Love Never Happens on Valentine’s Day (Love Never Happens #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lydia

“ Y ou just don’t know who is going to walk through that door.” I wave a yellow gerbera in the direction of the hotel entrance. “He could be pulling up right now, as we speak. You just don’t know what the universe is going to provide for you, Sheena. Or when.” I pop the slender green stem in its place among the other blooms in my floral arrangement in the lobby.

Sheena pretends to be busy with a booking, her eyes glued to the computer screen at the reception desk. “You’re such a romantic, Lydia.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the opposite. But I do think that, even though we live in a small town, exciting, beautiful romantic things happen.” Sheena rolls her eyes at me, then returns her attention to the booking or whatever it is she’s pretending to do. She types officiously, brisk and noisy, and huffs. “They do,” I say, emphatically, in response to Sheena’s negative huffing. “And I know, because I’ve seen beautiful romantic things happen with my own eyes.”

I guide another gerbera stem into the large round clear glass vase, where it joins its siblings, along with asters, ferns, and the glorious golden trumpets of Canada lilies. I stand back and appraise my work. It’s almost complete. Stepping to one side and then to the other, I make sure there is harmony and balance from every viewpoint.

“Are you going to tell me about Molly and Cam… again?” Sheena raises her eyes from the screen and fixes me with an arched eyebrow.

“I don’t need to, do I?”

“No.”

“My point is, Sheena…” I extend my arms wide for emphasis. “… to be open to possibilities.” I drop my arms and turn my attention back to my grand floral statement. “Let’s face it. You work in a hotel, so you get to meet all sorts of interesting people.”

“People who are passing through. Not staying. Here for a few days. Then they’re gone.” Sheena tidies the reception desk with swift efficient movements. She gathers some loose A4 printed papers together with both hands and taps them into line, short end on the flat desk surface. “Also, I am a professional. There’s no way that I would entertain the idea of romantic entanglement with a guest of The Oak River Hotel. That’s a no-no. Uh-uh.” She shakes her head and leaves through a door with a 'Staff Only' sign. “Tut-tut.”

Although Sheena doesn’t say it out loud directly, she would very much like a boyfriend. I sense these things. We chat. I listen and I pick up on things said and unsaid. For example, “A woman does not depend on a man for her happiness,” clearly means, “I’m happy at the moment but wouldn’t it be nice to share that happiness with a significant other?” Or, “Being single is so much easier than being in a relationship. I only have myself to consider,” means, “My life is so ordered and boring, I’d love to have someone mess it up a little.” These casual snippets of conversation are tell-tale signs of a woman who is longing for a partner. But Sheena would never admit to it.

I had the same feeling when Molly, my best friend, got together with Cam, the new fire chief in town. When something wonderful happens, it spills over and affects everyone, and Sheena became hopeful and optimistic that something that wonderful might happen to her.

But as time has gone on, I feel her optimism ebbing away. Which is a shame. I’d like to help out. Find Sheena a handsome beau. I’d like to see her happy and perhaps walk down the aisle to a gorgeous groom who is waiting for her at the altar. I picture the kinds of flowers that would adorn the church at her wedding. I go through some mental petal color-swatches in delicate violets and cornflower blues.

But of course, the final floral design depends on the time of year. Each season comes with its own challenges and triumphs. Would it be a summer wedding? I could do something fabulous with sunflowers! Yes.

Images of Sheena’s wedding bouquets and reception displays grow and morph, expand and shrink in fabulous Technicolor arrangements in my head, until a hot pink pompom dahlia that is being less than cooperative, snaps me back to the lobby of The Oak River Hotel. The flower needs gentle but firm encouragement into position. I tussle one stem in front of the other, between trails of ivy and wisteria, until they eventually behave and stand obediently where they’re supposed to. I turn the vase and measure the height of another deep red dahlia before adding it to the glorious firework burst of summer color. Stepping back to assess my finished creation, I’m pleased with another fragrant welcoming stand of blooms on the reception desk of The Oak River Hotel.

“Howdy ma’am,” a tall stranger touches the brim of his cowboy hat. He then removes it and holds it in his hands at his chest. He waits at a respectful distance from me. “I have a reservation.” His voice is low and deep, which makes me think of smooth warm caramel sauce drizzled over vanilla ice cream. The resonance of the man’s voice is a soothing balm on my senses. If that voice, with its distinct southern flavor, filled a bathtub, I would happily step in and submerge fully.

Instinctively my eyes sweep from the hat, covering the man’s chest, down to the cowboy boots he’s wearing, then back up to his head topped with tousled light-brown hair. Casually, he combs his fingers through it, from his forehead in a fluid backward sweep. A gesture that is so compelling, I can’t look away.

The man with the hat smiles and says, “Maddox’s the name. Luke Maddox.”

“That’s so nice,” I say mesmerized by the man’s intensely blue eyes that crinkle beautifully in worn creases at the outer corners. His eyes are the color of the morning sky when you look straight up. They are the color of infinity. Of translucent light. The blue of the glittering ocean’s surface with untold mysterious depth beneath. They are eyes that gaze at a distant horizon in the haze of summer’s heat and glare of winter’s snow. They are watchful eyes. Kind eyes. They are patient. These eyes will look out for you. Will keep you safe. He will search for the one he loves and won’t quit until he finds… me. Me? That can’t be right. I cough slightly. “Hi. I’m Lydia,” I say, finally finding my voice and shaking my mind into activity. “Lydia Lane.” I step out from behind the floral display.

“Lydia Lane.” Luke Maddox passes his hat into his left hand and extends his right out in greeting. “That’s a mighty pretty name, if I may say so.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks color up and I wonder if the heating has been turned on.

We shake hands and I’m on the point of asking if he’s a real cowboy, or pretending to be one, and if he’s going to a dress-up party, when Sheena appears from the door behind the reception desk.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you today?” Sheena says with professional courtesy.

Luke Maddox releases my hand and darts his sparkling blue eyes across the reception desk to Sheena’s bright welcoming smile.

He nods a greeting. “Maddox. Luke Maddox. I have a reservation for tonight, ma’am.”

“That’s right.” Sheena beams. “Welcome Mr Maddox.” She lowers her gaze to refocus on the computer screen. Her fingers click the mouse a couple of times. The printer purrs to life and a piece of paper slides out.

“How was your trip, Mr Maddox?”

“Oh, fine. Fine. There was only a minor delay in Orlando between flights, but otherwise, it was okay.”

“Well, welcome to Oak River. I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant stay.” Sheena expertly retrieves the sheet of printed paper and smooths it out on the counter in front of the cowboy. “Just sign here,” she says drawing a little ‘x’ before handing her pen to Luke Maddox.

I watch carefully because I think I know what’s going on there. I have a nose for such things.

The little ‘x’ is a dead giveaway. It’s a kiss, of course!

Ah, Sheena. Yes. I think we’ve found just the right man for you.

“How long are you planning on staying in Oak River, Mr Maddox?” I say this casually, as I would to any visitor, handsome or otherwise.

Luke beams an arc lamp smile which hits me with a surprising physical force. Lightning, or something similar, blinds me for a second but it’s not an unpleasant sensation at all. My limbs have turned to jelly, and strange joyful voices sing in my head, Hallelujah! The only thought I have is, Gosh. Luke Maddox, you are absolutely gorgeous.

“I’ll be here at the hotel until tomorrow. My family has recently acquired Green Acres Ranch. Do you know it?”

Sounds familiar, but I can’t place the name until Sheena says, “Oh, yes. It’s the Dixon’s place, up there on the national park road, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I heard that the Dixons sold up and moved on after Mr Dixon Senior was admitted to a care home,” says Sheena. “I think the family members all live in Richmond now.”

“Yes, well. The land is prime horse country,” says Luke Maddox. “Horse breeding is our business.”

“Oh, how exciting!” I say enthusiastically.

“Do you ride, Miss Lydia?”

“Oh, no. I mean, I can sit on a horse and let it take me around, but I’m under no illusion that I have control of an animal that’s just so big and powerful.”

Sheena shoots a raised eyebrow glare at me that says, clear as day, Back off. He’s mine . I pack up my craft knife, secateurs, and wire into my toolbox. I can take a hint. And that is exactly what I predicted. I giggle to myself - teehee - at my cleverness.

Luke Maddox nods and smiles again and adds his signature to the piece of paper next to Sheena’s kiss. I know his name ends with an ‘x’, but could it be interpreted as a kiss right back?