The Lost Valentines – Oliver's Point of View

Author's Note: We were not too happy with Oliver for most of chapter one. After all, his treatment of Shane was unacceptable. Thankfully, he redeemed himself at the end. This chapter starts with that awkward exchange at the church. Poor Shane is left standing alone by Oliver as he disappears into the church. That man can be infuriating, but once we get a peek inside his head and get a better sense of the emotions he's experiencing, it's a little easier to see where his thoughts stem from. I pray I've done the character justice.

Again, thank you to Pam C. for the idea for this story. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it!

As always, these characters are the creations of the brilliant Martha Williamson and were brought to life by Eric Mabius, Kristin Booth, and Yan-Kay Crystal Lowe.

Chapter 2

Oliver grabbed his suit jacket from the top of the piano in the choir room, his hand smoothing the fabric as he pulled it on. He took a deep breath before making his way down the aisle. Gary, the church's choir director for the last 25 years, had requested his assistance moving some of the choir chairs. And, while Oliver hesitated momentarily, he couldn't deny his relief at being called away. The task took longer than expected, and as the clock ticked on, he grew anxious, wondering if he would find Ms. McInerney still waiting for him.

###

He'd been chatting with Dale as they often did after their weekly rehearsals. Their rapport was that of two people who'd been friends for a very long time, and conversation passed between them easily. He happened to glance up and caught a familiar sight through the crowd. He would know those long blonde waves anywhere. He'd spent much time surreptitiously studying them when he didn't think she was watching. During their car rides together, he'd become very familiar with the citrusy fragrance of her shampoo. The scent lingered in his car long after she left, a reminder of their time together. As soon as he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. Her unexpected appearance caught him off guard, and he excitedly called her name. "Ms. McInerney? Oh, my goodness!" For a moment, he forgot his earlier disappointment in her being too cowardly to decline his Valentine invitation in person.

As she approached them, he chuckled nervously, realizing he was caught between the two women he ever had feelings for, apart from Holly, and an air of awkwardness surrounded them. He was grateful for Dale's warm personality and nature, which welcomed everyone she encountered as if they were already a dear friend. If she noticed Shane's obvious nerves, she didn't let on. But then she was gone, and he was left alone with Shane.

Knowing her aversion to church, he couldn't imagine what would have brought her there late on a Friday night. "So, what brings you here?"

He stiffened when he saw it. She pulled it gingerly from the pocket of her bag. The deep red envelope that held the card he'd spent an evening crafting. With every cut of his scissors, the knot in his stomach had yanked tighter, wondering, hoping she would accept the invitation that lay within.

Did a crisis of conscience bring her there? Was she ready to finally confess that what he assumed all along was correct? Despite her claim to have not received any Valentines, he held steadfast to his conviction that she was not being truthful. She was simply too polite to refuse his invitation in person. Her arguments, to the contrary, had fallen on deaf ears and did not dissuade him from his theory. And now, here she was, holding the Valentine in question, blaming Rita and Hazel for her not receiving them. He studied her face for signs of guilt, but her expression was unreadable.

Her plaintive voice faltered when she asked, "Am I too late for dinner?" He stood, his eyes locked on the envelope, his tongue suddenly thick, rendering him unable to form an answer. When Gary called out to him, he seized the chance to slip away. He left her, standing alone in a place he knew made her uncomfortable, and he didn't even say goodbye.

###

Oliver relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders eased when he reached the narthex and found it empty. Part of him had hoped to see her there, with her bright smile and shining eyes, waiting for him. The other part was relieved. He felt a bit of a coward, but he'd been unprepared to delve into what happened with the lost Valentine.

His fingers dug in his inside jacket pocket, and finding it empty, he remembered he'd given his car keys to Ms. McInerney back at the hospital. He would need to walk home and retrieve the car tomorrow. In a way, it was just as well. Whenever his mind was overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions, he found that walking was the best way to process them. Maybe a long walk would bring some clarity to the events of the day.

The air was mild for a February night in Colorado, and he adjusted quickly as he pushed through the heavy church doors. Hurrying down the steps, he instinctively turned right toward his house but paused. Pivoting on his heel, he turned and headed in the opposite direction. There was much to unravel, and walking around Washington Park would give him time.

He was still feeling the sting of rejection at his invitation being ignored. Could he have misinterpreted the signals he believed Ms. McInerney was sending him? From the beginning, the spark between them was evident. But he was still married, so he did his best to suppress any looks, comments, or situations that could be perceived as something more than friendship.

But, then, he needed a dance partner. Asking her to fill that role was an error in judgment on his part and one he regretted. It wasn't because he didn't enjoy their time together. On the contrary, from their first lesson, it was as if they were meant to dance together. Even with her nerves, she followed his lead with effortless grace. Their movements were in perfect harmony. His pulse quickened as he remembered how perfectly her delicate hand fit in his and how her face lit up when she successfully executed a maneuver. But, ultimately, he hurt her by canceling their planned showcase. The confusion and disappointment in her eyes when he told her still haunted him.

After Holly left for good, a torrent of emotions, previously restrained, surged through him like water through a collapsed dam. Shane was the first person he thought of, and, running on pure adrenaline, he'd hurried to build her the porch swing of her childhood memories. He assumed the gift would clearly indicate to her his burgeoning feelings. He was sure he saw the same reflected in her eyes. But he should know better. After all, any mistake can be traced to an assumption.

When the team visited Washington, DC, Shane's quick acceptance of his dinner invitation spilled from her lips before he'd even finished the question. Eating sandwiches on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial was not what he had planned for their evening together, but Shane didn't seem to care. When they returned to Denver, he had every intention to make it up to her, but seven months later, he'd failed to follow through for reasons that eluded him. Had he procrastinated for too long, leaving her to wonder if he would ever make a move? Maybe he had exhausted her patience. Had she resigned herself to the notion that their relationship would never progress and had finally parked him in the friend zone?

And then Valentine's Day was upon them, and he thought, finally, the perfect opportunity for their long-promised dinner. He was uneasy opening himself up to the possibility of being turned down. Exposing his feelings made him feel vulnerable, and it was a difficult position to put himself in. He wondered if Ms. McInerney had any idea of the courage he had to muster to put himself in the position of being hurt again. He'd learned to stop taking chances to avoid the risk of ever feeling that way again. And yet, here he was. Feeling the sting of hurt from someone he never expected would do that.

Oliver's steps slowed as he neared the playground in Washington Park. The warm glow of the park lights illuminated the area, casting a soft and gentle light that allowed him to make out the faint silhouette of the swings. Shane hadn't been with them even a week, and she had the team traipsing to the park to track down clues that would help them find Charlie. A smile flitted across his lips, remembering her enthusiasm as he pushed her on the swing until she could see the blue gate.

A few days later, her short-lived time with the team seemed to be coming to an end. When the opportunity came for her to have her transfer expedited, he fully expected her to run, not walk, as quickly away from their 'crazy' as she could. The three would be left to return to the DLO's quiet, organized, and often monotonous business. Within a few days, she'd made her mark; her presence was like fresh air blowing through the oversized windows of the DLO. Air that they didn't know they were missing. But now that they'd breathed it, he wasn't sure they could live without it. The team would always feel like they'd lost the fourth leg to their chair. He felt sure that when she left to 'get coffee,' it was her way of making a silent exit, never to return. But then she reappeared holding three skinny vanilla lattes and one steamboat americano, and the DLO felt whole again.

He looked at the park benches where he'd met his dad for the first time in 15 years only after her relentless prompting. It was such a confusing, emotion-filled day, but, in the end, she was the one wrapping him in her arms, comforting and encouraging him, even when he was at his lowest point. She never pushed him, only reassured him and made it clear that she had no plans to leave.

Oliver slumped onto the bench. He inhaled, the tightening in his chest restricting his breath. Thoughts swirled, vacillating between holding steady to his belief that Shane wasn't being truthful or that he had made a colossal error in judgment. He needed to talk with someone to organize his thoughts. The problem was that the person he trusted the most and confided in the most, the person he would typically turn to, was at the center of the situation. His dad was his second choice. They'd been working on their relationship, but their conversations focused more on reacquainting themselves after their long separation. Still, Oliver knew he would provide sound advice. Checking his watch, he realized it would be too late by the time he got home. The phone call would have to wait until tomorrow.

###

"Hi, dad."

"Hey, Oliver, it's been a while."

"Yes, well, we've been busy." This was a true statement. Valentine's Day at the post office included thousands of cards being processed quickly, and many ended up in the Dead Letter Office due to addressing issues.

"We?"

Oliver knew what he meant. His dad hadn't been shy about his admiration for Shane. He credited her for bringing them back together.

"The DLO team."

"Ah. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the call?"

Oliver hesitated. He did his best to relay a condensed version of what had transpired between him and Shane over the last few days.

"Oh, geez, Oliver." Oliver heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. He wasn't sure if it was disappointment or disbelief. "Son, I don't know much about your relationship with Shane, but from where I stand, I can tell you that woman has strong feelings for you."

"How do you know that?" How was it that his father was so definitive in his opinion?

"Well, look what she did for you and me. Would she have been so determined if she didn't care?"

Oliver took a seat in the chair next to the phone. He rubbed his forehead until it was red. "No, I don't know. She didn't want me to have any regrets like she did with her father."

"That may be part of it, but…"

"But what?"

"Remember her birthday celebration at the Mailbox Grille?"

"Yes." Oliver had a feeling he knew what his dad was going to say.

"Son, I saw the looks you two exchanged. There was enough steam between you to fill a sauna."

Oliver felt heat rising in his cheeks, remembering the looks. He'd stopped breathing when she flashed that smile at him. It lived on in his dreams.

"Ahem." Oliver wasn't sure what to say.

Joe O'Toole chuckled. "Oliver. I'm sorry to say it, son, but you blew it."

Oliver winced at his dad's bluntness, unable to contest his assessment of the situation.

Joe continued. "You have two options. You can do nothing, or you can apologize and pray she accepts it." He paused. "Son, I don't think you'll be able to live with yourself if you do nothing."

Oliver sank back into the chair, still listening and processing his dad's words. He knew he was right, but now he had to figure out what to do.

"Oliver, are you there?"

Shaking his head, Oliver answered. "I'm here, Dad."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not quite sure."

"Well, whatever you do, don't wait too long."

Oliver dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, not quite ready to face his mistake. He wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He sat at the table and stirred, stirred, and stirred some more. He'd prayed for clarity, and God gave him the conversation with his dad. Now, he needed courage, and, as he often did, he turned to the place he knew he would find it. He opened his Bible and found 2nd Timothy, 1:7. God did not give us a spirit of fear but of power, and love, and a sound mind. He remembered his grandfather quoting that to him.

With a heavy heart, Oliver acknowledged the gravity of the situation and his mistake and knew that he had to make amends for his actions. He vowed to do it first thing Monday morning and was thankful he had time over the weekend to carefully reflect on his words and actions and devise a heartfelt apology. He just hoped she would accept it.

The ring of the phone pulled him from his reverie. "Hello?"

"Oliver? It's Rita."

"Rita, why are you calling? Is everything going well with your Miss Special Delivery duties?" Rita's call took Oliver by surprise. He thought she would be busy all weekend with official duties, and they would hear all about it on Monday morning.

"I came home early," she answered.

Oliver's grew concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, I mean no. I came back for Norman."

"Ah, well, I'm sure he appreciates that." Now, her early return made sense. "Rita?"

"Oliver. I have to tell you something." Rita's words were rushed, a tell-tale sign that she was nervous. "It was my fault that Shane didn't get your valentine."

Oliver froze. He had already realized the error of his ways and was quite certain of it. But, when Rita spoke, her words only confirmed his mistake. "Rita, I appreciate what you are trying to do. You don't need to explain."

"Oliver, I do need to explain because it's my fault. Shane was telling you the truth. I put them in the box of decorations and forgot to put them in her mailbox. I know I broke protocol, but I was flustered getting ready to leave for Washington and forgot all about them." The story came pouring from her lips, adding more detail. Oliver struggled for a deep breath as his chest tightened. Rita continued. "Oliver, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Shane is very upset about how you treated her."

Oliver's fingers clutched the phone tighter. If a heart could physically hurt, Oliver's did. The ramifications of his actions were becoming more apparent. Both were quiet for a long stretch. "Ahem." Oliver rasped, "Thank you, Rita," and dropped the receiver into the cradle. Oliver realized that if he held off on apologizing until Monday, the hurt and upset he'd stirred up would only have time to stew, possibly reaching a point where he couldn't make it better.

As he tried to gather his thoughts, his mind felt like puzzle pieces of ideas, each waiting to fit into its place. He didn't have the luxury of time to carefully plan out his next move. He needed to act quickly, tonight even. He pulled on his coat, but when he reached for the key on the hook, he remembered, again, that he didn't have his car. Shoot! Before he could do anything, he would need to walk to the office to get it. It was dark when he left, and he knew he needed to move quickly. A deep breath of fresh Colorado air filled his lungs, and his wired nerves began to settle. His pace was brisk, but with what he had in mind, it would be late before he could get to Ms. McInerney's house. He just prayed she would be home and awake when he arrived.

Oliver drove down Broadway with a sense of urgency. His eyes darted from one side of the street to the other, scanning for signs of a florist. It was almost eight o'clock on a Saturday evening. Despite his efforts, the chances of finding a store open at this hour seemed bleak.

He turned to plan B, finding a grocery store with a floral department. He found a King Soopers. As he entered, he searched for the floral department, but his heart sank when he finally spotted it. The cooler, which undoubtedly was filled with an abundance of fresh red roses just a few days ago, now looked empty and sparse. The few remaining red roses drooped on their stems, their petals brown around the edges. In the far corner of the cooler, he saw a small bouquet of yellow roses that looked like sunshine among the other flowers that hadn't fulfilled their Valentine's destiny.

He immediately thought of the yellow rose clipping he'd given her when they were in Washington, DC. Purchasing the plot of land where she grew up was a small price to pay to see her face radiate with unmistakable joy. The beauty of the moment when he handed her the rose clipping was captured in how her eyes sparkled with delight. He wondered if she'd ever planted it.

Pulling up in front of Shane's house, Oliver needed several deep breaths for reinforcement. He thought inviting Ms. McInerney to dinner with a Valentine made him feel vulnerable. It was nothing compared to this. He sat inside his car, his palms sweaty and his throat dry. His fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. His gaze shifted towards the bouquet resting on the passenger seat, its vibrant color contrasting against the car's interior. He closed his eyes and silently prayed for God to grant him the ability to articulate his thoughts to make things right.

The house had lights on, so he climbed her steps and stood before her door. His nerves briefly got the better of him, causing his hands to shake. He quickly walked over to the nearby swing and sat down to calm himself, placing the bouquet next to him on the seat. The gentle swaying motion of the swing helped assuage his uneasiness as he took a few deep breaths and gathered his thoughts.

His head swiveled toward the door's creaking as it opened. His breath hitched when he saw her under the glow of the porch light. Her makeup-free and flawless skin accentuated her natural beauty. Black leggings accentuated every curve of her hips and legs, sending his pulse skittering. She wore an oversized sweatshirt, and her hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders. He rose but stopped and reached for the flowers. He saw her eyes light up when she saw them. He took that as an encouraging sign.

"Oliver, what are you doing here?" Her eyebrows lifted as her brow furrowed. Her eyes might have lit up, but her voice was edgy.

His cheeks burned as he greeted her. "Good evening, Ms. McInerney," His mouth hung open slightly as his eyes bounced around the porch. For a man who considered himself a skillful wordsmith, he struggled to articulate an answer.

He brought his eyes to meet hers. He noticed a slight curve of her lips that hinted at a mischievous smile. She quickly raised her hand to cover it, leaving him to wonder if she was getting some satisfaction from his discomfort.

"Ahem, I want to apologize for my behavior towards you yesterday." His voice was thick, and he hoped she could hear his remorse. "It has been brought to my attention that my words and actions towards you were inappropriate and hurtful."

"Oliver." Before she could continue, he raised his hand to stop her.

"Please, let me say what I need to say." Oliver's gaze was fixed on the ground. Lifting his head, his eyes connected with hers. "Ahem. I made assumptions without knowing all of the facts, and, in doing so, I fear I have hurt your feelings." Oliver's hand trembled slightly as he handed Shane the flowers. "I regret if my actions have caused you any distress. I got these for you. I know they can't make up for my behavior, and I'm sorry they're not red."

Shane's eyes widened as she accepted the gift, a smile lighting up her face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Shane accepted the bouquet from Oliver, brought them to her nose, and inhaled their fragrance. She rested her eyes on his. "They're beautiful, Oliver. Yellow roses are my favorite. Thank you." Silence stood between them. "Would you like to come in?" She finally whispered.

He met Shane's gaze, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I would like that very much, but I must say no, thank you. It is getting late, and I have church in the morning."

Oliver grasped Shane's free hand with his own, his thumb slowly tracing tender circles on her knuckles. Holding her delicate hand in his sent a shiver down his spine. He wondered if she felt the same unexpected wave of intimacy between them.

"Before I go, it has occurred to me that I left you last night without answering your question."

Still holding her hand in his, Oliver held her gaze. "You are not too late for dinner." Bringing her hand to his lips, he brushed them lightly across her soft skin.

The pounding of his heart echoed in his head. Could she hear it?

He watched as a lone tear spilled down her cheek. Whether it was a tear of sadness, happiness, or relief, he didn't know. He heard her gasp as he reluctantly released her hand and reached out, using his thumb to wipe the wayward tear. He said in a low, hushed tone, "Well, I better be going." His face was so close to hers that her perfume filled his senses. He couldn't help but imagine the sensation of his lips meeting hers as he gazed into her eyes. The thought of feeling the softness of her lips against his own was almost too much to resist.

His skin tingled as she whispered, "Good night, Oliver."

As he stood there, contemplating his next move, he felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He knew he needed to leave, but a large part wanted to stay with her and sit on the swing talking until the wee hours. With a deep breath, he reluctantly turned to go. Pulling away from her house, he saw her figure in the rearview mirror, clutching the bouquet. The weight of the last few days had lifted, and now, maybe, they could finally dance.