Christine Rimmer - Valentine's Secret Child

“I had no forwarding address. And we were renting the trailer. The weekly payment came due. I didn’t have it. I realized I didn’t want to be there, anyway. So I took what I could fit in my backpack and I hit the road.”

“And you went…?”

“To Dallas. By way of L.A. and Las Vegas and Phoenix. I lived on the streets for about a year.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry….”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault. And living on the streets can be damn instructive—and you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve got this one evening. And then I’m on a plane tomorrow. Here we are again, after all these years. It’s like magic. And I don’t want to waste another minute of tonight talking about all the grim stuff we’ve been through since we were last together.”

Another of those beautiful smiles trembled across her mouth. “Oh, Michael.”

“Mitch,” he corrected.

She sighed. “Mitch.” She sent him a teasing look. “I like your attitude, Mitch.”

“Well, I’ve been working on it for the past decade or so. It’s good to know you see improvement.”

“Oh, I do.” She glowed at him. “I truly do. But as for the grim stuff, well, it’s what made us who we are, right?”

“That’s true.”

She sipped the last of her wine. He had the feeling she was about to reveal something important, one of those secrets he couldn’t wait for her to share with him, something about her life now that she found difficult to speak of. But then she only asked him more about himself.

“Your name. Why the change?”

He teased, “What? You don’t like the name ‘Mitch’?”

“I do like it. It just seems like a big step, I guess.”

“People do change their names. It’s more common than you might think.”

“I’m not asking about ‘people.’ I want to know why you changed your name.”

“I wanted to be…someone else. And now I am.”

“But you are still Michael. Deep down. No matter how much you change.”

He reached out. And so did she. Her fingers met his in the middle of the table, by the white magnolia blossom, in the candle’s golden glow. Met. And held.

He said, “I’m not Michael. Not anymore. I’m someone different. Someone named Mitch. And believe me, I like myself as Mitch a whole lot better than I ever liked Michael.”

“When did you change it?”

“When I was nineteen.”

“A year after…”

“We broke up. Yes. By then I’d created my first video game and I was working on the second one. I had a little money, at last. I’d rented an apartment. It seemed like total luxury to me. To sleep in a bed, to finally stop wondering where the next meal was coming from.”

“That must have been a great feeling.”

“Clean sheets and food in my stomach. Oh, yeah.”

She laughed again. “Actually, I meant how you came from nothing, and within a year you found success.”

“Well, I still had a long way to go. But things were definitely looking up.”

He’d still missed her like hell back then. It was an ache that never completely left him. But time had been kind and dulled the pain more year by year. He’d thought himself over her the past couple of years….

And then, last night, there she was, standing off to the side, her smile nervous and hopeful.

Since then, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Again, she pulled her hand back. She picked up her fork and went to work on her asparagus salad. He ate some of his stuffed portobello mushroom appetizer. They were quiet for a few minutes. The food was good and the silence held promise it seemed to him.

Eventually, she asked, “Why Mitch Valentine?”

“Well, it starts with the same letters as my given name, so it was a change, which I wanted, but at the same time, it felt comfortable, you know? It felt… right. Familiar.”

“But why Valentine?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s not a name I can picture you choosing, I guess. It’s a little too…” She couldn’t find the right word.

He gave her some help. “Soft? Girly? Romantic? Imaginative? Kelly. I’m hurt. You don’t think I’m imaginative…?”

She groaned. “Excuse me while I remove my foot from my mouth—and actually, I like it. It just surprises me you chose it, that’s all.”

“I actually did have a few reasons for making the choice. I’d already chosen Mitch some time before. As I said, I wanted a last name that started with a V, like Vakulic. And it was Valentine’s Day when I went to see the lawyer about making the change. I thought, hell. Valentine. Vakulic. Same first two letters, just like Mitch and Michael. And I thought Valentine sounded like the name of somebody famous. I liked that. A lot.”

She sat back in her chair. “So. That was nine years ago today….”

“That’s right, now you mention it.”

They shared a look. She broke the eye contact first. “Mitch,” she said softly. Her mouth kept tempting him.

He wanted to kiss it. “I like it when you say my name.”

There was urgency in those blue eyes. And something else. Something…what? Worried? Afraid? “Mitch, I…”

“What? Say it. Tell me.”

She shook her head—and then she slid her napkin in beside her plate. “Be right back.” And she got up and headed toward the arch that led to the ladies’ room.

He watched her go, admiring the slim, softly curving shape of her, thinking that he was probably pushing too fast, promising himself he’d slow it down a little when she returned, smiling wryly as he realized there was no way he would keep that promise.

The ladies’ room was blessedly empty. An orchid in a black pot graced the white marble sink counter. Beside the elegant flower a stack of neatly folded linen towels waited. So much nicer than ordinary paper ones.

Kelly braced her hands on the rim of the sink and leaned in toward the mirror. “You will tell him,” she commanded in a whisper, glaring at her own image. “You will go back out there and you will tell him that he has a daughter and you will do it the minute your butt hits that chair.”

She straightened. With slow deliberation, she smoothed her hair and then her skirt. She washed her hands and dried them on one of those beautiful cloth towels.

And then she drew her shoulders back and turned for the door.

At their table, the waiter was just setting down the main course. He slid over behind her and held her chair. She thanked him, he nodded and left them.

She spread her napkin on her lap again. Tell him, tell him, tell him . “This looks good…” She glanced up, into those amazing dark hazel eyes.

And she was lost. Finished. She just couldn’t do it.

He was there, across from her, after all these years. And somehow the boy she had loved had become the kind of man she dreamed about.

It was…a fantasy, this evening. Her fantasy. Just the two of them, by candlelight, sharing a lovely meal and good conversation.

Each glance was electric. And when he reached out and touched her hand…

Just a few more minutes. Just a little while longer .

She would tell him before they left the restaurant, before the night was over. But as soon as she did it, everything would change.

The fantasy would end. He would probably be angry. He would definitely be stunned. The hazy, soft magic between them would be blasted away.

Yes, she knew that every minute she kept the truth from him made her all the more culpable. Until last night, when she found him again, she was innocent of wrongdoing.

She’d tried to find him and failed, but she had tried. She’d had no thought, ever, of hiding the truth from him.

Now, though, this evening, as she sat here across from him, exchanged warm glances with him, told him of her life and urged him to tell her of his…