Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19)
Page 28
She touched his arm. “I know. You don’t want to hurt them, even if they’re hurting you.”
“Maybe I should just move and not tell them where I went.”
Move? That was not happening. “Or maybe you should ask ‘Hey, Helen!’ what to do. She’s good in a crisis.”
He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“I got this.” She slipped past him and directly toward his parents.
She forced her way between them and kept moving. Their arguing paused as both watched her cross the room. She stopped at the front door, then turned and faced them fully.
“Good evening,” she said calmly. “I was intrigued by your shouting. Clearly you have a lot of problems— a lot of problems— in fact, by now this entire apartment complex realizes that you do. Your son has been patient and loving and considerate, traits he clearly didn’t learn at home. If you insist on going at each other like a couple of schoolyard bullies, you’re welcome to do so in the privacy of your own home. Just don’t drag Neil into it anymore. Parents who care about their children don’t do that.” She pulled the door open. “Your son deserves to have his home back.”
“What?” his dad snapped.
“Who are you?” his mom demanded.
“Someone who cares too much about Neil to watch the two of you continue to hurt him. You have a home of your own. You can take this slugfest there.”
They both turned to Neil, apparently expecting him to take their side. While the show of unity might have been encouraging under other circumstances, it was nothing short of frustrating just then. He was expected to do their bidding, no matter how much they mistreated him.
Helen didn’t say a word. She kept her expression as neutral as she could manage. He had to be the one to decide how to move forward; she had simply introduced the possibility of putting an end to their manipulation.
“I love you both,” he said to his parents. “I always will. But I have been your referee for too long. I spent my childhood as the rope in your tug-of-war, and I’m done. You need to go home, and you need to figure this out without pulling me into it. That’s not how love in a family is supposed to work.”
“Neil?” His mom sounded shocked, even a little wounded.
Please stay strong, Neil. They have to stop doing this to you.
“Go home.” He spoke firm but soft. “Figure this out between the two of you.”
His mom slammed her fists onto her hips. “Your dad turned you against me, didn’t he?”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
Quick as that, the shouting started again. How had Neil endured this growing up?
Helen spotted a purse on the coffee table. Beside it was a set of keys. Neil kept his keys on a hook by the door.
She picked up the keys and, catching Neil’s eye, said, “Your dad’s?”
He nodded.
She grabbed the purse as well, knowing it was most likely his mom’s. She let out the shrillest whistle she could produce, grabbing the war-mongers’ attention once more. With an overly sweet smile, she showed them the items she held.
Their eyes pulled wide.
With all the ability of a former softball player, she pitched the keys as far down the hallway as she could.
“What the—” Mr. MacKay took off in a run, chasing his keys.
Helen met Mrs. MacKay’s glare with an unflinching one of her own. “Anything in here that wouldn’t survive a similar flight down the hall?”
“You wouldn’t.”
Neil jumped in. “At this point, I might. Take it and go, Mom. After all these years, I deserve a little peace in my life.”
His mom looked back at him. “Don’t I deserve peace? I don’t have any with that man.”
“I know.” Neil’s tone was more weariness than agreement. “Maybe eventually you’ll figure it all out.”
She didn’t say anymore. Stepping to the door, she took her purse from Helen’s hand, but not without a narrow-eyed look of disapproval.
The moment his mom stepped into the hall, Helen shut the door and locked it. She turned to Neil, intending to share a moment of triumph or at least relief. But the pain in his expression pierced her through.
His shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh. “I know that needed to be done— I can’t keep letting them do this— but I hate tossing them out like that.”
No words of advice or reassurance sprang to mind. Helen simply moved to where he stood and slipped her arms around him. He returned the embrace, silently clinging to her.
“Love is complicated and complex,” she said, “because people are complicated and complex. We know that it can be painful, so we treasure it that much more when it is kind and strong and beautiful. I am sorry that it stings now, but I hope you realize that it doesn’t always hurt. That it doesn’t have to.”
“I know,” he whispered.
She leaned against him once more, and he held her as the minutes ticked by. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them pulled away.
After a while she asked one of the many questions swirling around in her mind. “And you’re not really going to move away, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I will probably stop answering my door, though.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to make a habit of climbing onto your balcony.”
His chuckle lightened her heart, while his arms wrapped around her kept her pulse pounding. “That was the closest thing to a superhero rescue I’ve ever seen: Hey, Helen! courageously scales wall to restore peace to the land.”
Too many men would have felt threatened by a woman “coming to the rescue.” She was glad he wasn’t one of them. “If I ever need a superhero, I hope you’ll scale that wall as well.”
“It’s a deal.”
Chapter Eight
“Test the water. Take the risk. Move forward by degrees.” Neil silently repeated Helen’s advice as he sat, once again, on his balcony watching her across the divider.
She had embraced him the night she’d thrown his parents out. And she’d stayed in his arms for quite a while afterward. That was more than promising. It was his turn to make the next move.
I hope you’ll scale that wall as well. He knew she hadn’t meant it literally, but that was how he was taking it.
His accounting book pushed aside, Neil rose from his usual spot and crossed to the dividing wall. He slung a leg over, then the next.
Helen looked up from her computer and smiled. “I get the feeling neither of us is going to use the front door anymore.”
“I’ve come on a rescue mission,” he said.
She closed her laptop. “You have?”
He nodded. “I heard a rumor that you’re not a big fan of Valentine’s Day.”
She frowned deeply in an overblown look of contemplation. “I am pretty sure I cleared up that rumor already.”
“Did you?” He sat on the edge of the patio table, facing her.
“I sent an email to the person who started it. His name was ‘My Neighbor Hates Valentine’s Day’ or something like that.”
Neil shook his head. “The names people are giving their kids these days. It’s getting out of hand.”
She had an amazing smile. It made her eyes twinkle and her whole face light up. “What does your rescue mission have to do with my opinions about February 14th?”
“According to my sources, you would prefer to spend the holiday hanging out and eating pizza.”
Her smile drooped a little. “Kind of pathetic, huh?”
“No. Teddy bears bought on the side of the road: that’s pathetic.”
“Don’t get me started. I could write a whole column about that.” She leaned her head against her upturned hand, her elbow propped on the table. “Pizza, though. That’s a great idea.”
He nodded firmly and stood once more. “Pizza it is.”
“Are you asking me over for Valentine’s Day?” Was that hope he heard in her voice?
“I am, if you’re interested.” Please be interested.
His heart jumped to his throat. Somehow he managed to say, “Alright. Seven o’clock?”
She nodded.
“I’ll see you then.” And, because he didn’t know what else to do, he hopped the wall again, grabbed his book, and retreated into his apartment.
Helen was coming for Valentine’s Day. She was “interested.” All he had to do was not blow it.
Chapter Nine
Helen had always been pretty chill about Valentine’s Day. Sure, she had some strong opinions on the gift options and the pricing structure, but the day itself wasn’t a big deal. Yet sitting in her living room on February 14th, watching the clock on her phone count down to 7:00, knowing Neil was waiting for her next door, this Valentine’s Day had her totally on edge.
He’d been flirtatious when he’d extended the invitation. There’d been the smallest hint of something more than mere friendship in the way he’d interacted with her before that, too, from cozying up beside her on the couch to holding her in his arms the night of his parents’ yelling match. She didn’t want to lose that. Truth be told, she wanted even more of it.
She didn’t know if she was glad he’d chosen to do exactly what she’d said she preferred on Valentine’s Day, or if she was disappointed that he hadn’t even suggested something more.
7:00 arrived. Here I go.
She gave herself a quick mirror check, something she didn’t usually do on her way to Neil’s. At his door, she paused for a quick, self-directed pep talk, took a deep breath, and knocked.
He answered, dressed in a nice button-up shirt and slacks. Maybe this was at least kind of a big deal to him. That was promising. Unless he’d had a job interview or something. That was probably it. She knew he was looking for work, now that he was almost done with his degree.
“Hey,” she said, as if everything were as casual as ever.
“Hey.” It was the same word, but not said in the same way.
At the very tender tone of his voice, warmth spread deep inside her. She stepped across the threshold and immediately stopped, eying the transformation with surprise. The table, tucked into the corner of the kitchen area, had been set with nice plates and napkins and a cluster of lit candles. Soft music played from somewhere. This was not pizza-and-chill-as-usual.
“I know you’re not really big into Valentine’s Day,” he said, “but this seemed like a good compromise. Still pizza, still at my place, but with a little something more.”
She looked up at him, desperate to know what he meant by “something more”, but too nervous to actually ask.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“Other than the pizza?” Other than your friendship?
He took her hand— she resisted the very strong urge to clutch it in desperation— and led her to the kitchen. He grabbed a bag from the counter and held it out to her. “I know you have very specific requirements in Valentine’s Day gifs. I did read the gift-giving column, you know.”
She took the bag, but didn’t look inside. “I didn’t mean the column as a hint.”
“I know. It was a welcome challenge, and I think I’ve done pretty well.”
Her pulse pounded in her neck. He’d taken the “Giving Gifts to That Special Someone” column as a challenge. And had a gift for her as a result. What had he chosen? Was she reading too much into this?
She peered inside the gift bag and pushed away the tissue paper. “A book?” She pulled it out. “How to Write the Great American Novel.”
He stepped closer. “You want to write a novel, and I want you to know that I believe in you. I’ll be right there with you while you reach for that dream, if that’s what you want. I just don’t want you to give up on yourself.”
Of all the thoughts swirling around in her mind, the only thing she managed to verbalize was, “A book.”
“Hey, at least it wasn’t a teddy bear from the street corner.” Under his teasing tone was a note of wariness. He thought she didn’t like it.
“I don’t mean this book.” She met his gaze and held it. “A book of my own. You’re giving me a book of my own.”
“A dream of your own,” he clarified. “And I want to be part of it.”
Every thought halted. Even her lungs ceased to function. It could be a gift from one friend to another. But— she tried to breathe through the thought— it could also be something much more.
“I read what you wrote in last week’s column,” he said, “about testing the waters and finding out if friends can be more than that.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “You read that?”
“I wrote it, Helen. I wrote that question.”
“But…” She stumbled a moment. “No. You wrote the one about the neighbor and the stupid Valentine’s Day?”
“I wrote that one, too, but as a decoy.” He watched her closely, uncertainty heavy in his expression. “I— I had hoped you would answer ‘Dude With a Dilemma’ without guessing he was me.”
“Then, you—” She couldn’t say it out loud.
“You are the greatest friend I’ve ever had.” He slid his hand softly down her arm. “But I want us to be more than that. I want to be a part of your whole life and your plans and your dreams.”
“You do?”
“I do.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “I love you, Helen. I have loved you for a very long time.”
Love. Excitement and disbelief bubbled inside her. Neil loved her. He loved her.
“And you didn’t even buy me a teddy bear in a balloon?”
He slipped an arm around her waist. “There’s still time. If I go now, I could probably find a guy with a truck full.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
He pulled her the rest of the way to him. “You don’t want me to go get you a last-minute gift?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then don’t you worry, Helen Blakely. I’m not going anywhere.”
Hey, Reader.
Valentine’s Day. Again. For some of you, the return of this day means flowers, chocolates, gifts of love and affection. For others, it means disappointment and frustration. For a few, this day shines a spotlight on a table set for one.
Sometimes life is the worst.
The past three years I’ve heard from a lot of you struggling through moments when life hits its lowest point. Issues with family, with friends, with co-workers. Issues with your past, your present, your future. While those problems and worries and struggles have been as different as the people who write to me about them, there’s been a common thread, one that seems fitting to discuss on this day in particular.
Love.
Not just love in the romantic sense, but in matters of friendship, family, and basic human kindness. A kindness we should extend to ourselves, as well as those around us. Sometimes the problems I hear are about people wanting to give love, but not knowing how. Sometimes, it’s people who desperately need to know they’re loved, but they can’t find anyone willing to offer it. Sometimes, the world is simply too cold and uncaring, and life too terribly unfair.
This Valentine’s Day, accept a challenge from “Hey, Helen!” Spread the love. Be a little kinder, a little more generous, a little more forgiving, a little more loving. Let the day mean something beyond gifts and greeting cards and the expected words of adoration.
Let it mean love.
—Helen
Click on the covers to visit Sarah’s Amazon author page:
Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone
and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has twice served as the Master
of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam van Hylckama Vlieg at D4EO Literary Agency.
Visit Sarah on-line:
Twitter: @SarahMEden
Facebook: Author Sarah M. Eden
Website: SarahMEden.com
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