Paper Hearts
Molly
My feet ache with every step to the front door of my apartment building. I’ve never been more grateful to see the white brick facade of home.
The February air nips at my cheeks, but the ten-minute walk from the bakery has at least cleared my head a little from the day’s events. I’m fishing for my keys, dreaming of my couch and the half bottle of wine in my fridge, when the front door flies open.
“Molly! Perfect timing.”
Danny Vino stands in the doorway with an armful of red and pink streamers.
He’s sixty-something, built like a teddy bear, and has the energy of a golden retriever who’s just discovered a tennis ball factory.
He’s also the best landlord in the entire world.
Fair rent, quick repairs, and he genuinely cares about all his tenants—which is probably why I can’t bring myself to dodge past him even though every muscle in my body is screaming for rest.
“Hey, Danny,” I manage, trying to inch my way inside. “Big plans?”
“Don’t I always.” He rocks back on the heels of his feet.
“The Valentine’s party is tomorrow night, remember?
You RSVPed last month. And Maria just called, her back’s acting up again, and I’ve got all these decorations for the lobby and rec room.
They’re not going to decorate themselves so—” He stops, really looking at me for the first time. “Rough day at the bakery?”
“You could say that.” I glance longingly at the elevator at the end of the hall. My cozy, quiet apartment on the fourth floor…
So close, yet so far.
“Tell you what,” he says, steering me toward the rec room off the lobby with surprising gentleness for someone carrying what looks like Party City’s entire Valentine’s section.
“You help me get these decorations up, and I’ll order pizza from Antonio’s.
My treat. I’ve got wine coolers,” he sing-songs.
My stomach growls traitorously. I haven’t eaten since the half-muffin I grabbed around noon. “That’s bribery,” I point out, but I’m already following him.
“It’s community,” he corrects, dumping the decorations on a nearby table. “Besides, you love Valentine’s Day. It’s been your favorite holiday since you moved in three years ago.”
He remembers that? Of course he does. Danny knows every tenant’s birthday, favorite pizza topping, and whether they prefer cats or dogs—given it’s a pet-friendly building. He even leaves little bags of homemade treats for all the four-legged tenants on occasion.
The man is a saint.
“It is,” I say, then add quietly, “usually.”
Danny hands me a roll of tape and a handful of paper hearts. “Usually?”
I start taping hearts to the wall, focusing on getting them evenly spaced.
“You remember Nathan, right?” I ask, though he should.
Danny is the one who helped me pack up Nathan’s things mere days before Christmas and brought everything down to the lobby for me when I couldn’t stop myself from crying to see clearly.
“Well, he came in today to pick up a cake. A proposal cake. For his new girlfriend.”
Danny stops mid-reach, a cupid cutout dangling from his fingers. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“He ordered the proposal cake from you?” His voice rises with indignation. “That schmuck! That absolute—” He catches himself, taking a deep breath. “Well, that’s just tackier than these dollar store decorations.”
Despite the topic of conversation, I laugh. “They’re not…tacky. They’re festive.”
“You’re too kind, Molly.” He smiles, climbing onto a stepladder to hang a streamer. “Regardless, I’m sorry that happened. And in all fairness, I always thought he was a—what do the kids call it? Ah! A tool.”
I giggle, securing another heart to the wall, this one slightly crooked. I leave it. “Thanks, Danny.”
He stretches to reach the ceiling, and I hold the ladder.
“Forget him. Tomorrow night, this room is going to be full of people celebrating love in all its forms. Sophie invited all her girlfriends from book club, the Johnsons are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and there’s that new couple in 203 who can’t keep their hands off each other—”
“Danny!”
“What? I have eyes.” He winks.
I unroll a banner that says ‘LOVE IS IN THE BUILDING’ in glittery, red letters.
He climbs down and surveys our progress. “Looking good. Now, help me with this photo backdrop. I bought props I hope everyone will enjoy. Fake mustaches, oversized sunglasses, little signs that say things like Be Mine and Love Stinks.”
I raise a brow. “Love stinks?”
“That one’s specifically for Luke in 402.” He chuckles. “Gotta have options for all emotional states.”
My heart does a little swoop at the very mention of my burly, closed-off neighbor from across the hall.
Luke Harrison, local electrician and quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in person.
He’s also got the personality of a grizzly bear.
Which should be a turn-off, but somehow…isn’t?
I’ve lived in this building for as long as he has, and our interactions have been limited to polite nods in the hallway and the occasional ‘excuse me’ when we’re both checking the mail at the same time. But I notice him.
Like cupcakes dusted with powdered sugar, boy do I notice him.
Dark hair that’s always slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all day.
Green eyes that see everything. Broad shoulders that fill out his work shirts in a way that’s dangerous for the seams of said shirts—and unsuspecting doorframes.
And his hands… Large, strong, capable hands that I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about as of late.
Last Tuesday, when he was getting his mail, an envelope fell. When he bent over to pick it up…well, let’s just say I may have ogled a bit longer than I should have. And when he straightened and caught me staring? I pretended to be very interested in a nonexistent scratch on my mailbox key.
Did I mention he’s also intimidating as heck?
I’ve never seen him smile. Not once.
Thankfully, the conversation strays away from a maybe-could be-shouldn’t be, tiny, sort of crush I may or may not have on a certain someone.
The pizza comes as promised and Danny and I chat about tomorrow’s party plans while we finish decorating. He tells me about the playlist he’s been curating. Everything from Sinatra to Taylor Swift.
He mentions the cake he ordered from my bakery and kindly asks if I can deliver it with my arrival tomorrow.
“Of course,” I say, tossing empty packaging in the trash while Danny sweeps.
I step back, admiring our handiwork. The rec room and lobby look like a valentine exploded, but in the best possible way. Maybe it’s Danny’s infectious enthusiasm, or the ridiculous amount of pink and red surrounding us, but this bad day took a turn for the better.
“I do appreciate it,” he says. “Tell you what, I’ll knock fifty bucks off next month’s rent for the special delivery and if you don’t mind slipping a few reminder invites under a door or two on your way up.” He pulls a small stack of handmade, heart-shaped invitations from his back pocket.
“Danny,” I chide. “You can’t keep giving me rent discounts for being neighborly.” Rent is already more than fair. Better than anything you could find for hundreds of miles in any direction. I seriously don’t know how he turns any profit.
“Watch me.” He hands me the invitations and I smile at the handwriting that’s so unmistakably my cheeky landlord’s. “Besides, after the day you’ve had, you deserve it. That Nathan’s a moron, by the way.”
“Thanks, Danny.”
“I mean it. You’re going to find someone who appreciates you.”
“Hopefully sooner than later,” I try to tease, but my voice falls flat and I sigh.
His smile is warm and his tone sure as he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. Miracles happen.”
I shake my head but I’m laughing as I give him a wave and tell him goodnight before heading through the lobby and down the hall to the elevator.
I skim the apartment numbers Danny wrote on the backs of the invitations, having to stop at the third floor to drop off two before moving to the fourth floor. The doors open to my floor and I slip two more invites under their prospective doors before I’m left with the last invitation in hand.
402.
I stand outside Luke’s door for a full minute, holding his invitation and trying to work up the nerve to simply slip it under his door, but some wild, unhinged part of me wants to knock, to make sure he gets it. To know if he’ll be there or not.
My pulse skitters in my chest. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? He’s probably not even home. It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, I’m sure a guy like him has somewhere better to be.
Just knock, Molly. It’s an invitation to a party, not a marriage proposal.
I rap gently on the door, clutching the heart so tightly I leave a crease in the construction paper. When no movement greets my ears, I sigh, then bend down to slip the invitation under the door so when he gets home, he’ll—
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”