I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day. My love for the holiday runs deeper than the candy hearts and corporate cards, though. Ilovelove.I love that there’s a dedicated day for the type of romance I’ve only ever dreamed of.
I was destined to be a hopeless romantic when my mom showed meXanaduwhen I was nine. That was the gateway to me devouring every romantic movie, TV show, and book I could get my grubby little hands on.
I started reading my mom’s bodice rippers and mass market paperbacks when I was a teenager—a dirty secret I’ll take to my grave—and haven’t stopped reading romance since. It’s my favorite genre.
Mom used to regale me with love stories of her past lovers. She tried to paint my dad in a good light by embellishing the romantic things he did, but as I got older I started to see the truth behind her rose colored glasses.
She never had a great love like what poems and sonnets depict. Instead, she was tied in a loveless marriage to a man who would rather spend his Friday nights drinking than taking his wife out on a date. Instead of letting my dad’s actions turn me off of love, it gave me hope. Hope that someday I could have the kind of love my mom deserved. I’m determined to never be like my father, and I won’t settle for anything less than a fairytale ending.
I have a gift. One I don’t know how to explain or rationalize. It’s how I ended up as Cupid. People come from all over the country to celebrate Valentine’s Day in Cupid’s Cove and to be set up by Cupid. I walk around and pair up single people looking for love. I have the ability to justtellwhen two people are meant to be together. Even two people who wouldn’t give each other a second glance.
In the four years I’ve been doing this, I’ve paired upwards of fifteen couples. I’ve been invited to eight weddings of people I’ve helped.
I love it.
I just wish it was my turn. I’m not just sitting around, waiting for someone to walk into my life. I’ve been dating, scrolling endlessly on the available apps. I have a two date minimum, hoping for that spark to ignite, but so far it hasn’t happened.
I have this idea in my head where I’ll know the minute I see her. Sparks will fly the second our eyes meet, time will standstill, and everything else will fade away. We’ll have the kind of connection people will write plays about in a century.
Someday.
A door in the back of the shop opens, and Patrick walks in and gives me a chin nod, motioning to the desk. I stand and meet him there.
“So it looks like your radiator hose clamp was loose. When that happens, the coolant can leak and vaporize, which is what you thought was smoke. Mikey’s just checking the hose to make sure it’s not broken, then you should be good to go. If you’ll just fill out this paperwork with your information and sign to say we did the work, we’ll get you all squared away.” He slides over a clipboard with some paperwork.
I take it and start filling out the little boxes. “What’s the cost of fixing it if it’s broken?”
“If the hose itself is damaged, it can run anywhere from $300-600, but Mikey didn’t think anything was wrong. Just covering our bases. If everything is fine, we’ll just charge you for the tow, which is fifty.”
I nod as I finish filling out the paper, signing my name on the bottom. I’m sure replacing the hose would take a lot more time—time I don’t have—so I’m hoping it’s just loose. I hand him the clipboard, and Patrick looks it over. The phone rings, so he holds up a finger as he answers. Wanting to give him privacy for the call, I head back to my seat.
As soon as my ass hits the cracked leather, the door to the shop opens, and I swear to Zeus or Jesus or Cupid himself the background noise of Patrick on the phone and soft music playing over the speakers changes to angels singing and the rest of the shop fades away until the only thing on my mind is the woman who just walked in.
Her cocoa colored hair is pulled back into two buns on top of her head, and her face is bare, a smattering of little cinnamoncolored freckles dot her nose and cheeks. There’s a smudge of grease or something on the apple of her round face, and my fingers twitch, itching to wipe it off. Her rose colored lips are tipped in a small frown as she scrubs at her fingers with a blue cloth. My eyes track the movement but snag on the way her coveralls hug the dips and curves of her body.
This is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s the one.
The thought, jarring and unexpected, settles deep in my bones, intertwining itself in my DNA. She’s who I’ve been waiting for my entire life. All this time she’s just been a quick drive over the mountain. How many times have I passed through this part of Salem, not knowing she was here all along?
I stand as she heads in my direction, and when she looks up at me, I swear a live wire passes between us. Her teal colored eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and I’m nearly bowled over by the urge to scoop her into my arms and kiss her.
Don’t fucking do that. Not now. Not yet.
I can’t tell if she feels this, too, but she has to clear her throat twice before she finally says, “Okay, Mr. Valentine, I’m guessing Patrick already gave you a rundown?”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth, so all I manage is an affirming nod.
“Great. I’m happy to report your radiator hose isn’t damaged, it just shook loose. I tightened it for you and cleaned around the connector, so you shouldn’t have any more issues. I’ll let Patrick ring you up for the tow. Here are your keys.”
I hold out my hand, and as she drops the keys, her fingertips brush my palm, and the spark I’ve been waiting for sizzles between us.
Shehasto feel it, too, because she snatches her hand away and rubs her palm on her coveralls. “Sorry, static.”
“No problem.” My voice comes out in a barely-there whisper. “Thank you.” My eyes fall to the embroidered patch on her coveralls, needing to know her name. “Mikey” is embroidered in the same red letters as Patrick’s.
Thisis Mikey?
