The Days of Mail and Roses

By Felicia Ferguson

Author's Note: And we've reached the end of the story. Sigh. Since this is a fill-in-the-gap piece, I would highly recommend having a rewatch of From the Heart and One in a Million planned after you read this last chapter to tie up all the story threads. Christine (mamalabo), this one put me through the wringer on so many levels. So, thanks for the request!

Full disclaimer in the chapter titled July, but as always, I own none of the characters. I just happily play in Martha's sandbox with her amazing creations. Enjoy, y'all!

February

Friday morning, Shane beat her alarm by fifteen minutes. She hopped out of bed, finished her ablutions in record time, and pulled into her parking spot twenty minutes early. When she pushed through the DLO doors, though, she was still the last of the group to arrive. Her cheeks curved as she set her purse by her desk chair and moved to Oliver's coat rack, removing her coat as she went.

Looks like I'm not the only one who's happy to be back.

Oliver rose from behind his desk and retrieved his morning Yoo-Hoo from the fridge. Shane's brow flickered as he passed by her with only a nod and brief smile. She swallowed her disappointment. Her heart had hoped he would have helped her remove her coat then given her one of his heart melting looks. It would have been a lovely welcome back gesture.

Was it possible her absence put her out of his mind when for her it only made her heart grow fonder? Shane pushed aside the question and held onto the look he'd given her in the Mailbox Grille. With a grin for Rita and Norman, she headed to her desk, logged into her computer, and focused on the fact they were at least all back together.

##

Oliver took in a deep breath as he paused a little longer than needed behind the refrigerator door, savoring Shane's return to the DLO. His team was reassembled. God was in His universe, and all was right with the world. He closed the door and paused once again, checking his pocket watch. Shane was earlier than usual—as they all had been. But the time still only allowed a few minutes in her company before he had to leave.

As he returned his watch to its pocket, his eyes met hers. The light radiating from their depths rushed through him. They had been apart for four days, and he had missed her presence every one of them. He longed to stay, to enjoy her return. But there was work to be done outside the DLO. He squared his shoulders and tried to push away his disappointment at the timing. "I have a meeting with Eleanor in Passports at nine, so I will need to be going."

Shane's lips flattened as her gaze fell to her keyboard. Oliver's heart clenched. She must have missed his company as well.

Perhaps he could invite her to go with him to meet Eleanor? But he smothered the idea. Outside of his longing for her company, there was no reason for her to attend. The meeting was not to be a discussion of technology or any of Shane's other specialties, making his request of dubious import. Curious and unproductive talk might ensue. He would not allow her character to be besmirched in any way, especially as his heart was now fixed on courting her. Taking in a quick breath, he shook his head. "Well then, I should be going. I will … ah … rejoin you later."

Shane forced her lips into an encouraging smile, but the light in her eyes had dimmed. Uncertain how to resolve her disappointment, Oliver nodded once then turned to leave.

A few minutes later, he knocked on Eleanor's door. She looked up from her stack of passports and grinned. "Come on in, Oliver. I've told you many times, you don't need to knock."

Oliver nodded as his lips twitched. "I understand, but it's—"

"Polite. I know." Eleanor's grin eased to a fond smile as she waved him to the chair near her desk. "First things, first. What are your plans for Valentine's Day?"

Before he could answer, her eyes narrowed and she leaned her elbows on her desk, fixing him with a knowing look. "You know, you should ask Shane out. She likes you, Oliver."

He took a quick breath, infinitely glad he had followed his earlier instincts and not invited Shane to the meeting. He turned and verified he had closed Eleanor's door upon his entry. "I actually do plan to ask Ms. McInerney to join me for a quiet dinner and conversation."

Her eyes widened, and a satisfied smile crept over his lips. He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "But I would appreciate it if you would keep the invitation between us. I would like for it to be a surprise."

"Good on you, Oliver. I'll take your names off the Valentine's No-Date Party list." She pulled a piece of paper out of a stack on the corner of her desk and drew lines through two entries. Then she looked at him, her gaze once again turning thoughtful.

She leaned down, plopped her suitcase-sized purse on her desk, and began pawing through its contents. She pulled out a small paperback and thrust it toward him with a weary, motherly look. "I think it's time I gave this to you. I've been holding onto it ever since my ladies' group read it."

He studied the cover. "The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis." He did enjoy reading Lewis, but had not heard of this particular book. He returned his gaze to Eleanor. "It is a provocative concept. May I ask why you seem to believe I would benefit from his instruction?"

Eleanor leaned back in her chair with a heaving sigh and shook her head. "Honey, I know you thought what you had with Holly was love, and in one aspect it was. However, you deserve more and better." She fixed a knowing look on the book then lifted her gaze to his. "But sometimes you have to know what that more and better is before you can appreciate it—even if it's right in front of you."

Oliver's cheeks heated. Eleanor had always been plain in her speaking, opting for the bald truth over treading lightly, but her intent was always born from a kind heart and the words spoken in love.

Her insightful gaze sharpened even as her features softened with empathy. She tilted her head toward the book. "Give my friend C.S. a shot—he's a good teacher."

Oliver tugged at his shirt cuffs, searching for a reason to deny her assessment and her gift. But he could not. Because she was correct. His understanding of love was nebulous at best, especially in light of his broken marriage. Oliver tucked the small tome in his interior jacket pocket with a nod. "Thank you, Eleanor."

She grabbed her purse and dropped it back on the floor, waving off his thanks. "Any time, honey. Love and death are both good things to prepare for."

Oliver blanched at her incorrect grammar. His lips parted with a ready correction.

Eleanor lifted her eyes to heaven, but chuckled with good-natured amusement. "I know, I know. 'For which to prepare.'"

A grin crawled up Oliver's cheeks at Eleanor's amendment. He gave her a brief nod then turned to the real reason for the meeting. When they were finished, he would head to the Mailbox Grille. He had some reading to do.

##

On Saturday morning, Shane lingered in bed and contemplated the previous day. Despite her joy at returning to the DLO on Friday, the day had been anti-climactic. First there was Oliver's meeting, which had run much longer than any of his previous discussions with Eleanor. Surely, he wasn't avoiding the team, avoiding her, now that they had been reunited? Shane shook her head. No, he still had seemed pleased to see her even though he'd been quiet and contemplative when he'd finally returned to the DLO.

As the afternoon progressed, Rita and Norman had happily updated her on their activities in the other departments, with Norman retelling an actually funny occurrence with a very particular collector of Elvis stamps. They all seemed to enjoy his story, however, as soon as it was finished, Oliver turned the conversation to the current box of NIFTS.

At no point in the day had he paused by her desk, or made any type of effort for a quiet conversation. Did he need time to get reaccustomed to her presence, to feel comfortable with her again? Maybe if she had stayed and talked with him longer in the Mailbox Grille he wouldn't feel so disconnected from her now.

Shane threw off her covers with a huff, grabbed her yard work clothes from the dresser, and turned her thoughts to something she could control. According to the YouTube video she'd found on transplanting cuttings and based on Ramon's weather report—which she confirmed with an actual meteorologist—it was safe to move the cutting from the pot to the front bed. They would be in the fifties and the warm up would slowly continue, making it a good time to give her stick plant more opportunity to grow.

An hour later she tugged on her gardening gloves, picked up a bag of mix-in soil, then headed up to the front to pick the perfect spot for her future rose bush. She opted for front and center then stuck the shovel in the ground. It didn't give easily, but then what else in the last few months had been easy?

Shaking her head, she focused on making the hole large enough for both the potted cutting and the additional soil. When she was satisfied, she eased the stick plant from the temporary pot, taking care with the tender roots, slid it into the ground, then brushed the soil around the top. In a few weeks, she'd add the rose fertilizer. Giving it yet another kiss, she whispered, "You can do it."

##

Having made the decision for their evening out date and location, Oliver needed to make reservations today if he had any hope of securing a table for them. He flipped open the Denver phone book, located the phone number for Montaldo's and dialed. He heaved a relieved sigh as he hung up the phone a few minutes later. Their table was secured at his preferred time. Champagne was included in the dinner reservation. And the evening's musicians were members of the Colorado Symphony.

Their evening out was off to a perfect start.

Now, he needed to create Shane's invitation. To do that, however, he would need the proper supplies. Oliver again turned in the phone book, locating a Michael's store within a few miles. Grabbing his keys, he made note of the address and headed off.

A few minutes later, he browsed the craft aisle, a red basket in hand. He had started with card stock for the card itself, then perused the aisle specifically designated for Valentine's Day paraphernalia. What would be the best decoration? Obviously, hearts, but perhaps also something that would offset them?

His eyes caught on a package of multi-color paper doilies. Yes. Those would provide a classic backdrop for the heart. He placed one of the packs in his basket and continued to browse. Would ribbon afford it a nice touch? He glanced at the wall of sample Valentine's designs created by the staff and found a heart affixed to a doily that also included a trailing ribbon. Admiring the construction and symmetry, he decided that, yes, it would make for a pleasing visual enhancement.

He found a spool of red ribbon and a series of metallic heart stickers and added both to the basket. Granddad's fountain pen would provide the perfect inking for his message. Surveying his collection of items, Oliver nodded. He had everything he needed. Excitement bubbled in his heart as he stood in the check-out line and waited his turn at the register. A pleased smile flickered around his lips.

"Don't you look like the cat that caught the canary," a voice behind him teased. Oliver turned and found an elderly woman, who stood all of five feet tall on her tip-toes, peering into his basket. "You got a special surprise for someone?"

Oliver's cheeks heated, and he flicked a glance to the register, but the cashier was still with another customer. "Ah, yes. I will be making a valentine for her."

"Good boy. That's the way to show someone you care. None of this electronic email card stuff the kids do these days."

Oliver's lips parted as delight coursed through him. "Exactly my thoughts. Thank you."

"Now, make sure you get the cut-outs just right. But the most important thing is to write from your heart." She patted his arm with a knowing smile, then pointed to the register. "You're up, my boy."

Oliver nodded his thanks, and buoyed by her encouragement, hurried to the cashier to finish his purchases.

##

Shane sat on her front porch bundled up against the evening chill and a cup of coffee in hand. It was two days before Valentine's Day, and Oliver had said nothing about it. But had she really expected him to ask her out? Especially on the most romantic day of the year?

A long, frustrated sigh huffed between her lips. "Yes. I did." She shook her head then took a sip of her cooling coffee. She turned to the rose cutting, now poking its stick-stem out of actual earth rather than potting soil. She grimaced and, not bothering to check for a potential audience to her monologue, asked, "Do you remember the man who cut you from the rose bush back in Alexandria? Well, I lo—ah, care about him … a lot … but every time I think he's interested in something more than friendship, something … doesn't … happen."

She took another sip of the coffee while it was still warm then let her thoughts wander back to her interludes with Oliver. "The way he looks at me sometimes …" When he'd opened the champagne at her belated birthday party. When he'd given her the rose cutting. When he'd told her about inner tubing. When they'd been looking at the almost-right McInerney House plans. A shiver skirted across her skin that had nothing to do with the Denver cold.

She closed her eyes as exasperation replaced the sweet sensation. She took a final swallow of her coffee then set the mug aside. "He's the most confusing and frustrating man I have ever met."

Weaving her gloved fingers together, she slowly pulled them apart savoring the soothing caress of the fabric against her skin. A fond smile tinged her lips. "And yet, he's also the kindest, most caring and honorable man I've ever met."

She turned her gaze back to the cutting. "But he hasn't made a move in all the time I've known him. So maybe he really isn't interested in anything more. Maybe we really are too different to be anything other than being co-workers. And it's not like who we are is going to change." She paused and considered her words. "But really, I wouldn't want him to anyway … because then he wouldn't be … Oliver."

The man I love.

And she didn't see that changing either.

She pierced the cutting with an imploring stare. "Do you see my problem here?"

The plant, of course, had no answer. Shane heaved a hefty sigh as she shivered again, but this time from the chill. She picked up the coffee mug, bid the plant goodnight, and headed inside. Tomorrow was another day. And maybe, just maybe, Oliver might surprise her.

##

Late that night, Oliver sat at his desk surrounded by his Michael's purchases and studied the card stock. The woman in the check-out line had advised him to focus on conveying his heart. But what would be appropriate to write given the current state of their affairs?

Perhaps simply being forthright about his reasonings for the invitation and then stating his plans for their evening? Oliver nodded once. Yes. That would be appropriate and appreciated. Now, how to open the invitation. Should he call her Shane? He studied the pen's nib.

No, he might think of her as Shane, but this was a formal invitation and should be written as such. He set the pen to the card stock and began to write.

Dear Ms. McInerney,

I've been thinking that Valentine's Day might present the perfect opportunity for our long-promised dinner.

I have reservations at Montaldo's, a lovely spot where we might share some stimulating conversation and enjoy the music.

He lifted the pen and reread the words. There was another aspect to their dinner, but was the admission presumptive? Perhaps since it had been so long she might feel uncomfortable? His thoughts returned to her reaction to the cancelation of the postal ball. No, she seemed to have been truly disappointed by the missed opportunity.

Oliver set the pen back to the card stock and chose to speak from his heart, revealing the briefest glimpse of his own disappointment and longing.

It has been a long time since we danced.

Awaiting your response.

Sincerely,

Oliver O'Toole

He read through the message twice, then nodded. It conveyed the invitation, his specific desires for the evening, and allowed her to make her own decision about her attendance with him. It was sufficient and appropriate. And even heartfelt.

He opted for a white calligraphy pen from his writing collection to address the red envelope then opened his book of phone contacts. As her supervisor at the post office, he'd been provided her home address in case of an emergency and had recorded it in the leather book certain he would never need to reference it. Carefully inking her address and his, he set the envelope aside to dry and turned to the construction paper and doilies.

It was time for the embellishments. He lifted the gummed edge of the package of doilies and spilled them onto his desk. Red, gold, and white cut outs lay like snowflakes against the scarred desktop. Lips twitching at the fanciful thought, he selected a piece of red construction paper, then picked up his scissors and began to cut. How hard could it be to freehand a heart shape?

Four heart cut-outs later, he'd decided it was incredibly hard. Perhaps the fifth time might result in a more perfect shape? He sighed and began to cut one more time …

Now, hit play on From the Heart...