The Valentine Verse: A Contemporary Christian Romance

by JoAnn Durgin

  “Vara without the ‘h’ on the end is a pretty name. Is it Greek?” Removing his glasses, Thornton set them on the table. His deep brown eyes danced with flecks of green, perhaps enhanced by the color of his sweater. The effect was striking. Hypnotic, almost.

  On second glance, his hair was a little too long, and his beard looked like new growth. Vara resisted leaning forward, but was that a tiny cleft in his chin? If she had to guess, she’d say Thornton’s facial hair was more about not taking the time to shave than for its effect on the female population. Either that or he was debating whether to grow one…or not.

  Now she was speculating about the facial hair of some guy in a small-town coffee shop? Get a life, Vara. When she realized he was waiting for her answer, she snapped to attention.

  “Thank you, and yes, it’s green…Greek.” Her sigh escaped. “Some people mistake it for Sarah. The names are similar, but I’m beginning to wonder if I don’t pronounce it clearly.”

  “It’s noisy in here, so I’m sure that’s the coffee shop effect. If it happens in other places, I imagine it’s because people are caught up in their own busyness. They hear what they want or expect to hear. That happens all the time, not only with names.”

  Interesting observation. “You could be right.” She dropped her gaze to the navy blue embroidered polo player on his sweater that looked fresh-out-of-the-gift-box new, most likely a recent Christmas gift.

  “What does your name mean?”

  “In Greek, it means stranger. Not odd strange, but an actual stranger. I personally prefer to think of it in terms of she’s never met a stranger. That kind of…strange.” She drummed her fingers on the cup. “It can also be a unit of measure used in Latin America and old Spanish America or a spiked lance used by a picador.”

  Oh, dear goodness.

  What was wrong with her? She’d held coherent conversations with men before, but no one would be able to tell based on her current babbling. Her only excuse was that most men didn’t have hypnotic eyes, and they’d certainly never asked the meaning of her name. She should cut her losses, excuse herself, and beat a hasty retreat. Avoiding his gaze, Vara took another sip of her drink. A long sip.

  “What was the unit of measure?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A vara. Please educate me.”

  Vara narrowed her eyes. Educate me? Was this a test or did he not believe her? “Anywhere from 32 to 43 linear inches in Latin America. In Texas, it’s 33.33 inches, and known as the”—she cleared her throat—“square vara.” Square seemed an appropriate way to describe herself at the moment. “I can be unintentionally amusing sometimes, but I promise you, it’s all true.”

  “I believe you. I’m trying to remember where I’ve heard the word picador.”

  She relaxed a bit. “Want a hint?”

  “I’m thinking Spanish matadors and bullfighting. Anything along those lines?”

  “You’ve got it. A picador is one of the two mounted horsemen who assist a matador in opening a bullfight. The picador enrages the bull by weakening its shoulder muscles with a lance, or the vara.” She waved her hand. “You know what? It’s a barbaric practice, so forget I brought it up. I won’t be so weird once I get more caffeine in me. Promise.”

  “I don’t think you’re weird at all. Spirited and fascinating, maybe, but not weird. I’ve never met a woman who knew so much about her own name. Tell me more.”

  “I was curious and looked it up when I was ten, but that’s the extent of my knowledge. What else would you like to hear about?”

  “Anything you want.” Thornton’s smile surfaced, relaxing her even more.

  “My grandparents on my dad’s side are both from Nafplio in Greece.” That seemed a safe and innocuous topic.

  “A gorgeous part of the world.” Thornton sipped his drink, a strong, dark roast based on the robust aroma coming from his cup. She’d never understood how anyone could drink it black. The thought sent another shiver skittering through her although she was otherwise warming up quite nicely.

  “I’ve seen photos, but I’ve never been to Greece,” she said. “Nafplio is supposedly one of the most beautiful and romantic places in the world. It’s a seaport on the Peloponnese Peninsula, about an hour’s drive west of Athens. The town climbs up the hillside near the north end of the Argolic Gulf.”

  “Sounds idyllic. A glimpse of heaven.”

  Vara tilted her head. “Have you been to Greece? Or heaven?”

  Thornton laughed. “No afterlife experiences. I’ve visited Athens but didn’t make it to the Peloponnese Peninsula. The history, culture, customs… Everything about Greece is energizing. There’s a joie de vivre in the people there that’s infectious.”

  “So I’ve heard. I don’t mind saying that I’m envious.” Vara took another sip of her espresso, wondering if he needed to return to his work. She sounded more coherent now although it might be a buzz from the combined espresso and chocolate. “Do you travel a lot?

  “Seventy to eighty percent of the year on average.”

  “Wow. You must rack up the frequent flyer miles.” With his extensive traveling, he either had a patient, understanding or long-suffering girlfriend, didn’t date much, or… Well, there was no need to speculate or contemplate alternatives. This man’s love life was none of her concern.

  “Not as much as you’d think. I usually stay in one location and then go straight to the next.”

  When Thornton closed his laptop, Vara interpreted it to mean he wasn’t adverse to more conversation. Either that or he was preparing to depart. A little part of her—the fickle, traitorous part—hoped he wouldn’t leave quite yet. She hadn’t sworn off talking with men, only dating them.

  “I rarely travel, and I can’t imagine what it must be like as a way of life.” She probably sounded wistful but didn’t care.

  “It’s an adventure and keeps life interesting.”

  “Do you ever tire of it?” She’d think the thrill would wear off quickly.

  “Not really. I love what I do, so that makes a difference. I’m guessing you’re away from home right now.”

  That made her laugh. “Thirty miles hardly qualifies.”

  “Yes, but you never know what awaits you around the next corner. That’s my motto. Where are you from originally?”

  “What gave me away?”

  “Your name for starters. It’s obvious you’re not a native Minnesotan. I haven’t heard a ‘Don’tcha know’ or a ‘You Betcha!’ out of you yet.” His eyes crinkled with humor. “Not to mention your looks are more exotic. You stand out in a crowd around here, and I mean that in a good way.”

  Vara’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you. I’m from Florida. Born and raised in Ft. Lauderdale.”

  “You’re a long way from home. How long have you lived in the North State?”

  “Five years.” She was grateful Thornton hadn’t asked why she’d moved here. “Long enough to know Minnesota is, in fact, the northernmost U.S. state. The land of 10,000 lakes is actually more than 11,000. It’s pop, not soda or Coke. Let’s see, what else? Casseroles are called hot dishes, tater tots are the bomb, and hot dishes with tots rule.”

  “Yeah, they do!” Laughing, Thornton pumped a fist in the air. “You’ve learned the most important things.”

  “Priorities.” She grinned. “And kids and cuddly animals aren’t just cute, they’re ‘Oh, for cute!’”

  “Don’t forget ‘Can you borrow me a dollar?’ We’re also the only state who can say we’ve elected a boa-wearing, former professional wrestler as governor.” A quick frown creased his forehead. “Wait. Forget that one. It’s not exactly a selling point.”

  Sandwiched between his highbrow phrases and regular-guy statements, this guy was fun. Thornton had a terrific smile, full of genuine warmth. It wasn’t even about the straight white teeth, but more in the way his upper lip quirked higher on the left side, punctuated by that almost undetectable dimple, cleft, or whatever it was in the middle of his chin. Although barely vi
sible beneath the light beard, it was definitely there.

  Vara returned his smile. “I admire the optimism here with expressions like ‘It could be worse!’ or ‘You call this snow?’”

  Thornton nodded. “It’s 40 degrees out, and I could—”

  “Totally wear a swimsuit right now!” In her enthusiasm, Vara almost toppled her cup. Steadying it, she gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve heard a lot about the Great Blizzard on Halloween of…1991?”

  “Right,” he said. “That storm was epic. Minneapolis got socked with 30 inches of snow and ice. This part of the country is equipped to handle it, but that monster brought everything to a screeching halt.”

  Vara mock shivered. “It makes me cold just thinking about it. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever get acclimated to the cold weather here, but the warmer seasons definitely make it worthwhile. This really is a gorgeous part of the country.”

  “I’m glad you can appreciate it. Is this your first trip to Cherish?”

  “It is.” She glanced around the shop. “I think Andrea’s is a good place to start.”

  “Allow me to be one of the first to welcome you to our town.”

  When she grinned, he ran a hand over his jaw. “Right. Thornton Wilder. Believe it or not, that was completely random. The way I see it, I’m not in bad company considering the esteemed Mr. Wilder won three Pulitzers, including one for Our Town. As a last name, Thornton usually refers to thorn bushes, but I personally prefer part of Thor’s army. That’s the Scandinavian meaning.”

  “Thor? The powerful but arrogant warrior whose reckless actions ignited an ancient war? I’ll confess I only know that from the movie,” she said. “My sisters dragged me to it because they thought the actor playing Thor was all that.”

  “Thor was guilty of recklessness, but come on, Vara. You’ve got to feel a smidgeon of empathy for the poor guy since he was cast out of Asgard and forced to live among humans. Then the dark forces were sent to invade Earth, and that’s when he finally learned what it meant to be a true hero.”

  “I can certainly see why you’d prefer a hero to a prickly thorn bush. Based on appearances, you’ve survived your name well even while forced to exist among horrible humans.”

  “Notice I said part of Thor’s army, not Thor himself. Humans aren’t so bad most of the time.” Thornton’s slow, easy smile reappeared. “I’d say the one sitting across from me right now is plenty intriguing.” He eyed her above the rim of his coffee cup. “You might even say she’s all that.”

  Chapter Two

  Unsure how to respond, Vara lowered her gaze. If she hadn’t turned him off by now with her bumbling and fumbling, this could get dangerous. She hadn’t flirted with a man in a long time, mainly because she’d cut off every opportunity at the pass or the first hint of one. Getting one’s heart soundly crushed could do that to a girl. But if first impressions counted for anything, Thornton was different, intriguing, and yes, all that.

  Not that she was the least bit happy about it.

  Diversion! That’s what she needed—a change in topic to shift his attention elsewhere. She’d noticed a quote written on a chalkboard hanging behind the front counter but hadn’t taken the time to investigate. She could see it from where she was seated. “My soul rejoices in the hope of meeting the other half of my heart,” she read. “Will today be the day?”

  Oh, joy. She’d read something out loud, and it had to be about love? What were the odds? “That’s whimsical if not overly optimistic, but there’s no attribution. Do you know who said it?”

  Thornton eyed her with open curiosity. “Yes, but I’m not at liberty to say. You’ve got great eyesight to be able to read that chalkboard from here, but I have to ask. Why do you think it’s overly optimistic?”

  “The other half of my heart idea, I suppose. Don’t tell me you believe that to be true?”

  “I do, actually.” He stared at the contents of his cup with a thoughtful expression before slowly lifting his gaze to hers. “I believe in God’s providence. If we’re faithful and ask Him for something, believing He can do it, then He’ll satisfy that need.”

  Vara tried not to frown. Not that his answer disappointed her. Not at all. “I agree that God can and does answer prayer, but I can’t buy into the theory of soul mates. No offense, but how can any rational, freethinking person over the age of ten buy into that concept if they’ve experienced even the tiniest taste of ‘real’ life?”

  “Fair enough,” Thornton said. “I should add the caveat that it’s in His timing, and it’s not always what we think we need.”

  “Are you a pastor?” One of the things she’d learned in the past few years was the value of a God-fearing man, a man who believed in the omnipotence of God rather than in his own abilities. Thornton was a refreshing change from the doctors and pharmaceutical reps she encountered on any given day at the hospital.

  “I’m not a pastor, no. I’m just your average guy who believes in love and Jesus.”

  “In that order?” She couldn’t help teasing him. Nothing about Thornton could be called average, and she’d never met a guy who talked about Jesus outside the church doors.

  “When you think about it, they mean the same thing, Jesus and love. He is love.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she mused, taking another drink.

  Thornton shifted on his chair. “Wouldn’t you also agree there’s a fascination about love and romance for both sexes? As much as we try, we can’t ever completely understand love. That’s why it’s one of the great mysteries of life.”

  Smooth. How had he managed to effortlessly segue from Jesus to romance? “Yes, I can agree to that,” she said. “I think that for a man—at its core—love is a basic chemical and physiological response. But for a woman, love is based more on the emotional and psychological connection. I realize those observations are nothing new or earth-shattering, but I happen to agree with them. Given those points, love’s not such a mystery, is it?”

  “I think you hit it spot-on when you said at its core. Love is complex. Oscar Wilde said the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.”

  Shaking her head, Vara took a quick sip of her espresso and then lowered her cup to the table. “Interesting observation, but there’s a difference. Death is inevitable yet not everyone finds romantic love.”

  He studied her. “True, but bottom line? Finding love is one of the absolute, hands-down best things in life.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “And it sure is fantastic when it happens.”

  Thornton was definitely sold out on God—a good thing. But he also seemed intent on discussing love, a subject she preferred to avoid at all costs, particularly with a man. “Let me guess. You’re a traveling professor of philosophy or psychology.”

  That made him chuckle. “If I were, do you think I’d be so optimistic about love?”

  “Okay, you’ve got me there. Empirical science then.” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe you’re the coach of a debate team? Maybe for a church?”

  “I don’t think churches have debate teams.”

  “Sure they do. They just don’t call it that.”

  “You don’t think finding love is the best thing that can ever happen to us? Us as in the human race?” Thornton seemed genuinely surprised she hadn’t immediately jumped aboard the love train. Suddenly those mesmerizing eyes and quick wit didn’t seem nearly as engaging. In fact, this entire conversation was growing increasingly annoying.

  “Sure, finding love is fantastic, but keeping it? That’s the tricky part.” She met his gaze. “I’m guessing you’ve never been burned by love.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been singed a time or two. I’m not without a few battle scars.”

  Obviously Thornton hadn’t been singed enough to squelch his enthusiasm. In one way, she admired people with such positivism, but this conversation had also ventured into unexpected and deeply personal territory. “I’m going to be bold and ask you something straight out.”

&nb
sp; “Go for it. I’m all for bold.” Crossing his arms, Thornton sat back and waited with a bemused expression.

  “Are you the person writing those sentiments on the chalkboard? You seem unusually invested in the subject and can quote Oscar Wilde at the drop of a hat. Who does that?”

  “A romantic at heart, I suppose. I was prepared for something a whole lot more personal. I assure you, I am not the person writing those quotes on the board.”

  “Are the quotes posted every day?” Great job changing the subject, Vara. She could use a verbal filter. What was going on here? No matter how intriguing or attractive he was, she couldn’t consider anything happening with a world traveler who was preoccupied with love. The man was clearly in love with love. It couldn’t happen. End of story.

  “Every day except Sundays when Andrea’s is closed. They began to appear this week and quickly became a conversation starter. That chalkboard used to list the daily specials, but they moved those to another chalkboard sitting on the far end of the counter. A lot of the town’s citizens pop in here every morning to read the thought for the day. I’ve heard rumors it might become an annual tradition in the month leading up to Valentine’s Day.”

  Thornton glanced around the shop, nodding to a man seated at an adjacent table. “Case in point? As long as I’ve been coming in here, I’ve never seen Andrea’s so crowded.”

  “People embrace things like this. They’re probably speculating right now about who’s behind the quotes,” Vara whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “For instance, I’m sure there are people sitting all around us now wondering, ‘Could Thornton be the one? Or Jack the butcher? Or maybe Doris the hairdresser?’”

  “Don’t forget Horace the church organist or his twin brother, Boris, the funeral director.”

  “No way!” She stifled her laughter.

  He raised one hand. “Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up.”

  “Are the quotes always about love and romance?” She’d tossed the bread crumbs, so she might as well follow the trail.