Valentine Kisses: A Kiss to Last a Lifetime

by Abigail Drake

  9:15 AM

  Having already removed her coffee-saturated coat, Emily leaned against her car with her arms wrapped around her waist. Walt laid at her feet, ears perked, as he watched the other dogs run and play inside the chain link fence.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said to herself. “It’s a really bad idea.”

  Emily was supposed to be mourning her mother, not cavorting with an attractive stranger. Yet there she was, dutifully waiting for him to return with a clean sweatshirt for her to wear.

  She pulled her hand through her hair while coyly looking over her shoulder to see if he was coming. When she didn’t see him, she considered jumping back into her car and peeling out the parking lot. She didn’t owe the guy anything. In fact, he should be grateful she didn’t blow a gasket over the incident between the dogs.

  Emily didn’t have to make a phone call earlier. It was a fib to give herself ample time to change her mind.

  But she needed the distraction he offered. They’d walk together in the park for a bit, and hopefully she wouldn’t feel the sting of her loss as acutely as she always did on February 14th. At least, for a little while.

  Plus, she liked his smile. It was one of those cocky, yet adorable lopsided grins all the unassuming movie heroes always seemed to have. With floppy, dirty-blonde hair and narrow brown eyes, the color of rich soil, he was effortlessly handsome in a boy-next door sort of way which always made her heart beat a little faster.

  It did just that when she caught him approaching out of the corner of her eye. She pushed up off her car and tugged at the hem of her green T-shirt, wishing she’d put a modicum of effort into her appearance before she left the house that morning. Her hair, which grazed the tops of her shoulders, framed her face in unkempt tendrils. Save for a bit of cherry-flavored lip-gloss, she hadn’t applied any makeup. Since she hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror, Emily could only assume her appearance reflected her mood. She shoved her hands into her jean pockets when she realized she was fidgeting while Walt’s leash hung loosely from her wrist. He’d stood and started at wag his tail when he noticed the black Lab’s approach.

  “Here you go,” the guy said, handing over a navy-blue zip-up hooded sweatshirt.

  “Thanks.” With a cautious smile, Emily accepted the sweatshirt and immediately tugged it on, dropping Walt’s leash to the ground briefly so she could pull her arms through the sleeves. She knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’m Ezra,” he said, holding out a hand. Emily noticed the only difference in the sweatshirts they wore was the color. His was heather grey. He filled his sweatshirt out better than she did, but she liked the comfortable fit almost as much as she liked the way it smelled fresh and vibrant like after-shave.

  “Emily.” She placed her hand in his and tried to ignore the sizzling electric currents of warmth snaking up her fingers as they shook. “This is Walt.”

  Almost like he knew he’d just been introduced, Walt took a step forward and sloppily licked the black Lab’s face. The other dog responded in kind.

  Ezra laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound that made something deep down inside Emily tighten.

  “And that’s Benny. But, these two have clearly met.”

  The two dogs sniffed each other’s faces as they continued to get acquainted.

  Emily tipped her chin toward the start of the walking path which wound its way around the park. In less than an hour, it would be filled dozens of Creedence, Virgina residents. The park was the small town’s social hub, as well as its shining jewel. The community had invested a lot of money in constructing the little oasis in hopes it would provide a place for family, neighbors, and friends to enjoy an evening concert in the gazebo, a visit from the ice cream truck, a round of basketball on the court, or a pleasant stroll around the walking path. “Let’s go.”

  Feeling herself shiver, she zipped up the hoodie and hugged it tightly around her waist.

  “Cold?” Ezra asked as they started moving, sounding sympathetic. “I might have a scarf or something in my car.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, keeping her gaze glued to the ground and feeling a brief flicker of guilt. Thinking about things like cute strangers or after-shave-scented clothes on the anniversary of her mother’s death didn’t sit right.

  But Ezra distracted her from that thought.

  “Walt’s an interesting name for a dog. Did you come up with it?”

  Emily nodded while the six-year-old mixed breed trotted beside her. “I adopted him from a shelter five years ago. His old family named him Skipper. It seemed like too playful a name for a dog with a serious side, so I named him Walt.”

  “I Celebrate myself, and sing myself,/And what I assume you shall assume,/For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.” Ezra recited the opening lines of Whitman’s famous “Song of Myself” with a flourish, waving his free hand like he was conducting an orchestra and dropping his voice an octave to sound like an old-time announcer.

  “You like poetry?” Emily asked, her interest piqued. Her love of poetry was what drove her to become an English teacher. She used to write her own, but she hadn’t jotted down a single line in more than eight years.

  “I prefer prose, but I’ve read a poem or two during my time as an English major. I always liked Whitman’s optimistic spirit.”

  Emily smiled, wide and genuine, for the first time that day. “That’s exactly why I thought Walt would be the perfect name for my big guy.”

  “I wish I had a good story to go with Benny’s name.” The black Lab walked out ahead of the group at the end of his leash. If he moved any faster, he would start pulling. “He’s a shelter dog, too. His old owners had named him, Benny. I didn’t mind the name and he answered to it, so I figured what the hell? Why not keep it?”

  Emily glanced at the dog, noting the proud way he led their little group: his chest out and his tongue wagging. “I think it suits him.”

  “Me, too.” Ezra jerked to a stop as Benny veered off the path to sniff a cluster of sticks in the grass. “I only wish he’d be a little gentler sometimes.”

  “That’ll come as he gets older,” Emily reassured him, remembering all the rambunctious dogs she’d met volunteering at the local shelter. A lot of families with young kids would come in hoping to adopt a puppy, wholly unaware of the commitment raising a young dog takes. It also broke her heart to see overactive puppies returned for normal behaviors. Walt had been one of those dogs. After his family surrendered him, he didn’t even make it back to the kennels before Emily decided he would be her new best friend.

  Sometimes, Emily regretted becoming so attached to Walt, knowing she would eventually have to face the world without him, but ultimately they’d both been good for each other. He’d been the perfect companion, while Emily had been a doting owner.

  “Man, I hope so.” While Benny marked the area he’d just been sniffing, Ezra looked around at the barren landscape surrounding them. A recent snow had melted, leaving the ground soggy. In just a few months, though, the entire park would be in bloom with colorful spring flowers.

  When Benny was done, Ezra returned to Emily’s side so they could continue. “What other poetry do you like?”

  “The classics,” Emily replied easily, nearly surprised by how taken she was with both Ezra and conversation. The discussion of great literature always had her engaged. “Poe, Frost, Ginsberg, Dickinson.”

  Ezra glanced over at with both eyebrows raised, a teasing light in his eyes. “Emily Dickinson, huh? Emily likes to read poems by Emily.”

  Emily nodded, averting her gaze to the pavement ahead of them. She hoped he’d drop it. She’d been named after the famous American poet, but didn’t want to go into detail about why. To gloss over her discomfort, she continued, “You said you were an English major. I was one, too.”

  Ezra pulled a black beanie out of his sweatshirt pocket it and tugged it on. The ends of his blond hair poked out endearingly beneath the hem in a multitude of different directions. />
  “I would ask you what classes were your favorite, I bet they were all poetry related.” He looked over at her with a crooked smile, making her heart skip a beat. Emily had to clench every muscle in her jaw to stop herself from grinning like a child who’d just been told they could have the toy they’d been begging for.

  “Twentieth Century African American Poetry, Whitman and Dickinson in Context, and—” Emily stopped short, hitting the consonant sound particularly hard. Stopping before sharing too much, Emily knelt to tie her shoe and gather her thoughts.

  She almost told him about her favorite course: Poetry Writing. She’d taken it freshmen year before her mother’s death colored all her attempts at writing.

  When she stood, Emily recovered with, “I took a class on the Beat Generation, too. That was pretty fun.”

  “The Beat Generation,” Ezra repeated with a lazy smile curling one corner of his mouth. “I always felt like I could relate to those guys.”

  “My tenth graders always like it when we do our two-week unit on the Beats.”

  “You teach?” Ezra sounded impressed. “My parents always wanted me to go into teaching, but I knew my heart would never be in it. I was studying literature to become a writer. End of story.”

  “Do you write now?” Emily asked, glad she’d successfully steered the conversation away from painful memories.

  “Every day of my life.” Ezra’s voice took on a dreamy quality, and she could tell he truly cared about his craft.”

  “What do you write?”

  “A little bit of this and that.” His eyes visibly brightened, with flecks of gold flickering in the sea of warm, chocolate brown. “Short stories, memoirs, articles. Historical fiction is my true love.”

  “I like stories about the past,” Emily mused, spellbound by Ezra’s utter delight. Even as someone who worked in a department with five other English teachers, it was often hard to find people who enjoyed a spirited discussion about literature. “It makes me feel like I’ve truly been transported to a different world when I’m reading one.”

  “I agree.” Ezra playfully elbowed her in solidarity, and Emily’s chest thudded at the obviously flirtatious maneuver.

  “Do you have anything published?” she asked, genuinely interested in his answer and intending to track down his work as soon as she got home. Though she originally thought she couldn’t focus on a book today, she had a feeling she might be able to dive into anything the charming man walking beside her might have written. She’d only known Ezra for a half an hour, but she found herself intrigued by him.

  “I put a book out right after I finished college, and I’ve had a few short stories published in literary magazines.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket and lightly kicked a pebble. “I still write, though, hoping to get my second chance.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Emily said in her reassuring, teacherly tone and wondered if the state of Ezra’s writing career was what had him feeling down today. She might have asked if she wasn’t afraid he would reciprocate and she’d have to reveal the reasons behind her own sour mood. “What was the book about?”

  “An orphan during the Civil War. His mother dies during childbirth and his father dies fighting,” Ezra explained, lifting his chin as warmth and happiness returned to his features. “He has to figure out who he is without his parents or a unified national identity to help him.”

  “That sounds interesting. What’s the book called?”

  “Why?” Ezra looked at her with an arched eyebrow, his voice laced with playful suspicion. “Are you going to read it?”

  “I don’t know.” Emily felt her cheeks flush with heat, wishing she hadn’t been so forward. She wasn’t very good at conversing with members of the opposite sex, especially when she found them attractive, but it was even harder when her mind kept flip-flopping between thoughts of Ezra and her dead mother. “Maybe. It sounds interesting.”

  “I’m just kidding with you.” Pulling his hand from his pocket, Ezra squeezed her shoulder. Even through the sweatshirt, Emily’s skin heated at his touch. “It’s called ‘Uncivilized’. And, if you do happen to read it sometime, I’d love to hear what you think.”

  When he dropped his hand back to his side, Emily had to stop herself from letting out a sigh of disappointment. However, she didn’t miss his insinuation that he would be interested in continuing their newfound relationship—Emily wasn’t quite sure yet if it could be considered a friendship—after just one walk in the park together.

  They strolled along for a few more minutes, discussing their favorite books and a few of the latest releases, before they reached the coffee place on the corner. A line of ten people snaked the small cart like a tail, waiting while a single barista made each order. Emily knew from experience that he prepared the drinks with expert precision, which often meant one could wait almost ten minutes until they got their piping hot, meticulously prepared cup of caffeine.

  Ezra held a hand over his eyes like a visor. “That’s a long line.”

  “We can just head back if you don’t wanna wait.” As soon as the words left Emily’s lips, a surge of disappointment flooded her chest. She wasn’t ready for her time with Ezra to end, nor was she ready to let go of the warm, fuzzy feelings she got being around him. She wasn’t ready to return to the darkness.

  “No way. I owe you a coffee.” Ezra looked at the mostly empty sidewalk lining the town’s main drag. “There’s a café down the street we can go to.”

  Emily held up the end of Walt’s leash. “What about the dogs?”

  Ezra waved off her concern. “They have space heaters they plug in when someone wants to sit outside in the middle of February.” He winked. “Plus, I know the owner.”

  Emily shrugged, more excited than she let on about the opportunity to spend a little more time with Ezra and Benny. “That sounds good. Let’s go.”

  9:45 AM

  Ezra made his way through the busy café, weaving between crowded tables and patrons waiting in line. He’d left Emily outside with the dogs, promising to return soon. He’d enjoyed his brief walk with her, so much so that he hoped to extend their time together with a trip to the café. However, his desire to spend the entire morning in the cute brunette’s company wasn’t the only reason Ezra wanted to make a detour to the popular eatery.

  Pat Blunt, the owner and man Ezra was looking for, came out from behind the counter with a white apron tied around his narrow waist.

  “Hey, Pat,” Ezra called out, waving a hand over head to get the older man’s attention.

  Pat’s tired eyes brightened when he caught sight of Ezra and he began winding his way toward him. Pat was a former high school pal of Ezra’s dad. The genial man had enjoyed many holidays and special occasions with the Cavanaugh family. When he was younger, Ezra had called him Uncle.

  Pat had owned the café for the past ten years, and Ezra knew the business kept him busy. Pat was often up at three o’clock on weekdays to ensure everything was ready for the morning rush. The thought of waking at that time of day made Ezra cringe. Still, he needed a job and he hoped his old family friend would be able to help him out.

  “Ezra!” Pat stuck out his hand and flashed a toothy smile. “What a surprise. What brings you here this morning?”

  “Benny and I are here with a couple of friends.” He motioned toward the expansive glass store front where he could see Emily seated at one of the wrought iron tables lining the sidewalk. Both dogs rested at her feet, looking tired from their busy morning. Emily, however, had on the same forlorn expression she’d worn when they first started their walk. Ezra’s heart sank. He had been positive her mood had turned around.

  “A date?” Pat drew out the words suggestively. “It is Valentine’s Day.”

  Ezra chewed his bottom lip, considering the question. Neither had called the walk and subsequent stop at the café a date, but Ezra felt the sexual tension between them so acutely he was sure the hair on his arms stood on end every time Emily smiled or said som
ething poignant about a piece of literature.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.” He tore his gaze away from Emily’s crestfallen expression, hoping to quickly finish his conversation with Pat so he could get back to her. “Anyway, I was hoping you could do me favor.”

  Pat lifted an eyebrow. Though they were close, Ezra hadn’t gone to his father’s friend for help before. “What can I do for you?”

  Ezra nervously ran a hand over the back of his head, pulling off his hat and ruffling his hair. “There was fire at the bookstore yesterday, and I lost my job. I was hoping you might need some help around here.”

  “I wish I’d known a week ago.” Pat shook his head, sounding genuinely upset. “I just hired a new waiter last week.” He lifted his arms and looked around at his busy establishment. “Unfortunately, we’re at capacity here.”

  “It’s okay, man.” Ezra shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Although it was. If he didn’t have money, he couldn’t afford his apartment and he’d have to move back home. His parents would gladly have him, but it would feel like a step back, especially since after eight years of writing feverishly, he still didn’t have an established writing career. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You know what?” Pat slapped him on the back. “Everything you two order is on me.”

  Ezra suppressed a sigh. He’d wanted a job, not charity. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” A waitress sidled over, stretched onto her tiptoes, and whispered something into Pat’s ear. He shut his eyes and let out a heavy exhale before turning his attention back to Ezra. “I’ve got to go. Customer issues. Just remember to tip your server.”

  Before Ezra could argue, Pat slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

  “Shit,” Ezra muttered, ignoring the terse looks a table of prim, older women shot at him as he tugged his hat back on and racked his brain trying to figure out what he was going to do.

  At least, he still had Emily waiting for him.

  By the time he’d made it outside, she’d had scooted her chair closer to the small heater and had her hands fanned out over it.