Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

ULRICH

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” I announce to the half dressed, tall, and extremely handsome man who opens the door to me. “I’m here to bring you the love of someone special.”

It’s a cheesy line, but it seems to work as I deliver flower gifts and bouquets around the area. The stranger, though, scowls at me as his grey eyes narrow and turn stormy. I’m not done delivering my message and it was requested that I read it out, so I press on even though I’m extremely distracted by his naked torso. He has a smattering of dark hair on his chest, which leads a trail to disappear below the waistband of his sweatpants. Dear god, sweatpants. Cool it Uli, he’s someone’s valentine and you’re just a sad, lonely, and very single florist with a job to do.

“To my Grumpy Bear,” I begin. Well, he looks grumpy, so I guess his valentine knows him well. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I was adrift, until I met you. You are my anchor, my rock, my polestar. I love you even if you’re near or afar. Love Pookie.”

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the whole time I’ve been reading the poem. His brows just knit further together and his face twists into a painful shape. I see his throat bob as he swallows, then he takes a step backwards and shuts the door in my face.

Well, shit!

That’s not the reaction I was expecting, and certainly not one I’ve ever experienced. Especially on Valentine’s Day.

I stare at the door, opening and closing my mouth like a fish, completely at a loss what to do. In the end, I knock on the door again. I still need to deliver the flowers.

The guy hasn’t gone far because it opens again almost immediately. He lets out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry sir, I still need to give you these.” I thrust the large bouquet towards him.

“I think there must be some mistake,” he says, making no move to take the flowers.

“This is number fourteen, isn’t it?” I look pointedly at the number on the wall next to the door, right under the sign that says Ivy Cottage.

The guy lifts a shoulder as if in a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t live here.”

Oh!

“Well, what about the guy who does?” It must just be a case of mistaken identity. I try to look past him, even though with his impressive height he fills the small doorway.

“No one lives here, I’ve rented it for the weekend.” His face is stony, his voice cold.

I try an attempt at humour. “You’re not Grumpy Bear?”

“Not that I know of,” he replies.

“You don’t know a Pookie?” I swear I see a tiny twitch of the corner of his mouth, a slight break in his demeanour, and I find I want to make it happen again.

“I think there’s been a mistake. I doubt anyone would be sending me flowers.” There’s a faint, painful strain in his voice, and his eyes flare slightly before his beautiful face closes down again. He dips his head and a lock of black hair falls over his forehead. I resist the urge to reach up and brush it away. The same way I want to erase his haunted look and see if I can make him smile.

“Um, okay then,” I mumble, not sure what to do next. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He nods, his head low and his shoulders tense. He turns away and once more closes the door on me.

I turn and walk back down the path to the road. I pull out the order instructions, looking for a clue to what happened. The order was phoned through; my assistant Ross took the call. I check the address. I know I’ve got the right village, but there’s no name of either the recipient or the person who placed the order—not even a phone number. I curse inwardly. We really should take more details for phone orders, and we usually do, but it was a rush order phoned through late yesterday.

Perhaps the address was taken down wrong. Forty could sound like fourteen, or it could have been forty-one and Ross got the numbers mixed up. I walk up the road but the numbers stop at twenty and I can’t see where the road might continue after a break. I stand in the street, looking around me, not sure of what to do next, when I spy someone going towards the pub. A large gentleman, a giant almost with an impressive red beard. He might be able to help me. As I walk towards the pub, I idly wonder whether I should ask if he knows who Pookie might be, and a giggle escapes me.

He disappears into the pub before I can reach him, so I follow in behind.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open yet,” a female voice calls to me as I stop just inside the door. “But oh, they are very beautiful. You’re welcome if you come bearing such beautiful flowers.”

A small dark-haired woman approaches me, and I look down at the flowers in question and back at her.

“I haven’t found their owner yet. I was hoping for some help,” I explain.

“I thought it might be too much to expect they were for me,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“I seem to have the wrong address.” I brandish the order notes and she takes them from me. “I’ve tried fourteen, and well, that seems to be the wrong address.”

“No, that’s one of Pete’s cottages,” she says thoughtfully, then calls out. “Keith, have you got any ideas?”

The huge guy I followed into the building comes over, and it’s then I notice the balloons, streamers, and decorations that are festooning the pub. It looks like a huge Valentine’s party, or a wedding. How romantic, a wedding on Valentine’s Day.

He gives me a smile, with a twinkle in his eye, as he stands next to the woman and looks down at the sheet of paper. I watch as he reads through it, seeing his mouth twitch as he also reads the poem written there. When he finishes he looks at the woman with a huge smile and they both say together, “Grant!”

“Do you know who this is?” I ask, hoping they do but also intrigued at their reaction.

“This is definitely Grant, but he lives in Primrose Cottage,” she says.

“That’s the annexe for Holly House. It’s numbered 1A,” Keith explains and holds out the paper for me to look at. “See, the A looks like a four, kind of.”

Now he’s pointed it out I can see the mistake, but I would never have seen it otherwise.

“Thank you, now I can deliver them properly,” I say, but before I go I need to ask. I gesture to the room. “Is this for a wedding?” I love weddings, I enjoy making the flower arrangements for them. I want to develop that side of the floristry business—weddings, corporate events, and special occasions. But weddings draw me.

Keith guffaws loudly. “No, nothing like that. Every year we have a party on Valentine’s Day, and everyone’s invited whether or not they have someone special. Valentine’s Day can seem really harsh if you’re single. Here, we have a buffet and make it a friendly welcoming place where no one needs to feel alone. It’s not designed as a way to meet people but we have had a few couples get together as a result of it. Grant and Steve are one of them.”

“That’s pretty amazing.” It is, and so romantic. I leave them and cross over the village green to deliver the flowers and poem to house 1A, to a delighted-looking Grant. He does vaguely resemble a bear, so I can see where that reference came from, though he looks far from grumpy. He’s positively beaming as halfway through my reading another guy appears behind him and winds his arms around his waist, a small slim guy who I assume must be Steve—or Pookie. They certainly look in love as I leave them kissing on their doorstep. The deep sense of satisfaction I get when my flowers have made someone’s day flows through me as I walk back to my van. It’s still parked outside number fourteen and as I open the door I glance at the cottage. I’m already behind on my deliveries so I need to get a move on to catch up, and as I do my thoughts stray back to the handsome, grey-eyed stranger and his sadness.