Author's Note: Sometimes readers come along who review on my stories or send me messages, and their comments make me so happy. One reader messaged me a few months ago now that made me cry. Happy tears, of course. She reminded me why I write. I became a writer to give people a release from reality; girls and women, mostly, to make them smile. To make them laugh. Reading her message to me inspired me all over again to crack on with my stories.

So this one is dedicated to you. Thank you so much for sending that message. I'll always keep writing.

The Piano

At the height of another warm spring day, the sun shone through Liz's living-room window tickling her back. Her fingers danced and tapped along a piano. It was rare for her to find time to wind down and relax like this.

She had spent the last few weeks relentlessly finishing a set of important papers. There had been tears, sleepless nights and copious amounts of coffee but now that she was done, she had all the time in the world – or at least until her boss asked for more papers.

And so she sat, straight-backed, fingers tapping on a piano which until very recently had been caked in dust. Lost in the music she swayed a little, smiling with a sense of tranquillity.

There was a knock at the front door. The piano produced a terrible clanging sound as Liz's fingers slipped across three keys in her shock, pulling her from her trance. It was a rapid thing, the knock, brash even; like someone in a hurry. It hardly made her want to answer the door. She was not a people-person at the best of times, and certainly didn't want to deal with a rushing, rude or panicked person if she could avoid them.

On the other hand, she was waiting for a number of things from the post-office. A few days free from work meant she needed to find a way to fill her time. Three books and a few packets of flower seeds ought to do the trick.

Reluctantly she left the living-room and opened her front door. There, on the porch, sat a package wrapped in brown paper, a small note attached. There was no one in sight. She dared to step out past the porch in bare feet, shuffling along her garden path. At the gate, she glanced up and down the street but no one was about, save for a few vehicles passing by.

She sucked on the inside of her cheek, frowning as she gave one last look around then returned to the porch. Picking up the package, she looked at the note. It read:

'Strife Delivery Service: You name it, we deliver.

Date of Delivery: 20-03-2018

Customer Signature:'

However, the signature section was blank. She thought it might have been a greetings card but it seemed to be an incomplete receipt. She shrugged, tucked it into her pocket and took her parcel inside. She was sure if someone needed the receipt, they would come back for it.

For the rest of the evening she tucked herself into the comfiest armchair in her house, reading the new books fervently. It was early morning when she finally realised the time, too engrossed in worlds of fantasy and wonder, so she bookmarked her place and took herself off to bed, very much enjoying that she didn't need to set an alarm for the morning.

The next day, the sun was as warm as ever. Liz picked out a pair of comfortable shorts, a tank top, a large hat and her chunky headphones then made her way into the garden. She sat cross-legged in the grass, pulling out the seeds that she had received yesterday. She held the packet at arms-length, squinting to look at it in the bright light. She lifted her arms up, tilting backwards as she did, until she was lying with her back on the grass, the seeds at an odd angle over her head.

She had never seen flowers like them before. They looked like Easter Lilies only they were both yellow as well as white, and supposedly stood upright once they bloomed. Curiosity had gotten the best of her after spotting them online. The seller, a woman named Aerith, had been more than happy to answer questions about when it was best to plant them. Needless to say Liz had bought a fair few packets. The woman was oddly persuasive.

Rolling onto her front, she scrambled up to a standing position then set to work. Choosing the flowerbed at the front of the garden, she turned the soil then sprinkled seeds along the length of it, looking up into the air for any birds that may think this was feeding time. She was ready to swat them away, bopping left and right in time to the music in her ears with her trowel poised for action.

Satisfied that the skies were momentarily clear, she disappeared back inside to retrieve the chicken-wire she kept under the sink and a hose-pipe from the back garden. When she returned to the front, she noticed that a motorbike had pulled up near the end of the street, the driver still sat over it. She jostled her attention between creating an impenetrable chicken-wire fortress for her seeds and staring in awe. It was a monster of a bike. Two wheels sat tightly together at the front and one giant wheel at the rear, with the width of the bike forcing Liz to wonder if the rider would waddle when he dismounted. She didn't own a bike herself, much preferring the feel of a wheel between her fingers and four below her, but it was certainly impressive.

Too preoccupied with the bike and a flock of birds suddenly circling overhead, Liz hardly noticed the rider removing his helmet nor did she see him retrieve a satchel from under his seat and set off towards her with it. When she did notice, however, she felt herself begin to have heart-palpitations. He was heading towards her; dear god, he was heading towards her. Leather pants, black vest, riding goggles perched on top of sun-yellow hair – the abilities to blink or look away abandoned her.

Only when he locked eyes with her did she finally find the strength to look elsewhere, squatting there in the dirt looking a little deranged with some chicken-wire. Realising how she must look, she turned a brilliant shade of pink and quickly rose to a standing position, patting down her muddy knees. Their eyes met for a second time. His were electric blue; so bright that she could see them glowing from meters away.

She certainly thought it was a cruel twist of fate that on today of all days, in which she had made very little effort to look even half-human, Someone above had decided to drop this man in front of her. Oh, sweet no, he was coming to see her. Why? How? In what universe was this fair?

Her heart skipped a full beat as he approached her garden gate, only when he came up alongside it she noticed a package wrapped in brown paper. He walked straight past where she stood, turning into her neighbour's garden. She gave a small sigh of relief. At least she did not have to interact with him. Fate wasn't going to be that cruel.

Returning to her gardening, Liz finished with the chicken-wire then attached the hosepipe onto an outdoor tap. She switched it on and water began to pour through the head like rain. She picked it up and aimed into the air, hoping to shoo away the birds. The hose didn't scare them.

She turned her attention to the flowerbed, spraying it up and down in an absentminded way. How she had missed such lazy days. Though, on days like today she had to remind herself that having a job was necessary; she couldn't just quit and hermit in her house. Bills were bills, and life was life.

With a sudden pang of existential dread, she sighed, aiming the hose at the birds once more. She adjusted the nozzle so that the stream of water turned from a gentle shower of rain into a powerful jet that soared up between the flock. They squawked angrily, dodging and diving to avoid getting their wings wet but remained in the area none the less.

Someone tapped Liz's shoulder. She yelped. She turned. The hose turned with her. The weapons-grade jet of water pelted the blonde-haired man in his chest, hitting it with such force that it rebounded up into his face and generally all-over.

If she had waited around, Liz would have pleaded for the earth to swallow her whole, taking with her any embarrassment and mortification as she embraced the sweet release of death. However, before she had time for her actions to register in her conscious brain, her legs carried her all the way back to her house, her hands dropping the hose in the process, leaving them free to slam the front door behind her once she was over the threshold.

For a second, the only things running through her head were the lyrics to the song playing in her headphones. Then her actions sank in. She wailed. She ruffled her hands through her hair, cursing the world with her back pressed firmly against the door.

Please don't knock. Please don't knock. Please don't knock, she thought, unable to bare a scolding from a stranger. Maybe even worse, he might ask for her to pay for new leathers. How much did they cost? Oh no, what if he had been carrying his phone in his pocket? Would she need to pay for that too? Were phones water-proof these days?

Her wailing continued for a few moments more, until she noticed the distinct lack of knocking at her door. She eased away from it, biting her lip as guilt weighed heavily on her. She pushed her headphones down around her neck but everything was quiet. She didn't dare check by opening the door. Instead, she shuffled into the living room, crouching to avoid being seen through the bay windows, past her piano and over to the sofa. Like a puddle of water turning into a human she rose up and slunk between the cushions, eyes wide as she glanced into her garden. He was gone. Turning once more into a puddle, she slipped back onto the floor and scurried to the window sill, peeping through the very edge of it to double-check the patio. He was definitely gone.

The sigh of relief that left her could have shaken a country. She turned and pressed her back against the bay, her hand knocking on her forehead. What a mess. She laughed in spite of herself. What a mess.

oOo

The next day, Liz found herself once more in the garden with rock music blaring through her headphones as she tended to the plants. Although she had not ventured outside after yesterday's incident, when she came to use the garden hose she found it neatly coiled by the outdoor tap.

The birds were back, of course, mocking her; but it seemed as though her chicken-wire barricade had held up during the course of a day. Tiny, four-pronged footprints lay scattered around the perimeter yet the seeds seemed unharmed. With an air of triumph, Liz left the birds to their own devices, fully aware she had won against them.

With the hose set to rain-sprinkle, she danced around, watering both the flowers and her bare legs. It seemed summer had come early this year; a welcomed and steady warmth in March.

She spotted him approaching this time. Or, rather, she spotted a large grey umbrella approaching, brandished like a shield, with a set of leather-clad legs below it. Her breath hitched. Without a cloud in the sky, there was no doubt that the umbrella was for her. Although her door stood only meters behind her, the better part of her told her to stay put and take what was coming to her. She sort of owed him that much.

She shut off the hose and pulled down her headphones just as he stopped in front of her with only the garden wall between them.

"H-hello?" She managed to get out, flushed pink from the embarrassment of yesterday. After hearing her voice, he lifted the umbrella up, revealing his face. She turned from pink to red. He closed the umbrella. She tried to look away. Nothing. Her eyes were stuck on ogle-mode.

"Sorry to bother you," he said with the cool demeanour of someone used to bothering people on a regular basis, "but you don't happen to have the receipt I left here, do you?"

His words did not sink in. "I'msosorryIwateredyouyesterday."

He blinked, stunned. Although he was obviously older than her, she thought his face held a boyish charm that really shone through when he stared at her like that; a sort of dumbfounded look that made her think he was debating whether or not to turn and walk away. He didn't. In fact, he smiled. It was a gentle thing but it sent ripples through her, as if she knew it was a smile not many people saw.

"That doesn't matter. I shouldn't have scared you like that." Had he understood her? She had barely understood herself. She continued to stare, quietly, her brain processing too fast to actually let her form any more words, so he prompted. "Did you keep that receipt?"

Receipt? He had left a receipt? For what? When? Had they met before? Then she remembered the note that had come with her seeds.

"You?" She blurted out. Then she caught herself acting like a fool. The cogs in her head decided to listen to her and she calmed down, nodding as one hand fell on her hip. "I did. Hang on, I'll go get it."

She turned and ran back inside, shutting the door behind her. What on earth was the world playing at? He was beauty, he was grace, he was being shoved in her face no matter what, it seemed. That alone, he didn't seem to care that she had pelted him with water then dashed away without a moment's pause.

Rushing into her study, she pulled open a drawer and rummaged inside, eventually producing the receipt.

Strife Delivery Service, she read again. She noted, then, that the receipt was not the customer's copy. Grabbing a pen, she quickly jotted down her signature then went back to the garden. He was waiting patiently, one hip leaning on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared into the sky.

Liz cleared her throat, catching his attention. "Here you go."

He turned, smiling lightly again when his eyes fell on her. He held out his hand and she passed it to him. He glanced over her signature. "Thanks. Tifa would have killed me if she knew I'd left this."

He folded it and slipped it into one of the many pockets on his leather pants. She nodded and smiled, thinking that was the end of it, expecting him to turn and leave. Only he didn't. He hovered, looking back at her as if he wanted to say something. Her heart fluttered a little.

He opened his mouth, only then from across the street an upstairs window flew wide and a portly lady with her hair in curlers leaned out, shouting something angrily. Liz didn't quite catch what, but he did. He looked startled and embarrassed, more on his toes.

"No, I mean I wasn't—" he started, before the neighbour shouted again. Liz heard it this time.

"Elizabeth, I'll call the police if you want? No good snoops like him ought to be locked up!"

He looked completely embarrassed, even behind his mostly cool demeanour. Liz, on the other hand, looked confused.

"Wait, what?" She asked, addressing the man stood next to her. He scratched the back of his head.

"I…" Liz saw more of that boyish charm in his eyes. "I dropped your package off the other day and then, well, I heard you playing the piano. That was you?" Curious as to where this was going, Liz nodded. It could only have been her. "I listened at your door for a while before I knocked but… I think I listened for too long. She," he pointed to the neighbour hanging out of her window, "threatened to call the police. Called me a stalker."

An abandoned package on the doorstep with an incomplete receipt made sense now.

"You ran away?" She said, unable to hold in her amusement. Mister Cool was starting to look less cool and that somehow made him seem more interesting. He nodded, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Wait," Liz said, taking in the magnitude of his words. "You were listening to me play?"

Her cheeks prickled again. He nodded, their eyes locking on each other momentarily before she had to look away, her heartbeat in her neck, ears, chest, it was beating that hard she could feel it in her toes.

"I couldn't stop myself." He admitted, rubbing one arm in obvious discomfort. "You sounded great."

True, in all his leather and with that monster bike, he seemed like the rock-loving type. But it seemed he liked piano - liked her piano. It swelled a bubble up in her chest so big that she felt like it was going to pop out at any second.

"D-do you play?" She asked. He pulled a little face.

"I don't think you can call it playing, but I've made some awful noises out of one a couple times."

He was gorgeous, and he played piano. He had a bike, he had a job—Liz caught herself, aware she was becoming increasingly interested in him.

"Sorry. Anyway, I'd best be going." He said suddenly, slipping out of his nerves and back into that clearly-for-the-customers cool attitude. The bubble popped.

"Th-thank you," she mustered. His cool mask slipped slightly, his eyes widening.

"Don't mention it, Elizabeth. If you need anything else delivered, don't hesitate to-"

"It's Liz," she said softly, cutting him off.

"Liz." He repeated, testing how it sounded coming from his lips. She approved. He nodded to himself, likewise approving. "I'll see you around, Liz."

He turned and walked back towards his bike. She watched him leave, stunned by the turn of events; she could hear her piano playing in her head and wondered how he had thought she could play when all she could hear was the crashing and clanging of hitting the wrong keys, then spotted his large umbrella poking up above her garden wall. She reached out and grabbed the handle,

"Strife," She called, using the name from the receipt, hoping that this was his name, hoping that it would get his attention. The word had barely left her lips when his hand fell on top of her own over the umbrella. It was too quick to have been in response to her; he'd come back to pick it up himself.

She lurched to pull her hand free in a panic, only he grabbed it at the last moment. "Liz,"

He said it hurriedly. She stopped moving, waiting tentatively to see what came next, "It's Cloud. And… I was wondering. This might be a bit forward. It might play into you believing I'm a stalker but are you doing anything later?"

Other than rolling around on her bed, etching this scene into her eternal memory banks, no, she was not doing anything later. Stuff like this only happened in books, surely? Was he, the gorgeous man who she had met twice and one of those times had assaulted him, trying to ask her on a date? She was pretty sure she had no more expected parcels on the way so logically this was all there was left.

His smile deepened as he watched Liz go into a semi-meltdown. "I mean… I'm just… piano- books—bike-… I'm… free?"

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Cloud let go of her hand.

"My shift ends at five so if you'll let me, I'd like to hear you play a little more, maybe? On your piano. I can bring food if that helps?"

Bringing food always helped. Not that Liz needed persuading. If this was the world's way of rewarding her for a job well done with her papers, she was sure as hell going to accept it. "Maybe a pizza?"

He let out a half laugh, half sigh of relief. "Yeah? Pizza, then. I've got to get on with deliveries but I guess I'll see you later."

He looked at her a moment longer, as if a little stunned she had accepted his request, then gave a quick wave and left with his umbrella.

Liz watched him go, even oblivious to the bird that landed on top of the chicken-wire and squawked at her. She ran inside to practice her piano.

Love, WhenSarahSmiles