The Days of Mail and Roses

By Felicia Ferguson

Author's Note: Usual disclaimers in the first chapter titled, July. Enjoy!

September

Unfortunately, despite the reapplication of the hormone and regular watering, weeks passed and the rose cutting still showed no sign of rooting. On top of that, there wasn't any further progress with Oliver. As much as she'd hoped their return to Denver would embolden him, it looked as if the absolute opposite was happening.

In fact, somedays it almost felt like she and Oliver were going backwards. After their interlude while reviewing the close-enough plans, he had even taken pains to keep more physical distance between them. Maybe being back in familiar territory instead of neutral ground wasn't such a good thing after all?

But by mid-September, Shane finally hit pay dirt—at least on the house plans.

She clicked open yet another set of plans and studied the house layout. Kitchen, fireplace, right roofline, and … a front porch. She blinked. And not only a front porch, but her front porch. A grin spread over her lips as joy shot through her. Pulling her gaze from the computer screen, she looked to Oliver as he stood completing his weekly chore of polishing their Dark of Night awards. "Oliver, I found them!"

Oliver turned, cup and cloth in hand, and joined her making certain to leave a definite physical gap between them. "Are you certain?" he asked as he scanned the plans.

Shane's grin gained wattage as she pointed to the front porch. "Yes, these are exactly them. I managed to find the original architect firm and hacked into their records. Looks like they did a lot of work on my street and even drew up the plans for some of the high-end homes in Alexandria."

Oliver's cheeks wrinkled as delight glowed in his eyes. "Well done, Ms. McInerney. I believe you have the contact information for Ms. Bullock?"

Shane nodded, disappointment at his formality tinging her joy. She studied his face. He was genuinely pleased. But was that only because he could now begin the first O'Toole Foundation project? Or could it be he was also thinking about her, about why he'd purchased the lot in the first place? Maybe if she broached the topic of dinner, reminded him she was still interested, that might open the door between them a bit more?

Don't push, Shane. But …

"You know, Oliver, we never did have our dinner out together." She bit her lip, then flicked her gaze to his. "We could go to the Mailbox Grille tonight to celebrate finding the plans." She watched him, letting the possibility and the reminder hang between them.

Oliver's brow flickered, and the light in his eyes dimmed. Again, he seemed to be searching for an excuse to step back from the thought of them as a couple. "Ah. It's Thursday, and I have choir practice tonight."

Shane searched his face. Did Oliver look relieved to have a valid excuse not to take her to dinner? She dropped her eyes from him, returning them to the screen. "I'll get these sent over today. And … have fun tonight, Oliver."

Oliver sniffed and gave a quick nod before heading back to the trophy stand. Shane watched as he set his cup back on the top stand and then picked up hers. Was it her imagination, or did he take more care as he scrubbed the silver with the terry cloth? Did he look more closely for tarnish spots?

And if he did, did that even mean anything? Maybe her cup just got tarnished easier and needed more attention. Shane glanced over and found Rita happily sorting no zip code letters. Wow. You know so much about men.

Shane grimaced. Did she? Or did she know only men other than Oliver?

##

Oliver settled his dinner dishes in the washer as he pondered his earlier conversation with Ms. McInerney. She had invited him to dinner. While that was perfectly fine for the twenty-first century, it ruffled his gentlemanly sensibilities. On top of that, he disliked the idea of her chosen venue. They ate at the Mailbox Grille regularly. Ms. McInerney deserved a nice restaurant for their first evening out together, especially in light of how their dinner in Washington D.C. became splitting a sandwich while seated on the steps to one of the monuments.

Reluctant to dismiss her invitation outright, he was grateful to have a previous commitment on which to hang his excuse. He hoped his specific attention to polishing her award might have taken some of the sting out of his response. But every quick glance he sent to her found her attending to her postal duties, making him doubt his success. Was it possible his adherence to twentieth-century decorum was at such odds with Ms. McInerney's dating experience that they would never reach common ground?

He was already treading unfamiliar waters with the concept of relationships in general. He hadn't dated in high school, preferring to focus on academics and chess. His friendship with Dale never moved beyond coffee, conversation, and choir. And of course, nothing about the time before his whirlwind marriage to Holly could be considered courtship. It would be helpful to have the input of someone with more experience in romantic relationships.

Loathe as he was to discuss his personal life with anyone beyond Ms. McInerney, Oliver glanced at the phone. Perhaps a call to Dad for his perspective would not be out of line? Oliver washed and dried his hands then reached for his address book and dialed. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. When the line clicked, he said, "Dad—I—"

"Hey, you've reached Joe O'Toole. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you."

Oliver closed his mouth, then opened it again, but words failed to form. He truly did abhor voicemail and reluctantly used it when required in the delivery of dead letters. But this was a personal matter, which made the idea of leaving the requested message even more abhorrent. He sniffed, shook his head then lowered the phone receiver into the cradle.

Absent of an outside perspective, he would simply continue with his current plan, taking time for them to get to know each other better and determining if the chemistry between them could build into something more. Satisfied with the plan, he grabbed his keys and headed to choir practice.

##

Two weeks later, Oliver hung up the DLO phone and set the damaged envelope on his desk. He rose on his toes as he looked between Norman and Rita. "Well, the University of Colorado at Boulder campus registrar won't release the student's address information without an in-person visit and the proper forms." They nodded and returned to their work, and his eyes shifted to Ms. McInerney where she sat behind her floating desk and tapped her keyboard.

The campus was only a few minutes away from Boulder Creek. The required excursion might present the perfect opportunity for them to get to know each other better outside the DLO. Clasping his hands behind his back, he asked, "Ms. McInerney, would you care to join me?"

She glanced up, brow flickering with confusion, but her lips curved in a ready smile. "Of course. Let me just finish sending this update email to Becky."

Oliver unrolled his shirt sleeves and donned his suit jacket, then held out Shane's light coat. Her eyes sparkled at his gentlemanly act, and Oliver couldn't help his answering smile. Yes, this would be an excellent endeavor.

They arrived at the Boulder campus forty minutes later and completed the required paperwork. The registrar's office released the address information, and the damaged college transcript was ready to be forwarded on without further issue. Savoring the almost successful delivery of another dead letter, Oliver allowed his gaze to roam around the college campus as they returned to his car.

It was late September and the leaves looked more like flames with their reds, oranges, and golds shimmering into a cornucopia of color. Not being an aficionado of outdoor activities, he was hard pressed to name his favorite season, but autumn in Colorado was certainly beautiful.

His eyes landed, as they seemed to always do, on Shane as they walked side-by-side, weaving among the students making their way to class. A small, fond smile tickled her lips. Perhaps she was reliving memories of her own college experience?

She caught his gaze, and her smile grew. Curiosity lit her eyes. "Oliver, you've never talked about college, only high school. Were you a student here?"

His lips flinched, and he gave a brief, decided shake of his head. "No."

The word flew from his lips more harshly than he'd intended, and Shane's gaze widened in a surprise that bordered on concern.

He glanced away and back, allowing his regret to soften his gaze as he formed his explanation. "By the time I graduated from high school, my relationship with Dad was extremely strained. He offered to cover my tuition wherever I wanted to attend, but I was too angry to allow that." His cheeks wrinkled in a wry smile. "Especially with money provided by FedEx."

Her lips lifted, sharing his dark humor, but she remained silent, allowing him space to add whatever details he wanted to share.

"While I was a letter carrier, I took a few night classes, philosophy … and literature … but never completed my degree."

Shane studied him. Was she surprised he held no advance degree? It had only bothered him for the first few years after graduation. And once he'd undertaken regular study and reading of texts and books that would augment the education he did possess, he had found them to be excellent teachers. But would she still consider him "obviously educated" now that she knew the details of his educational history?

Her eyes warmed with empathy. "You've made great use of those classes and all the reading you do, Oliver."

Satisfaction slipping through him, Oliver tugged at his shirt cuffs and took in a quick breath. "If you wouldn't mind, I thought we might make a stop before we return to the DLO. There's … ah … something I'd like to show you."

Intrigue flashed in her blue eyes, but she only nodded and returned her gaze to the campus until they reached his car. Less than five minutes later, Oliver pulled into a spot in the Arapahoe Avenue parking lot near the Boulder Public Library and cut the engine.

She scanned the parking lot. "What's this?"

Oliver's lips twitched, and he opened his door. "My … ah … old stomping grounds as it were."

Her brow furrowed even as her lips curved with interest. They climbed out of the car, and Oliver watched her over the roof as she again looked around the parking lot.

"I believe I once mentioned inner tubing on Boulder Creek when I was a kid." He lifted his brows and tilted his head toward the sound of rushing water.

Shane's eyes gleamed as if pleased by his recall of their bank vault game. He extended his hand for her to walk in front of him toward the river, then pointed to the sign. "This is the access point where Dad and I would put in. He was concerned the rougher waters upstream near Boulder Canyon would be too much for me."

They watched the river rush by for a few minutes, but no inner tubers bounced along the water. However, it was not only a school and work day, but also late September. It was possible the river had been completely closed to tubing due to lower water levels.

"Did you enjoy tubing, Oliver?"

Shane's question pulled him from his study of the water, and he nodded. "Yes, which is especially surprising given that my first outing was not the most spectacular of moments—although it was certainly memorable."

Her eyes widened as her brows lifted. She flicked a glance from him to the water and then back.

His lips flickered in an amused smile then he tilted his head toward the building to their left. "Dad had made a bargain with me. He would take me to the library for the entire morning, but when it was the hottest part of the day, we had to go tubing. While I was perusing the stacks, he and a neighbor took his van downstream to where we would exit the river. Once they returned, Mr. Brown took my books back to the house, and Dad and I put into the water."

A shudder slipped over him as memories of the icy water chilled his skin. "It had been an easy float and enjoyable until we reached about halfway down the river."

Shane's eyes darted to the water then back, worry darkening their depths.

"My inner tube got hung up on one of the larger rocks. Dad managed to paddle over to me and tried to push me off by kicking at my tube. It worked … after a fashion. We both flipped in the water and were drenched."

Mirth thinned her lips and she hid her chuckle with her hand, but Oliver grinned in shared amusement. "I remember the water was the coldest thing I'd ever felt—including winter. And by the time we reached the access point at Thirtieth Street, I was shaking so hard I could barely grip the handles on the inner tube."

"Were your lips blue?"

"Most likely, although Dad didn't say anything."

Shane's eyes gleamed with an appreciation that warmed him throughout. Yes, this had been the perfect choice of stops. She slipped her hand to his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

His gaze dropped her to lips. He'd already held her in his arms while they'd dance and as they'd each comforted the other. But lately, he'd begun to dream of kissing her, feeling his lips linger against hers. He lifted his eyes back to hers. She was willing, even asking for his kiss.

But Oliver stifled the longing and instead simply placed his hand over hers, smoothing his fingers against her skin, then stepped back. Had they been dating for months, yes, this casual conversation and sharing of history would have been perfectly appropriate to end with a kiss. But every time he had dreamed of kissing Shane, it had occurred upon their return to her front porch after an evening out. And more of late, while seated together on her swing with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

He could wait for his dream to true.

Oliver extended his arm once again, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Her eyes lit with fond understanding, and silently they returned to the car.

##

When Shane arrived home after work, she checked the pot as she always did. But this time she almost lost her balance as she crouched to peer into the drainage holes. A single white root nub poked out at her.