My Charming Valentine (3 page)

“Thanks, Ange,
for participating in the game,” she said, as she accepted the cup of coffee.
“I’m sorry if our cookies hurt your sales.”

“Honey, I’ve had
to refill those trays a half dozen times this morning,” Ange said, her eyes
twinkling. “The women swoon when I tell the story and the men don’t dare to let
them leave empty handed. Oh, I’m supposed to give you this as well.” She pulled
a red envelope from her pocket and laid it on the table. “You’ll have to come
back and let me know where the other clues send you. I’m just happy to see your
romance is still going strong.”

Promising she
would, Phoebe forgot Ange and the other customers existed when a small box was
placed in front of her.

“Open this first,” Patrick instructed, as
he picked up his coffee.

Inside was a bracelet with a charm that
appeared to be a piece of parchment, the edges curled a bit, a small pen charm
dangling beside it. Seeing it had been engraved, she looked at it more closely.
Your words opened my heart, your love
fills my soul.

“Oh, Pat, it’s beautiful,” she managed,
though her throat had tightened, and tears threatened to spill over.

Patrick stood and walked to her, bending
to kiss her cheek. He took the bracelet, kissed the small letter and then
fastened it around her wrist. “You are a beautiful woman, Phoebe Portman. I
thank God every day that you picked up that pen."

Sniffling a bit, she gave him a watery
smile before picking up the envelope.

Patrick returned to his seat and took a
bite of his muffin, his eyes remaining fixed on his wife as she opened the
envelope. He watched the charm swing from the bracelet and smiled. She always
gave so much to others, and he’d wanted to give her the best Valentine’s Day
ever. So far, it seemed to be going according to plan.

Phoebe pulled out the card and read the
clue aloud.

Lifting
the lid to find an empty space does not negate the stories that took place.
Precious possessions may long be gone but lingering memories will always
belong.
“Oh, this is
just a tad tougher,” she said, as she read the verse again.

“Need a hint?” he asked, not surprised
when she narrowed her eyes to give him a mock glare.

“You seem awful determined to make me ask
for a clue. Don’t think I haven’t figured out your palm is just itching to have
me accept a penalty.” At his shrug, she sat back and picked up her own muffin,
taking her first bite. “Are there time limits to this hunt?”

Patrick hadn’t truly considered the need
for time limits. “Not that I’d planned, but I’m betting Ange wants to close up
on time.” He chuckled at her snort. “Let’s say, no more than ten minutes for
you to make your first guess. If you guess right, we’re off to collect your
prize; if not, well, I don’t suppose anyone would bat an eye to see you bent
over this table instead of sitting at it.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, babe,” he said with a grin, lifting
his hand and flexing it a few times before turning his wrist to look at his
watch, “You’ve got about eight minutes before you see just how much I would.”

“That’s not fair,” she protested. “You
just made up that whole time limit thing! I want the entire ten.”

“Keep whining and you’ll get at least
ten,” he teased, and loved the way she blushed, her eyes darting about the
bakery.

“Okay, okay, give me a minute,” she said,
rereading the clue.

“I’ll give you eight.” He chuckled again
as she shot him a look that normally would have his hand on her rear, but he
knew she was just caught up in the game. Finishing his muffin, he sipped his
coffee, making a big show of checking his watch every few minutes.

“Stories long gone but memories remain,”
she mumbled. Evidently that didn’t trigger a memory as he watched her brow
furrow. She tapped the card against the table, the movement causing the charm
on her bracelet to jingle. When she lifted her eyes, he was pretty sure his
palm would remain unsatisfied at least for a while.

“The clue is in the ‘lifting the lid’,”
she said, slipping the card back into the envelope and dropping it into her
basket. She sat back in her chair, picked up her muffin and took several bites
as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Looking at his watch, he finished
his coffee.

“Thirty seconds.”

His wife swallowed, took another sip of
her own coffee and then stood. “I feel like shopping,” she said as she pulled
on her gloves before picking up her basket. “Care to join me?”

Patrick stood and walked to the register
to settle their bill. Ange took his money and smiled. “Where are you two going
now?”

“Auntie Q’s,” Phoebe said.

“Ah, looking for a new spanking
implement?”

Loving the look the statement caused to
appear on his wife’s face, he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. “Now,
there’s an idea.”

Phoebe blushed when she felt his hand
move to give her bottom a squeeze. “Let’s just say that’s not exactly what I’m
searching for.” The couple left as Ange wished her good luck. Walking down the
street, hands clasped in each other’s, Phoebe leaned her head against his arm.
“I still can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”

“Having fun?” he asked, leaning down to
drop a kiss on top of her head.

“It’s been incredible,” she said, lifting
her arm to gaze at the bracelet.

They were both smiling as they entered
Auntie Q’s Antique shop. Its owner, Quincy Lauder, was a woman in her sixties
whose passion was not only things of old, but also all things kinky. Her shop
had a huge selection of antique paddles. The collection, strewn about the store
on old dressers, stools, chairs or hanging against the wall, might have caused
a few raised eyebrows outside of the Bend, but were both a source of amusement
as well as chagrin when purchased by the town’s residents.

Quincy stepped out from behind an antique
wardrobe as the door opened to let in a gust of frigid air. “Good morning,” she
called. “What a nice surprise to see you both. Have anything particular you're
looking for?”

Patrick didn’t answer, watching his
wife’s face as she attempted to conceal the fact that maybe she’d guessed
incorrectly. Not being greeted as if expected, had her looking up at him, her
eyes showing a glint of doubt. Letting her off the hook, he gave her a smile
and a nod. She had such an expressive face, it was obvious when she stopped
worrying about her behind and began thinking about what she needed to find.

“That’s not funny, Quincy,” she said, as
she walked to the woman to give her a hug. “You almost had me running to avoid
a penalty.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the older woman
teased as she hugged Phoebe. “Heck, what’s the fun in playing if there aren’t a
few risks?”

“Easy for you to say,” Phoebe teased
back, one hand dropping to rub her backside. “My dear husband keeps warning me
of penalties and I must say, your merchandise would make it far too easy unless
I gave him a good run for his money.”

“I’m quite sure he wouldn’t mind chasing
you,” Quincy said. “And I’m almost just as sure you wouldn’t really mind being
caught.”

Patrick laughed from where he’d been
leaning against the counter, drawing his wife’s attention back to him. He held
up his wrist and tapped his fingertip against the face of his watch. He figured
Quincy was just a bit surprised when her customer did run –
but only to the back of the store where
several trunks were displayed.

Following her, the two watched as Phoebe
opened one after another in search of her next clue. Patrick shook his head in
amusement as her frantic search slowed when she opened a trunk to find it
filled with old books, the slightly musty smell not keeping her from picking up
volume after volume to read the titles. Given the amount of books in the trunk,
and her intense love of reading, he feared they could spend all day in the
store before she’d checked out every title.

“Honey, you
might want to check your clue,” he suggested.
           

Putting down the book she had just
opened, she seemed to remember why they were here. “That doesn’t count as a
hint does it?” she asked as she lowered the lid of the trunk. “You didn’t say
there was a time limit looking – just guessing.”

Patrick shook his head again. His wife
had a way of attempting to twist things around a bit but he had to admit she
was right. “No, not a hint, just a suggestion. Take all the time you want, as
long as you don’t complain when we’re trudging through the snow in the cold and
dark later.”

His wife sat back on her heels, her eyes
once more scanning the store. Having looked into most of the trunks, she
finally stood. “Excuse me,” she said politely as she moved around them. She was
looking for other trunks when another customer entered and Quincy went to offer
her assistance. Hearing a familiar voice, Phoebe looked up to see her husband
shaking Grant Taylor’s hand. He gave her a grin and walked towards her.

“Picking your own Valentine’s gift,” he
said, grinning as he picked up a large oval hairbrush off a table by her side.
“Need some suggestions?” He tapped the back of the brush against his palm.

“No, thank you,” she said, blushing. She
turned away and then turned back and smiled. “But, thanks for moving that… that
old thing.”

They all watched as she dropped to her
knees. The table was really an antique wooden trunk, complete with leather
straps and brass latches. As she started to lift the lid, Patrick stepped
forward to help, pulling open the heavy lid.

“Got it!” Phoebe said, as she removed the
tray inside the trunk and set it aside. Beneath it lay a small white box and
another red envelope. Her smile showed her joy in solving the clue as she
replaced the tray. Patrick lowered the lid and smiled.

“Providing customers with added
incentives to shop?” Grant asked.

“Only to those men who make an effort to
be so romantic,” Quincy said, before explaining that Phoebe was going on a
scavenger hunt, with clues and prizes hidden all over town.

“Wow, that’s pretty incredible,” Grant
admitted, still holding the brush in his hand. He sighed and put it down on
another small table. “How about you help a guy out and suggest something you
think Lainie might enjoy? I sure don’t want to hear that I’m less romantic than
Pat.”

Quincy took his arm and led him to the
display that held antique jewelry. Patrick chuckled as he heard Grant moan, but
then turned his attention to his own wife. “Remember our first anniversary?” he
asked, as he took the envelope from her so she’d have both hands free to open
the small box.

“Yes. We were going to go to the movies
but when we got to the mall, we discovered they’d turned all the corridors into
stalls. There were all sorts of vendors displaying crafts and antiques. This
gorgeous old trunk was on display and the man told us how his wife had found it
buried in some old barn, lost and forgotten. He refinished it and said it
needed a new home, one where it could be filled with items that it could keep
protected.” She paused and he picked up the tale.

“He was a character and a darn good
salesman. You were hooked from the moment he said he’d like to be there when
items found in it a hundred years later would have people wondering who they’d
belonged to, what stories they would tell. We never made it to the movies that
day but that trunk is still holding memories.”

She nodded, her hand swiping a tear from
her cheek before she gave him a wobbly grin. “It was the perfect first
anniversary gift.”

“It still is.” He kissed her cheek, his
lips removing the tear. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help it,” she said with a shaky
laugh. “God, this is just so romantic.” She giggled, looking to the front of
the store where Quincy and Grant were both watching her, smiles on their faces.
“Remind me to make sure we empty that trunk before we get too old and forget.”

“Not a chance,” he said chuckling. “I
like to think our kids will be intrigued when they lift the tray out.”

Slapping his arm, she whispered, “You
want to give Katy a heart attack?”

“Nope, just have her wonder exactly what
stories each item will tell. Do her good to know that her parents enjoyed games
until the day they died.”

The trunk sat at the end of their bed.
Anyone lifting the lid would see the items that Phoebe held close to her heart.
The outfits their children had worn home from the hospital were folded inside,
as well as their first pairs of tiny shoes. Lace doilies tatted by her mother were
wrapped in tissue paper, her grandmother’s hand-embroidered pillow cases, and
other items would all tell the story of the love his wife had for her family.
Beneath the tray, stories of a different nature were told. The bottom of the
trunk contained what Patrick considered his toys; paddles, fur lined cuffs, and
several other implements, which were brought out from their hiding place to
make their stories come to life.

He
tapped the small box in her hand. “On with the game.”