Blimey interrupted to show his grandmother the book he received for winning the Hearts competition. “Great job!” Heidi said.

The young boy laid his head against Heidi’s side for a moment and said, “Love you, Grandma.” Then, he hugged Cal and said, “Thank you, Uncle Cal,” before running back to the game table.

“They’re going to miss you when you go,” Heidi said. “You don’t have to leave, you know. Nobody blames you for the breakup with Leslie.”

“Tell your husband to warn me next time I start dating any of his relatives.”

Hello-Oh’s twin brother trotted their way.

“Uncle Cal, where’s the bathroom?” Per his usual presentation, Grimy’s face provided evidence of every treat sampled at the party, with a crumb of cookie here, a schmear of chocolate there.

Cal pointed toward the bathroom and asked, “Can you handle it on your own?”

“Yes, sir.” The young boy trotted off, his chubby arms pumping.

“I tried to warn you about Leslie,” Heidi said. “Mark always said she was his ‘crazy cousin.’ I’m surprised you put up with her for ten years.”

“We had fun until she insisted on marriage and a move to South America.” When Cal declined, Leslie went bonkers. She needed a therapist, not a marriage.

“We love her, but we all knew it would end someday. She’s not your type, Cal. Too heady, too flighty. You need someone with a solid blend of spark and stability, someone like you.”

“Aw, shucks, Heidi.” Cal rubbed his knuckles across his sister’s arm. “Sounds like you like me.” Truth was, Heidi was right. He knew he’d been a fool to waste ten years with Leslie.

His sister laughed. “Guess I do a little.”

“Where’s Mark today?” Heidi and her husband had been high school sweethearts. Cal liked his brother-in-law, mostly because Heidi was happy with him.

“He’s helping his sister install a new dryer, something about prongs and cords. He’ll meet us later at the arena.”

Meeting at the arena was the reason the party ended at the two-hour mark. Tickets for a Puppets on Ice show had been purchased months ago. Cal had declined the invitation to join Heidi and her brood. After they left, the other guests soon followed out the door.

Cal Sr. sat on the edge of the sofa, while Cal Jr. buzzed around the room, dismantling with deft movement what had taken hours of painstaking attention to set up. Only one misstep marred the perfection of his performance with an unscheduled round of fifty-two card pick-up. His father’s gut-busting guffaw made the extra work worth the effort.

When the last batch of leftover food boxes were stored in the trunk of his Prius, Cal returned to the community room.

“Sit down for a minute,” his father said. “Take a load off.”

Cal dropped to the couch cushion and sighed. “What a great party!”

“Yes, it was,” his father said.

They sat in silence for several minutes, the calm of the room’s bland colors—tan, darker tan, lighter tan, brown—seeping into Cal’s muscles. He shut his eyes and noticed dream images starting to merge with a surge of feelings related to deconstructing his life as a teacher.

“Well, son.” His father’s voice startled him awake. “Any definite plans about where you’ll be going first when you leave?”

“Not yet.” Cal sat up and stretched into an awake state. “You know”—he paused—“you could come with me.”

“Ha!” His father coughed, recovered, and continued. “You don’t want this old geezer slowing you down. Have an adventure. Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life.”

At fifty-eight, Cal did not count on that. There were perks to bachelorhood, the biggest being not having settled for someone who didn’t quite fit, because he had never met a woman who did.

After inspecting the community room one last time, transporting his father home, and storing carefully packaged leftovers in the refrigerator there, Cal drove back to his condo.

Bailey—a light brown shaggy stray who had shown up a few years ago—ran circles around Cal’s feet until he leashed the dog and took him outside to pee.

“What do you think, Bailey?” Cal said. “Are you going to be happy staying with Rudy while I travel the globe?”

Bailey sneezed and shook his head with gusto.

“Yeah,” Cal said. “I’m a little worried about you staying with him, too.”

BRYONY’S BROKEN HEART

Crimson hearts still hung in the window of BeanHereNow, Fieldstone’s only coffee shop. When Bryony returned to work, she would remove the cupids she’d strung around her cubicle before leaving for Florida.

Valentine’s Day used to be her favorite holiday. Now it would always be the anniversary of her mother’s funeral.

Lillian, Bryony’s oldest friend, breezed by with a plated bagel for a seated customer. “I’ll be back in a minute, honey.” She brushed by again on the return trip. “You doing okay?”

“I’m okay.” Bryony watched her dearest friend swoosh back behind the counter of the coffee shop she owned and operated every day but Sunday.

In the days before Bryony’s mother passed, Lillian had been an angel, supplying coffee and food to those keeping a round-the-clock vigil, showing up to sit bedside when needed, making phone calls and running errands while her husband and grown children stepped up to keep the coffee shop running. Without Lillian, the last ten days would have been much harder, maybe impossible.

Hugging a plain, black coffee mug between her palms, Bryony’s eyes settled on the single rose blooming in the bud vase on the table for two. The petals, ruby red, reminded her of the velvety Valentine’s dress sewn by her mother when Bryony was eight.

A similar rose sat in the middle of each table in the coffee shop, though no two vases matched. An assortment of sizes and shapes, they shared the common motif of flowers painted on opaque glass. Bryony spent months scouring thrift stores to complete the collection. Lillian had not replaced them in the ten years since opening BeanHereNow. Sweet of her to hang onto them, and wonderful she had not replaced her best friend either.

Lillian returned to tug the mug from Bryony’s grasp. “Let me warm it up for you.” She headed back behind the counter and returned with a full pot of steaming coffee and a fresh mug. “The other one was chipped.” She tipped the pot and filled the mug to one half inch from the rim.

“You just wanted to bring out my favorite.” Bryony curled her fingers around the coral-colored smooth ceramic, covered in small white hearts, and inhaled the rich aroma.

“Hang in there, honey,” Lillian said. “Give yourself time.” She left to waltz around the other tables, make small talk with the customers, and top off their coffee.

When launched, few expected BeanHereNow to survive. Fieldstone, like most rural small towns in Ohio, was not an upscale coffee shop kind of place. There were a few local eateries, homegrown and hometown owned, but most townspeople either frequented a chain restaurant out by the highway and shopped at Walmart, or stayed home and watched television. Nobody could have predicted the coffee shop would become a magnet for folks who needed community in their lives. The regulars established rituals around being there, almost like having second homes.

The seating area occupied the entire front of a downtown historic building. Twelve tables sported wrought iron legs with recycled wood surfaces. Each table included a set of high-backed wooden chairs, none of which matched by style, but did match by paint color for each table. With every color of the rainbow represented, Bryony often wondered if patrons picked seats depending on their mood.

Today she sat at the table with blue chairs. Fitting.

The door opened, and Bryony looked up to see Abby Dunaway enter. She wore a brown wool coat and a hat woven with bright colors, too many to count. The young woman smiled and made a beeline to Bryony’s table, where she stopped, looked down at a stack of envelopes in her hand, peeled off the top one, and held it out while saying, “Happy belated Valentine’s Day! Sorry it’s late. I’ve been busy helping my Grandma.”

Bryony forced the corners of her mouth upward as she accepted the envelope and placed it beside the rose.

Abby’s expression softened. “I heard about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Abby.” Bryony tapped the envelope with her finger. “Now I can’t complain about not getting a valentine this year.”