A Cute Little Valentine’s Gift

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Several weeks ago I walked out to my car after work and found a single, red rose stuck under the windshield wiper. There was no card or any indication as to who had left the rose.

I thought to myself, how sweet, someone has left me a rose. I wondered who. It played on my mind for several days. Every male who spoke to me in a pleasant manner over the next few days was instantly added to my list of suspects.

On the fourth day, there was another red rose on my windshield and again on the third day after that. The next one showed up two days later. Since that day, there has been a red rose on my car every day after work. I have even parked my car in several different places trying to hide it from whoever my secret admirer might be. But he always seems to find it.

At first I thought it might be my ex-husband. He’s a goofy son-of-a-bitch and would do something like that just to torment me. But I happen to know he was out of state when the fourth rose showed up. Plus, he would have owned up to it when I confronted him about it. He didn’t. He’ll do a lot of lousy things, but lying ain’t one of them. He always was a piss-poor liar, especially to me.

I even had people watching my car, trying to find out who it was, but no luck. The guilty party must have been slick as whale shit, because no one could catch him in the act.

There was one nice side to it, I always had a vase full of beautiful long-stem red roses on the table at home. But it was driving me nuts trying to figure out who my secret admirer was. Hey, I could like a guy like that. Flowers are a good way to get a lady’s attention. A little chocolate to sweeten her up, a diamond ring to close the deal, a little house in the country, then he’s all set to run back to town chasing every skirt that happens to flutter his way. It’s a basic plan older than Jesus.

At first this was all quite exciting; you know, a mysterious admirer, the thrill of the search, but after a month it was starting to get a bit scary. Who was this secretive person and why could I not catch them or discover their identity? I mean, after a month, you’d think he would have at least stepped forward and bitched about how much he’d spent recently for roses just to decorate my home.

Suddenly, a thousand-watt light bulb blazed to life in my little head. There was a florist a few blocks from my office. Perhaps my elusive admirer had been buying the roses there. What the heck, it was worth a shot, so I stopped by there on my way home after work. Today’s rose in hand, I walked up to the girl at the counter. I was surprised the place wasn’t packed, it was only a few more days until Valentine’s Day

“Can I help you, Ma’am?” the young girl asked.

“I hope so. Can you tell me if this rose came from here or not?” I asked, handing her the rose.

“I can’t, but the manager might be able to. I’ll be right back,” the girl replied, stepping into the back room behind the counter with the rose in her hand.

A tall, slender woman stepped out of the office, followed by the younger girl. “Hello, Ma’am. I can tell you this rose, and maybe twenty just like it, have come from this shop over the last month or so. But, as to who bought them all; I’m sorry, I would feel I was betraying a client’s trust. When this person decides it’s time to confess their feelings about you, believe me, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I understand,” I replied. “Can you at least tell me what time of day they come in?”

“If I could, I wouldn’t, but they come in at varying times of day. I hope you can appreciate my position on this. But, I will tell you this much; they’re here every day now.”

“Okay, I appreciate what you were able to tell me,” I said, walking toward the door.

“I’ll also tell you that I think you’re a lucky lady, I wouldn’t mind one bit having this person chasing after me,” she added with a big smile on her pretty face.

I stopped at the door and looked back at the tall woman. “Thanks, I guess. I did notice one thing, you always referred to them as they, never he.”

She flashed me a big smile. “You caught that, did ya?” she replied stepping out of sight, back into her office.

That was a ridiculous thought, I don’t even know where it came from; I’m not gay. Why did that even come to mind. Why would a woman be leaving me roses? I guess my mind was just being over taxed on the matter and was grasping at any straw that floated its pitiful way.

My head was really spinning now; this was getting out of hand, ridiculous. Now, I wasn’t even sure it was a man, the way the flower-shop manager acted was really starting to make me nervous. My every waking moment was being spent trying to find out who this individual might be, worrying about who it might be, afraid to even consider what the final outcome might be. I was finding it hard to concentrate on things at work; my mind was constantly cluttered with wild images of faces, places, names, and possible encounters. Fantasy had suddenly become a very important part in my meager little life. Isn’t it funny güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri how much of an effect a few roses can have on one’s life?


Friday evening it had taken me almost two hours to get home because I had several stops to make along the way. Finally getting home, I climbed out of my car looking forward to a relaxing weekend. Pulling my dry cleaning out of the car, it suddenly struck me; my briefcase was missing. My mind raced, trying to remember the last place I had seen it. I couldn’t remember seeing it when I had put the dry cleaning into the back seat. That was the first stop I’d made on my way home. And I couldn’t remember seeing it when I had sat the pot of lilies back there I had picked up for my mother for Valentine’s Day. I know, stick your finger down your throat and gag, but I like to give my mom something for Valentine’s Day. Hell, I didn’t have anyone else to share such a wonderful holiday with.

“Damn! I hope I left it at the office!” I yelled at myself, slamming the car door.

I came through the front door just in time to hear someone leaving a message on my answering machine. I grabbed for the phone, hoping to answer it before they hung up.

“Hello, hello, April!” I yelled into the phone.

“Oh, good, you’re home. I was…” April started to say.

“Please tell me my briefcase is at my desk,” I cut her off.

“That’s why I was calling you. I knew you needed it this weekend. I heard you saying you had to get the final figures together for the Andrew account over the weekend,” April said.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid I’d left my car unlocked and someone might have stolen it.”

“Nope, it’s laying right here,” she said. Even over the phone, I could almost hear the big, cheerful smile I knew was on her pretty little face right now. It was almost always there, especially when she was being helpful to someone.

“Fantastic! Are you gonna be there for another thirty or forty minutes, or is there anyone else there to let me in when I get there?” I asked.

“I’m the last one here. I would’ve been gone already, but I was trying to get a hold of you,” she replied.

“Let me think for a minute, I really need that briefcase this weekend,” I said. “I’m trying to think of a safe place for you to hide it, so I could come and get it.”

“Wait a second; don’t you live off Highway 2, just south of town?” April asked.

“Yes, I live in the Forest Glen subdivision,” I replied.

“That’s cool. I go right passed it on my way to my friend’s house. That’s where I’m headed now. I’ll drop it off on my way,” she offered.

“April, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know how to thank you,” I said.

“How about a cold beer when I get there?” she replied. “That’s what I’m going out to my friends for, we’re gonna drink a few beers and just hang out at her place for the evening. I might as well get a head start on her,” April replied.

“What kind do you drink?” I asked.

“Cold,” she replied.

“Okay, cold cans or cold bottles?” I asked.

“Cold beer, don’t matter what it’s in,” she laughed.

“Okay then, you got it,” I said.

“See you in about thirty minutes,” she said after I had given her my address.

“April, I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff, it ain’t any problem. See ya in a few. Bye,” she hung up.


Forty-five minutes later, April’s Jeep pulled into my driveway. Why would a girl who drives a Jeep, wear such a short skirt, I wondered as I watched her try to climb out of the high-ground-clearance vehicle without showing her butt, literally.

Oh well, I thought to myself, if I had gorgeous legs like hers I’d wanna show them off too. Watching her reach across the front seat to retrieve my briefcase from the opposite side, after she had gotten out, the mini-skirt went even higher. I saw a little more than I wanted to… pink, floral-print panties.

When she turned and started toward my front door, my briefcase safely in her hand, that big smile of hers actually gleamed when she saw me standing in the doorway waiting for her, with an ice-cold glass of beer in my hand.

She held out my briefcase. “I’ll trade ya,” the twenty-two-year old blonde sang, bouncing up the five steps to the old-fashion porch running all the way around my house.

“You got yourself a deal,” I agreed. Smiling, I held the door open with one hand and handed her the beer with the other.

“Ah, now that’s what I call a cold beer,” her beautiful smile spreading from ear to ear after her first sip.

“Come on in, April. I put it in the freezer so it would be really cold when you got here. It was so sweet of you to bring this to me,” I said, taking the briefcase from her and sitting it on the floor by the door.

“Wow, what a beautiful home,” April said, looking around my living room. “I live in a little, dinky apartment. I wouldn’t know what to do with all this space.”

“Roam around in it all by yourself, like I do,” güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri I replied.

“I wouldn’t mind roaming around in a joint like this,” April replied. “Wait, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I didn’t mean to call your home a joint. I have this problem about getting my mouth running before I put my brain in gear and sometimes it comes out all wrong. It gets me into a lot of trouble sometimes.”

“I know you say a lotta things before you think it over. I work with you everyday, remember? Don’t worry about it, April.”

“That’s one of the things I like about you, you always seem so smart, and so on top of everything going on,” she said.

“That’s my job, but I’m not like that when I’m home. I forget everything when I’m not at work; like my briefcase,” I replied, picking the briefcase up from the floor. “Come on into the kitchen, I’ll have some wine while you drink your beer.”

“Am I holding you up from something?” she asked.

“Heck no, I’ve got nothing to do all weekend,” I replied.

“What about all the work you have in your briefcase to do over the weekend?” she asked.

“Oh, it isn’t really all that much,” I said, setting the briefcase on the kitchen table and opening it to show her the small amount of work I actually had to do. I stood there, momentarily stunned, staring into the open case. There was a long-stem red rose, wrapped in florist-tissue, lying on top of everything else in the briefcase. Under the rose was a red heart-shaped box of chocolates with a little note taped to it that said, “Be My Valentine.”

I finally got enough of my senses back to look at April. Her head was hanging down, her face as red as the box of candy. “It was you. All this time, it was you leaving the roses on my car,” I mumbled.

Her long, sandy-blond hair bounced around her small breasts as she shook her head, “yes,” still looking at the floor. She’d sat the beer glass on the counter and her tiny hands were now clasped in front of her chest like she was praying.

“Why?” I asked.

She shook her head from side to side and mumbled so softly that I could barely hear her, “Because I love you.”

“Because what?” I asked, not sure I’d heard her right.

“Because I love you,” she whispered between what sounded like sniffles, still afraid to look up at me. Her delicate shoulders started shuddering as her sniffles became quiet, stifled sobs.

I stood there, dumbfounded, staring at her, trying to gain control of the situation. No, not the situation, trying to gain control of myself, of my emotions. I had never dealt with anything like this before. I mean, I’d dealt with it with guys, but never a woman. I was clueless. “I don’t know how else to say this, April, except pointblank; I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, it just happened,” she said, her legs seemed to turn to rubber under her weight, as she slowly sank to the floor on her knees.

I was, for one of the few times in my life, at a complete loss for words. I didn’t know what to say to the poor girl.

She finally looked up into my face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she tried to say, but was having a hard time getting the words out and fighting her sobs back at the same time. “But, I’m not gay either,” she stammered, her head dropping into her hands and she broke down into the full crying of a deeply hurt, shattered women.

I didn’t know what to say or do. Here was this beautiful young woman, curled up like a baby, on her knees in the middle of my kitchen floor, her forehead against the tiles, bawling her eyes out because she was in love with me. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” I mumbled.

Kneeling on the floor beside her, I slid my arm around her heaving shoulders, helping her from the floor. After I had gotten her up, I held her in my arms, trying to soothe her hurting, to alleviate her embarrassment. “We’re big girls, we can deal with this,” I tried to reassure her.

At 5’11”, I was considerably taller than her, she looked up into my face from where I held her head cradled against my chest. “See, I’ve done it again? But this time, it was my heart I let start running before my brain was in gear,” she whimpered.

I looked down into her deep-blue, tear-filled eyes. She was ripping my heart out, artery by artery. She felt so tiny and frail in my arms, so soft. I tried to hold back my own tears, but this poor little creature seemed so broken-hearted, I couldn’t. “Here,” I said, handing her a box of tissues, after pulling a few out for myself, “Dry your eyes and pick up your beer. I need that glass of wine. No, I think I’ll have something a bit stronger. Then we’re going to sit down and get this straightened out.”

“Would you mind fixing me something a bit stronger too? I think I’m gonna need it,” she said, a small smile tried to find its way across her lightly freckled face. “I think I just really screwed up all my Valentine’s Day plans.”

“I make güvenilir bahis şirketleri a mean vodka martini,” I replied, releasing her from my encircling arms.

“Sounds great to me.” She took a deep drink of her beer. “I can’t let this ice-cold beer go to waste, now can I? That would be alcohol abuse,” she said, still fighting back her tears and trying not to be too obvious about how embarrassed she was.

I gathered all the paraphernalia needed to assemble the martinis, including the large, chilled bottle of Absolute vodka I keep in my freezer at all times just for emergencies such as this, and filled a large shaker with crushed ice.

April sucked down the last of her beer and sat the empty glass down. She started working her way between the counter I was working at and me. I tried to figure out what she was doing, but I was at a loss.

“Would you like another beer?” I asked, thinking maybe she was trying to get at the refrigerator, and between the counter and me was the shortest path to the refrigerator for her.

“No thank you. I’ll wait for the martinis,” she answered, but continued her squirming to get between the counter and me.

I stood my ground to see what the final results of her activity would to be. Finally, she achieved her goal, but after all that effort, she was apparently facing the wrong direction, because she started squirming again, executing a slow, 180° turn, slid her arms around my waist, laid her head back on my chest, and hugged me tightly.

“There, now I feel much better here,” she mumbled, snuggling her face tighter against my chest.

I looked down at the top of her blonde head and slid my arms around her shoulders. She reminded me of a child trying to sneak a hug from its mother. I couldn’t help but to giggle at her a little; she had accomplished all this and had done it in such a manner as to not actually interrupt the drink-making process. If I hadn’t stopped to watch what the hell she was up to, I could have easily finished making the martinis without missing a beat. She wasn’t doing anything wrong or sexy, she just wanted to be close to me, very close to me. It seemed as if that was all that mattered to her at the moment.

I was so touched, but I knew I had to put a stop to this. My mind was desperately seeking a way to explain to her the many reasons her infatuation with me, whatever it was, was very flattering, but nevertheless, very wrong. I mean, hell, I was nearly twice her age for one thing and not gay for another, and I’m sure there were several more good reasons. Although, I do have to admit I found it somewhat exciting to know that this beautiful little creature thought she was in love with me. I thought to myself, if I were ever to become gay, I would make sure she was the first to know. If I were gay, she’d probably be the type of woman I would be chasing after; small, delicate, sweet, loving, caring, and able to express her feelings. Yes, she’s definitely one I would be after, if I were gay that is. But I’m not, so that entire line of thought was getting me no closer to a cure for my immediate problem; how to let April down without seeming mean and cruel, without wrenching her heart out like she was unwittingly doing to me. More tears trickled down my face.

I raised one hand and gently tapped her on top of her head. Slowly she turned her face up toward mine. She didn’t say a word, but the question, “What?” was in her beautiful eyes.

“Do you want me to finish these martinis?” I asked.

Still not speaking, she shook her head, “yes” but didn’t lift it from my chest.

“Don’t you think it would be a bit easier if you weren’t standing between me and the counter?” I asked.

She shook her head, “yes” again.

“Well then, why don’t you move,” I asked.

This time she didn’t shake her head, she actually spoke. “Because I like it here. It’s comfortable, it’s warm, and you can reach the counter around me. I desperately need to hug you for a little while. Please?” she almost begged.

I mean, how the hell could I refuse such a sweet, harmless plea? I was going to have to crush her heart in a little while anyway. So what was it hurting to let her stay were she was while I finished preparing the drinks?

I poured all the ingredients into the shaker full of ice and shook it until the chrome shaker was ice cold. “There now, they’re ready,” I said.

“I think they need more shaking,” she mumbled.

“Why,” I asked.

“Because they do,” she answered.

“If you say so,” I replied, picking the cold shaker up and shaking it until it became too cold to hold on to any longer. “There, that’s as much as I can shake them,” I said, pouring the nearly frozen liquid over the three olives in each of the two martini glasses.

“Are you sure they’re shaken enough,” she softly asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why?” I asked.

“Oh nothing, I was just enjoying the way your breasts bounced against my face while you were shaking the martinis,” she smiled up at me.

“Oh, you little brat!” I said jokingly. I reached down and gave her a light smack on her cute little butt. I suddenly realized I probably shouldn’t have done that. I took her by her fragile-feeling shoulders, gently moved her aside, picked up the two glasses and headed for my living-room sofa, April following close on my heels. “Sit down,” I said.

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