Thanks so much to reviewer of 'A Journey Begins', Nik, who made the suggestion of doing Turnadette's Valentine's day. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so look out for updates :)
When Shelagh awoke on February 14th, the first thing she did was to reach for her glasses on the bedside table. When she opened the case, instead of her glasses, she found nestled inside a small pink rose. Attached to the stem with a piece of string was a tag, her doctor's recognisable scrawl covering both sides. Shelagh bit her lip elatedly, exhaling to try to keep her heart from fluttering clean away. She could sense Patrick was awake beside her; the bedroom was too still, tingling with an expectant silence instead of the usual low hum of her husband's sleeping breaths. Still facing away from him, propped up on her elbow, she let a grin overcome her then composed herself and rolled over to meet his twinkling eye. "Patrick, my love. How do you expect me to read this note if I don't have any glasses?"
"Oh yes, how silly of me," he laughed, before producing them from his bedside drawer and handing them over, letting his hand brush hers for a moment longer than necessary. Shelagh took the rose, turned the tag over, and with a rapidly beating heart began to read...
To my adorable Valentine... This rose is from the trellis behind the garden bench at Nonnatus. Your blush is the very same hue as the tips of the petals, and often I would often go to that bench to be reminded of you.
"Really?" was all Shelagh could say, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper.
"As many times as I could get away with without arousing suspicion," he replied. "Your blushes soon became both my torment and my favourite thing about you - because they meant you were feeling something too." He stroked her cheek, crumbling at how astonished his young wife looked at his confession. "Amazing girl," he murmured, "then and now, you are so unaware of how breathtaking you are, and the affect you have, without even knowing it." His expression showed something ardently intense and Shelagh startled, her mind running away from her as she forced herself to believe that someone was saying this sort of thing to her. "So beautiful," he went on, vaguely, finding himself falling once more into the intoxicating depths of her eyes. "You have no idea how you make me feel-"
"I think I do," she whispered back, "because you make me feel that way too."
"What way?" he pressed.
"This way..." And she closed the gap between them, pulling her body flush against him, her lips pressing confidently into his, her hand, still clutching the rose, curled just above his hammering heart. He brought his hands to hold her against him, letting his fingers run through her hair and tantalisingly down her spine. He smiled against her lips, pulling gently away and laughing as the recently so timid Shelagh immediately tried to bring his mouth back to hers with a moan of protestation.
"As much as I could do this all day, you're supposed to be on call, and I have an appointment at ten o'clock," he insisted, taking the rose and tucking it into Shelagh's tousled mane before making his way to the bathroom. Within seconds, he was back again, leaning round the doorframe, grinning from ear to ear.
"I love you too," he breathed, laughing in exhilaration. Shelagh had come back from a very late delivery the night before to find her husband already in bed. She had taken the opportunity to leave a surprise Valentine's message on the bathroom mirror, written in her elegant copperplate hand in crimson lipstick: You are a wonderful man and I love you, this simple proclamation outlined with a heart.
The couple's adoring gaze was broken a few seconds later by an appearance from Timothy, toothbrush in hand. "I suppose that message is directed at dad, and not me."
Shelagh grinned. "You're not quite a man yet Timothy," she giggled, "but you are wonderful." Satisfied, the small boy wandered off to finish his ablutions, and his father was left once again marvelling at the aptitude his wife had for saying just the right thing. He must have been staring at her, for she broke the contact, tilting her head demurely to her lap (and yes, the delicate flush that prickled her cheeks matched the pink of the rose perfectly, thought Patrick with contentment). "Sorry," he said, "I was just thinking how bloody marvellous you are." She blushed even deeper, her gaze flicking back up to his, something between shock and desire burning in the agate depths of her eyes.
"Go away or I'll have to kiss you again and make us both late," she ordered huskily.
He disobeyed.
Please review if you have the time :)