Midnight Valentine(40)

A sharp pang of empathy chews at my stomach as I watch him walk toward me. Loneliness recognizes loneliness, like the howl of a solitary wolf rising to meet the distant cry of another on a cold winter’s night.

When he reaches us, he pauses, nodding first at John, then the cute one. Then he looks at me, his eyes as sharp as laser beams.

I say, “I understand you might’ve saved my house with your quick thinking.”

His stare doesn’t waver. He doesn’t smile, or move, or even blink. He just waits.

“John here tells me I need to get the electrical replaced in the Buttercup ASAP.”

John says, “Oh, definitely. Tomorrow isn’t soon enough. You shouldn’t turn the power back on until you get an expert out here to fix it.”

Okay, universe. You win.

“So, you’ll start tomorrow, then,” I tell Theo. A sense of inevitability weighs the words, as if my lips have known all along they’d be forming them. “Today, technically. First thing in the morning if you can.”

Holding my gaze, Theo slowly nods.

“Just the electrical to start. Then we’ll see where we’re at.” With us, I mean. With him attempting a show of normal human behavior. “Deal?”

One thudding heartbeat, then two, then Theo extends his hand. I shift my wedding album to my other arm, then slide my right hand into his. My palm is swallowed in his big, rough mitt. We don’t shake, we just stand there, holding hands and staring at each other, something like electricity crackling in the cold air, until John clears his throat.

“Well, that’s good. I feel better knowin’ you’ll be takin’ care of the job, Theo. Place this size might take you a week or so, eh?”

Theo releases my hand, but not my gaze. He holds up three fingers.

“Three days?”

Theo nods, then John chuckles, turning to me. “Count your lucky stars, Megan. This here’s the best contractor in the area.”

Theo’s smile comes on slow, but it keeps growing until it takes over his entire body, until he’s practically glowing from the inside out. I can’t remember the last time I saw something so beautiful.

I say faintly, “So they keep telling me.”



* * *

By the time the firemen leave, I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. I feel like a wet washcloth some angry giant wrung out and flung against a brick wall. I watch the fire truck rumble off down the street, lifting a hand in farewell when one of the firemen waves from the cab.

Then I’ve only got the sound of the surf to keep me company as I go inside to pour myself a glass of whiskey.

Theo melted into the night like a phantom before I could ask him any questions about exactly why he was at my house when the fire broke out, but if he thinks his disappearing act is going to stop me from asking tomorrow, he’s got another thing coming.

I have so many questions, my head is practically exploding with them.

With the blanket wrapped around my shoulders and the album safely tucked under my arm, I shuffle into the house, shutting the door behind me. Destroyed by the savage kick it received, the doorknob falls off when I touch it. Sighing, I leave it where it lands.

Ignoring the splinter in the sole of my foot, I head to the kitchen, navigating through the dark house with a big flashlight John gave me before he and his crew left. Along the way, I’m treated to a depressing view of the guts of my house, spilling out from gashes in baseboards and holes punched through the plaster near the ceiling in various places where the men evidently searched for more “hot spots” in the wiring. The house is a mess, but it’s standing.

Thanks to Theo Valentine.

Who, for some inexplicable reason, showed up before the fire department did. Who knew exactly where in my house a fire extinguisher, flashlight, and sledgehammer were located. Who picked me up and carried me in his arms with no more effort than it took me to carry my wedding album, and I’m no tiny, delicate flower.

Who added one more piece to the ever-growing puzzle with his mystifying note.

I’ll always be here.

I tucked the note between the pages of my wedding album because I didn’t want to lose it. It feels important somehow. Meaningful, like a clue.

I walk into the kitchen, set the album and the flashlight on the counter, open a cabinet, and grab a glass. Then I get the bottle of whiskey from another cabinet and pour myself a drink. I down it in one go, shuddering as the fumes sear my nose, then pour myself another.

When I turn around, I let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

Theo leans against the marble island with his arms folded over his chest, looking at me.

I thunder, “Jesus Christ, Theo! You scared me half to death! What the hell are you doing!”