzed on the floor near the hammer. She went toward the sound and Mick couldn’t help but admire her ass as she bent to retrieve it from the floor. “Hello?”

  “You’re what!” Her voice screeched higher. Mick grimaced, waiting to hear what was wrong. She didn’t look like the type to keep it close to the vest. “You can’t just leave my furniture on the porch. It’s raining. I can’t move it inside myself.” Her blue eyes flashed past him to the wall of windows and the rain coming down hard now. “Can’t you just come back with it tomorrow?”

  Yikes. That’s not how the delivery people worked in Somewhere. If they didn’t leave it now, the schedule wouldn’t get back to her again for probably close to a solid—

  “Three weeks. But, I—” A heavy sigh slipped from her mouth. Her shoulders sank and she walked to the glass to stare out at the rain. “You can’t leave my things in this weather. I’ll just—”

  “Laurel,” Mick interrupted. The poor woman had just moved into town and now wasn’t going to have furniture for another month. “I can help. Let me call a couple of pals.”

  Her blue eyes widened, surprise strained the muscles in her face. “I can’t ask you—”

  “I’m offering,” he said, cutting off her protest. “Tell them to put it on the porch and cover it with the plastic sheets in the truck.”

  “How do you know they—”

  “They do.”

  “Leave it on the porch and cover it well with the plastic sheets you have in the truck. I’m coming right now.” She tapped the screen of the phone and met Mick’s gaze. “I don’t know where you came from, but you’re my superman tonight. Do you really have friends who can come help at such short notice?”

  “Yep.” Mick nodded and pulled out his cell. “Put your address and number here. I’ll be right behind you. My truck is across the street.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to hug him in addition to the verbal thank you. He wouldn’t have minded a hug, but her hesitation said she wasn’t comfortable. Couldn’t really blame her. He wasn’t her kind of guy.

  He glanced down at the address and grinned. She’d bought the old Miller place—great little farmhouse at the end of the same road he lived on. One of the more original homes in Somewhere. It sat on an acre lot in the back of the subdivision.

  “I’ll meet you there with my friends. in just a few minutes.”

  The hesitation and contemplation he’d seen a moment earlier disappeared, replaced by bright eyes and a wide smile. Damn the woman had a smile that turned his brain off. What else would he offer to do for her before the night was over. He needed to be at home working on the pilot. Another deadline was quickly approaching for a contest he was entering in March—Best New Voice in Drama.

  “Thank you so much.”

  He nodded and crossed to the front door. “Be sure to lock up,” he said, before ducking out into the rain. Mick waited an extra second. Just until he heard the deadbolt turn in the door behind him. The rain was pouring hard. His hair plastered to his head and within a few seconds his shirt was soaked through. It’d been warm-ish this morning and he’d left his coat at home.

  He pressed the screen in the middle of his console, pulling up his contact directory. Adam VonBrandt’s name popped up first. He was always a first choice for helping move heavy shit. The man could lift a fridge like it was a dining room chair. He touched Adam’s name on the screen and the system dialed.

  “Mick?”

  “Hey Adam, I need a favor. You busy?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “A friend needs some help with furniture. Can you meet me at 1039 Wind Gate.”

  “Dude, have you seen the weather outside?”

  “That’s why she needs help. She was at her storefront when the delivery guys showed up. So—”

  “Say no more. Carl i
s an asshole.”

  Mick chuckled. Everyone knew the head delivery guy for the big box store in Somewhere. “Thanks man.” He ended the call and scrolled through for another friendly name.

  He landed on Chuck and Gary, both capable and helpful and happily married with kids. Both answered their phones and agreed to head right over. Thank God for overly protective married guys. Both of them had instantly felt sorry for her and called the delivery guy all sorts of colorful names, worse than Adam had.

  Mick started his truck and pulled out of the lot, flipping on his wipers so he could see through the falling deluge. The drive to barely took ten minutes. A few turns past Main and he entered his subdivision.

  The delivery truck had been there and gone. Luckily Laurel’s house had a large front porch. Most everything looked like it was safely tucked against the clap board walls underneath the front porch rafters.

  Plastic whipped in the wind, but everything was covered. At least Carl had complied with her earlier request. He’d probably heard Mick’s voice in the background and known not to screw around.

  The front door opened and a completely different woman emerged. Jeans. A black short-sleeved sweater that hugged every curve just right, and bright pink rain boots. Her long black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed back and forth with each step. She popped open a big black umbrella and started toward his truck.

  He opened the door and she lifted the umbrella to cover them both. The wind gusted. Mick grabbed the handle and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side and ducking low so less of the rain would hit her. “Thanks,” he said, his voice deeper than he meant for it to come out, but having her right next to him was warming him from head to foot.

  5

  He was holding her like a man held a woman he cared about. Her ex hadn’t touched her in nearly a year. Not that she’d wanted Lance to hold her after she found out about the affair. Hell, she hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her. Ever. Okay, maybe not ever. But, at least for a good long while.

  But this big burly guy made her feel small and protected and cherished, just by trying to keep her out of the rain. Hell, he was a stranger. And he’d already helped her with the desk in her office. Now he was slogging through her flooding front yard to help with the furniture and appliances the damned delivery guy had set out on her porch like a field of chess pieces.