This story falls after To The Altar. The Dorman's are newly wed and Shane and Oliver are recently engaged. The characters belong to the gifted Martha Williamson. Especially during this stressful time, I hope this little story brings a smile and a brief respite to whomever may read it.
My Beautiful Valentine
February is that short little month stuck between January's dead of winter and March's hope of spring. And falling right in the middle of that little month is Valentine's Day, the delight of the romantic and the dread of the realist. To the realist it is a made-up holiday in which consumers waist money on completely unnecessary things such as sappy cards, flowers that fade, and floppy stuffed creatures meant for children. To the romantic it is a chance carefully and thoughtfully to celebrate love and to do so possibly with poetry and perfume, with dinner and dancing, or perhaps with a movie and a little magic. It is a chance to express appreciation and adoration for the ones you love in their language whatever that may be.
For the POstables it is a bit of both. Valentine's Day brings to the Dead Letter Office a slight uptick in lost letters, crushed chocolates, and stray stuffed bears. Although it doesn't compare to the Christmas rush or even the madness of Mother's Day; it does push the envelope on getting work completed in a timely manner. If the pace demands, by Valentine's evening their "paws could be barking."
Regardless, for our four friends this year was definitely a celebration of romance. This was the first Valentine's Day for the Dormans as a married couple and the first for Shane and Oliver as an engaged couple. The newlyweds were going for a Gladiator Special with extra sausage at The Leaning Tower of pizza where the crust is always a little crunchy. Their choice had nothing to do with pizza. It had everything to do with love's first confession and love's first kiss. It was about cherishing memories made and anticipating life yet to come.
For the newly engaged – it only meant one location – Montaldo's. The first attempt began with a fumbled invitation and ended in disaster. The second attempt was rescheduled in order for Oliver to take a camping trip with his dad. On the third attempt they missed their reservation and wound up missing each other for the next three months. But this time would be different. This time would be wonderful. They were not just friends. They were not just going steady. They were engaged – to each other.
Oliver covered all the bases and checked all the boxes. First and foremost, he asked Shane in-person in early January and made reservations immediately. He told his dad well in advance that he would not be available to anyone on February 14 with the exception of Shane McInerney. He even had his car serviced to make sure nothing broke, stalled, or delayed their plans. He had his dark suit dry cleaned and hung beside a starched white dress shirt, maroon tie, and matching pocket square. Shoes were shined five days prior and not worn again. When it all came together, he looked quite dapper.
Taking the steps two at a time, Oliver couldn't wait to collect his date. And when she answered the door, she was nothing less than stunning.
"Good evening Oliver," Shane said, practically glowing.
"Good evening, you look beautiful," Oliver replied, as he helped her with her coat.
The moonlit sky viewed no cloud in sight. The drive to Montaldo's was one green light after another. Valentine's falling on Sunday made for light traffic. They actually arrived early for their reservation at the fabled restaurant. The valet was waiting and the hostess greeted them at the door. They were led to a very romantic elevated semi-circle booth for two at the side of the room that provided privacy plus a great view of the floor. Yes, everything was ideal.
"Mr. O'Toole and Ms. McInerney, surprise."
"Nikki, how nice to see you."
Holding up her left hand to reveal a wedding ring, the beaming server continued, "Turned out to be the right oven after all."
"That's wonderful. Best wishes."
"I saw Mr. O'Toole's name on the reservation list and asked that he be seated in my section. This is considered to be our most romantic table. I hope it is alright." Then looking around the room she whispered, "I thought you might have a date but, don't worry, I know you two are just friends."
"Oh, but we aren't just…"
"This is fine, just fine. Thank you," interrupted Shane.
"I will leave you our special menu for this evening. I see you reserved a bottle of champagne. I'm sorry. That should have been here for you. It should be chilled. I will bring it."
Looking a bit confused Oliver questioned, "You don't want people to know we are engaged?"
"As long as you know and I know, I don't really need for our server to know," said Shane with a wink and a smile.
"Very well," shrugged Oliver, a bit flummoxed. Wasn't his imprecise use of "just friends" one thing that helped derail their previous Valentine dinner? This was an opportunity to make a correction. Besides, he was rather proud that the loveliest, smartest, best lady in the room was his fiancée. However, he chose not to question further. Instead, he let it go with a sigh. After all it wasn't too difficult to let this pass when he looked into the smiling eyes of his fiancée.
Nikki returned not only with a bottle of champagne but also with the amuse bouche for the evening. After ordering, sipping champagne, and completing the toast point and pâte, the two took to the dance floor.
They were perfect together – in step and in rhythm with each other. The black lace, off the shoulder, cocktail dress that Shane chose was elegance in motion. It's A-line skirt was perfect for dancing. They were the couple of the night.
With each song selection the tempo slowed ever so gradually. And as it did, the two eased closer to each other. Her heels made dancing cheek to cheek effortless. The feel of his freshly shaven face against her skin held her like a magnet. He could smell her perfume on her bare porcelain shoulders. Yes, tonight was their night. Like magic that familiar tune began. He brought her right hand to his lapel and whispered lyrics into her ear – "The water is wide. I can't cross over. And neither have I the wings to fly. Give me a boat meant for two, And both shall row, my lo…."
"Ouch," Shane cried out involuntarily as Oliver stumbled coming down on her foot.
"Huh…O'Toole!" A far too familiar voice came from the man who just plowed into Oliver's back. "Hey buddy, you need to watch where you're going on a dance floor."
"Excuse me, Mr. Kimsicle," Oliver said with as much ire as a hushed tone could muster.
"Well hello there missy, got your man to bring you to the same place I brought you. I see. Way to go O'Toole. And look at you. Your woman's lookin' good, lookin' good," said Lester, suddenly dropping his voice and leaning into his completely incensed co-worker.
In that moment the desire for the floor to open and swallow them both was mutual. To further complicate matters, over Lester's shoulder waved his grinning date - Hazel.
"Hello Hazel," said Shane.
"I really was wrong about Steve. It's just guys who are just friends don't usually send birthday cards." Hazel wrinkled her nose and stated out of the blue.
"Oliver, I think we need to return to our table. Our food may have arrived."
"Hey, we could push our tables together and make it double date," said Lester, proudly pulling up his pants by their waistband.
"Oh, no. We couldn't do that."
"That would be fun," giggled Hazel.
"Good evening, Mr. Kimsicle, Ms. Obacheena," Oliver quickly interjected, beginning to lead his now limping date from the dance floor.
"Good night Hazel. See you Monday," said Shane, hoping her mail carrier would get the hint.
"Well, they sure aren't any fun," grumbled Lester.
"You think they want to be alone?" asked Hazel.
"Shane, I am so sorry. I apologize. Is your foot injured?" said Oliver, tugging at his collar and finding the experience mortifying.
"It will be fine. I'll just have another glass of champagne," said Shane, determined not to let anyone spoil their evening.
"Then let us toast to your good health." said Oliver, twitching a bit.
"Oliver, is something wrong?"
"I don't know. This collar is a bit irritating. Forgive me for being so uncouth." He raised his glass and continued, "To my lovely date, may you dance without injury."
"May we dance without Lester," chuckled Shane.
"Perfect timing for your return. I brought your salad. I hope you enjoyed the amuse bouche," said Nikki.
"Oh it was delightful. Thank you."
"The secret ingredient is in the rosehip tea marinade."
"Did you say rosehip marinade?" asked Shane.
"Yes, how the chef thinks of these things I'll never know."
"Oh dear, Oliver, I don't think it's your collar that is the problem."
Creeping just above the edge of his collar and now onto his wrists was a red rash.
"Oliver, I think we need to leave."
"Ms. McInerney, we came here to have a nice dinner and to dance. We are not leaving," said Oliver, doing everything he could not to scratch his wrist.
"Well, if we are going to stay, then here, you might should take this," said Shane, rummaging through her purse.
"And what is - this?"
"It is Norman's allergy medicine. I'm certain they are still in here. It is over the counter so I'm certain it won't hurt. He takes them at work all the time."
"I don't understand," said Oliver stretching his neck to try to avoid scratching.
"I carried this purse to their wedding. I was supposed to give Norman's allergy pills to Rita to put in her makeup bag and I forgot," she said, handing the tiny pill box to Oliver. "They keep Norman from sneezing. Maybe it will help."
Looking at the capsule with suspicion, the itching Oliver O'Toole relented and swallowed the pill with water and a wine chaser. By the time his entrée arrived the itching subsided and everything seemed to be back on track.
"Excuse me for yawning, I assure you it isn't the company."
"You've had a long day – church, choir. By the way, the choir sang beautifully this morning."
"Thank you. Have I told you how beautiful you look this evening?" said Oliver.
"Yes, but you can tell me again."
"You look – beautiful, just beautiful," Oliver reiterated, uncharacteristically propping his elbows on the table.
Shane said, "Oliver, you aren't eating. How is your dish? Mine is delicious."
"Yes the food is – is beautiful too – just beautiful."
"Oliver, are you sure you feel well?"
"Of course, I feel - beautiful," he mumbled, shaking his head from side to side and forcing his eyes to open.
"Pardon."
"Speaking of beauty - one knows beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder," replied her yawning date.
"Really?" said Shane, questioning the state of her date more than his words.
"Yes, Shakespeare," he replied, yawning again.
"Are you sure Shakespeare said that?" said Shane. "Oliver, are you sure you…."
Before she could finish the announcer for evening began to speak.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Montaldo's is proud to present an evening of Nat King Cole." Applause broke across the room, lights lowered, and all eyes turned to the floor show. The performance that evening did not disappoint. Nikki was in great voice and the dancing waiters were artistry in motion. Shane didn't take her misty eyes off them until she got the feeling that it was she who was being watched. Another couple sitting across from them kept glancing at their table and smiling. Shane realized that one by one another table was glancing their way. Everyone seemed to be doing their best to refrain from laughing. Becoming uncomfortable with the "adoration" that was taking attention away from the performers, Shane reached to take her date's hand. Turning to him she saw what was drawing their attention. Oliver's head was slowly lowering and by then hovering about two inches above his plate. One more refrain of "Unforgettable" and he would have unforgettably planted his face in his food.
"Oliver," she said grabbing his hand to wake him.
"What?" he replied coming out of his stupor just in time.
"You fell asleep."
"Oh my goodness," he said, as his eyelids began to close again, this time his head leaned back against the booth.
"Oliver, Oliver."
A disparate Shane McInerney signaled for a waiter – any waiter.
"Bring our check please."
"Certainly, is everything alright?"
"Yes. Fine. Never mind the check. This will cover it."
"Mam, are you sure he is alright?"
"Oh of course, it's a long story. If someone could help me get him to the car."
Shane placed cash from her purse on the table and with the help of the busboy managed to get her drugged date out of the restaurant.
Their exit did not go unnoticed.
"Look," said Hazel.
"Who would have thought it? O'Toole can't hold his liquor," said Lester, shaking his head in disbelief.
The brisk night air kept Oliver on his feet long enough to get him in the car. But once seated, he was back to his slumber.
"Oliver, we have to get your seat belt fastened," said Shane, stretching across her date.
"Yes we do, don't we," mumbled Oliver, offering no help.*
As she struggles with the twisted strap his head bobbed above her bare shoulders, "Ms. McInerney, have I told you you have beautiful shoulders."
"Thank you."
"Have I told you that?"
"You have now," as she continued to struggle with the seat belt. "Got it," she said as it finally clicked.
"You're welcome," muttered Oliver, drifting back to sleep.
Looking at her sleeping prince, Shane worried about what she had given him.
"I better call Rita."
Shane pulled away from the restaurant and phoned a friend.
"Rita, what was in those pills you had me hold for you at the wedding? I thought that was over the counter allergy meds."
"The white pill?"
"No, the capsule."
"Oh that's not Norman's regular allergy medicine. That's a prescription for hives. It will take care of allergies but it will knock you out too," chuckled Rita. "I wouldn't take one unless you plan on going to bed. Why? Are you alright? I thought you were at Montaldo's?"
"We're fine. We just decided – decided to call it an early night," she said glancing over at her slumbering date.
Other than an occasional head-bob when the car stopped for a light, Oliver was out cold. Shane drove slowly taking the most circuitous route in hope of giving Oliver a little more time to sleep off the pill's effects. Otherwise, she wasn't certain how she would get him inside her house.
"Oliver, I guess whatever you took mixed with alcohol wasn't a good idea. At least the rash is gone."
No response.
"A February night in Denver is no time to sleep in the car," she chuckled, hoping for a response. "Come to think of it, you of all people don't need to do an overnight in a car." She kept that thought to herself.
"I hope you are awake by the time we get to my house. I don't think I can carry you inside. I guess I could drive all night."
Nothing.
Finally pulling in front of her house, she shook her dozing date.
"Oliver, Oliver."
A confused Oliver O'Toole opened his eyes and surveyed his own car – from the passenger's seat.
"What?"
"Let's go inside and we'll talk about it."
One affect from this stupor was an unquestioning and cooperative companion. Oliver nodded and with a little help from Shane made his way out of car and into the house. The cold night air helped lift the fog.
"Come in and sit down. I'll make something to eat. No rosehips, I promise."
Oliver sat on the sofa and propped his head in his hands.
"What the Sam Hill did I take?" he asked, rubbing his temples.
"Well, it wasn't over the counter allergy medicine," Shane replied biting her lip.
"I fear asking how I managed to get to the car. I don't remember leaving the restaurant."
"A busboy may have had to help."
"Oh my goodness."
"I'm so sorry. I should not have given you that pill without making sure it was ok. You were breaking out all over and we…."
"It is alright," said Oliver raising his hand to stop Shane and trying to stand. "I need to go home."
"No, no. no. no. no. You stay there and I am going to make something to eat. You have to be hungry and food would be good for you."
"On second thought, that may be better," Oliver mumbled.
"Let me take you coat. You just sit there."
Shane helped Oliver remove his jacket. He managed to stay awake long enough to roll his sleeves, and loosen his tie. However, before Shane could get to her kitchen, he drifted to sleep again.
The logical place to begin was in making a large pot of coffee. After checking the contents of her refrigerator, Shane decided the meal would have to be simple – a vegetable and cheese frittata with leftover muffins. She quickly popped open the table cloth from the buffet, set the table with her best dishes, and lit candles. Finally, she turned to her phone for a playlist of smooth jazz and let her Bluetooth speaker handle the rest.
Kneeling on the carpeted floor at his feet, Shane leaned against the sofa to take a moment before waking him. He was beautiful as he reclined in the corner of the couch - so completely relaxed, his chest rising and falling slowly with each deep breath. Yes, he was a physically beautiful man but the beauty that drew her to him was much deeper. It was his strength of character, his integrity, and his loyalty. It was his intellect and his wisdom. And now it was the passion he shared with only her. Knowing that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her made where they celebrate Valentine's Day irrelevant.
Finally, she reached for his hand that rested on his thigh and gently stroked the back of it with her fingers. Softly she called his name.
"Hi," he whispered, eyes slowly opening as he came out of the haze.
"Hi, how are you feeling?"
"Fine," he said, looking down at the woman kneeling before him and shaking his head.
"What's wrong?"
He reached for her hands and brought her up to sit beside him on the sofa. He paused a moment before speaking. His eyelids were still a bit heavy but his gaze was clearly fixed on her. "There was a time in my life when tonight – would have been - my - undoing. Nevertheless, after all the chaos of the evening, I wake to find you here. And nothing, absolutely nothing is wrong, my Valentine." His hand found the nape of her neck and brought her lips to his.
He pulled away only to wipe her tears that he felt now fall on his face.
"Oliver, I'm sorry."
"No. It was a series of unfortunate events which - we will share with our children - one day – and laugh," he said with a smile.
"Oh Oliver." Shane threw herself into his welcoming arms. No restaurant could compete with being in his embrace.
"Are you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Let's eat," she said, standing to lead him by the hand to the kitchen.
"Shane, this is lovely."
"It's the least I could do after drugging you."
They both laughed as he helped her with her chair.
Sitting across from her he reached for her hand. "Shall we pray?"
"Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the food before us and all the many blessings of this day. I thank you for my beautiful Valentine that you brought into my life. May the blessings we receive, and the love we share, never be taken for granted but be used for your service and your glory. Amen."
*Thank you for reading. I couldn't publish this without giving credit for the inspiration for that sentence. It is a nod to a scene from the 1940 masterpiece, The Philadelphia Story, starring Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart.
