Page 3 of Timeless Valentine

"Black. Why?"

The bell tinkles over the front door, and we both glance over to see three middle-aged women come in.

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. See you tomorrow, Grace. Thank you so much."

He picks up the bouquet, and I admire his long stride as he exits the shop. The man is simply too sexy for his own good, yet he doesn't seem aware of it.

It isn't just his appearance that makes me feel compelled to do him a favor. Leo had looked so helpless. I certainly know what it's like to try to do your job when you don't have the proper tools. Not having his schedule will throw his entire week out of whack.

One of the most important things that my mother taught me was the importance of making a schedule, and sticking to it. It got her through a rocky marriage that ended when I was veryyoung. It held us all together as soon as I was old enough to juggle a part time job along with school and chores.

I wish I could tell her how balanced my work was now, and how living by her two favorite sayings, "a change is as good as a rest" and "the best preparation for tomorrow must be done today", keep me together.

A free coffee and a ride to work is more than enough payment to help a stranger, and even if I can't be up close and personal with a sexy man right there in his office space, spending time with him will certainly brighten my otherwise dull shift-to-shift-to-shift life for one day.

2

LEO

I’ve never been so utterly delighted that a website hadn't worked.

Grace is exquisite. Breathtaking. An indescribable light glows in her soft brown eyes.

It's all a bit perplexing. How can a sweet young lady like that be working three jobs, and still look so adorably perky? Maybe it's because she's only in her early twenties, and the weight of the world isn't on her shoulders yet. Or maybe they're all only part-time jobs.

I drive to her apartment, and my heart sinks when I take in the rundown neighborhood, although her plain, four-story building isn't too bad. Grace is waiting for me in front, looking positively beautiful in a knee length grayish blue dress with a navy blazer on top.

She jumps into the front seat of my car the second I stop. "There's a traffic jam on Second Avenue from a small garbage truck accident," she says by way of greeting. "So we'll have to go a different way."

"Good morning," I say slowly, handing her a coffee.

"Oh. Right. Good morning. Thanks." Her eyes sparkle. "Sorry — I'm always 'work first' this time of day." She eyes my relatively new Mercedes. "What do you do?"

My chuckle makes her smile. "I'm a consultant for engineering firms. I coordinate people with specialized skills. Sort of a top of the line employment consultant, I guess."

"Interesting."

I shrug, pausing at a red light. "It can be. It's a puzzle, figuring out who should go where for how long. And knowing how long a contract will last so I know when they'll need to move to another, similar project."

Turning to Grace, I wink. "I'm ridiculously overpaid for how much actual work I do, to be honest. My company has a global reach from right here in Kingsville. Most of the meetings are done online now, so there are more of them. Which means I really need that weekly schedule."

I drive us into the business district as we chat about what she calls her "main day job" as a receptionist at a small office shared by three city councilors and a semi-retired lawyer.

Grace explains that she works Monday to Friday nine to five at the office, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evenings plus all day Saturday at the flower shop, and Tuesday evenings and Sunday mornings at the public library.

"When do you, you know, live?" I ask.

"Well, Monday nights I put my feet up and watch a movie at home," she laughs. "Sunday afternoon is groceries, laundry, and housework. Then Sunday night…" She glances over to flash an enormous grin. "I go wild, make myself hot chocolate, and go to bed early."

I admire that she doesn't seem the slightest bit self-pitying, yet my first thought is how I can make her life easier. She's far too young to be working so hard. It feels like if anything wentawry in her carefully constructed routine, everything might fall apart.

Yet here she is, so generous with her limited time that she helps a stranger at a moment's notice.

Seconds after we walk into my office, a delivery arrives with our breakfast. I sit Grace in my plush leather chair behind my desk so that she can examine my laptop while I arrange the food.

"What's all this?" she asks.

"I messed up your usual morning routine, so the least I can do is feed you a proper breakfast." I look in the closet for a cloth shopping bag with sturdy handles and place one of the paper food bags inside it. "And this is for your lunch later. Turkey and spinach on whole wheat, plus a salad, cookies, fruit, and juice."

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