SlapShot Sweetheart (Pucks and Promises #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

AIMEE

Aimee was in the process of redesigning a website when she heard a knock at her door.

Getting to her feet, she hesitated. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries from Amazon or the post office, which meant it was probably solicitors in the area once more. Peering out the peephole, she paused seeing that the porch was empty, but a piece of paper was flapping on the glass of her storm door. She slowly opened the front door, quickly setting the lock on the storm door, and hesitated.

The paper was folded in half with her name on it. Her hand was trembling as she opened it and read the scrawled words written there for her.

She hides behind quiet walls,

A heart once hurt, afraid to fall.

But fate keeps leading him her way,

Softly with words that beg her stay.

“Hello?” she called out, unsure what to think at this moment. Who would write a poem and stick it on her door? This was the craziest and weirdest thing someone could do – and she wasn’t sure how to respond or who to look to for answers. “Hello? Are you there?”

Clutching the short poem, she disappeared back inside and closed the door. Hesitating, she could not think or fathom who would do something so sweet or romantic. Who even wrote poems nowadays anymore?

Moving back to her computer, Aimee began to reformat the page she was working on and hesitated once more, moving to look at the paper. Thick bold lettering on a piece of lined paper that looked like it could have been ripped from any notebook. Feeling like a fool, she lifted it to her nose, sniffing to see if cologne was sprayed on it, and then shook her head, quickly putting it back down like it was a threat to her… only to hear a knock again.

“This isn’t funny!” she hollered loudly, rising to her feet and moving toward the front door. “Whoever this is, you’d better stop. This is harassment and…” she jerked open the door, mindless and knowing that it was probably a mistake if someone was standing out there, only to hesitate as she spotted a box.

Someone was fooling with her!

“This isn’t funny!” she called out angrily, looking around wildly and completely alarmed. It was almost eight o’clock at night and dark out. Someone could be lurking in the bushes, waiting to attack or ‘casing’ the house to find out when best to break in – not that she had anything of value. Hesitating, she looked at the box and realized it was taped on top. Looking at it, she paused as her mouth dropped open in shock and awareness at the description on the side.

Feline scratching post

“Theo?” she hollered angrily. “This isn’t funny, and you don’t get to push me around! Theo? Theo!”

Yet there was silence.

What if it wasn’t him? What if it was a coincidence? Grabbing her phone, she quickly texted him, leaving the scratching post on her front porch.

Are you here? Don’t creep me out…

Hi – how are you?

This isn’t funny.

What?

And with that, Aimee called his phone.

“You’re not funny,” she fumed. “None of this is.”

“I’m not trying to be funny – and what did I do this time to deserve you yelling at me? Did I breathe wrong? Start my car incorrectly? Am I in the wrong lane?” he snapped defensively, and she hesitated.

“Are you leaving my house?”

“Have you told me where you live?”

“No.”

“Then no. We agreed to meet at the restaurant, remember?”

“I don’t understand. Then you didn’t…”

“I’m glad you called,” he said simply as her voice trailed off. “Did you want to try to go to dinner again? I think if we go on an off day when I’m not…”

Aimee hung up.

Staring at the front yard, looking at her bushes, and surveying the entire area, she finally pulled the scratching post inside just as her phone beeped.

We lost phone connection – or that was a hard ‘no’?

No

Maybe we could grab lunch sometime or a movie?

She didn’t respond as she stared at the scratching post that was a blatant hint to her. If Theo didn’t leave the scratching post, then who could have? Who else knew she was looking at kittens the other day except him? And why would they leave a poem on the door?

Are you sure it wasn’t you leaving a gift on my porch?

Did you want it to be me?

That was a great question, Aimee realized, swallowing nervously. Did she want some mysterious person or Theo leaving her gift on her porch? And what kind of problems would that create? Was this a one-off, or would it happen again? Doublechecking the locks on the house, she inspected the windows and made sure the blinds were closed before settling in for the evening… to think.

T wo days later, her mysterious person struck again.

This time, Aimee was soaking in a bubble bath reading one of her trashy romance novels and living vicariously mentally as some woman who had been ‘ bibbidy-boppidy-booped ’ by her fairy godmother to another time where a vigilant knight swept her off her feet. Yeah, it was hard picturing some of the stranger things like battlements and arrow slits high upon the walls above a moat, but in her mind, this man was cleanly shaven, had short hair, and a thick accent…

“Oh well, crapola…” she muttered, flinging the book to the side in frustration as she realized the hero in her mind was a certain Frenchman from her awful blind date. The doorbell sounded, and she froze, realizing just how vulnerable she was right now, naked in the bath. “No freakin way I’m answering. They can go away or leave whatever it is on the porch.”

She closed her eyes, sank down a little further, determined to enjoy the heat and the soapy, scented bubbles… and then cracked an eye, glaring at the door of the bathroom. Snatching the towel off the top of the toilet where it was perched, she angrily got out of the bathtub, cursing Theo up one side and down the other.

“If it’s you playing a stupid prank on me, you will never hear the end of it… do you hear me? I’m gonna haunt you into eternity for becoming nightmare fuel in my life. How exactly am I supposed to get past the world’s worst blind date when you won’t leave me alone? You keep popping up, texting, and now this?” she snarled, yanking on her pajamas over her damp skin and shoving her hair back into a sloppy ponytail as she stomped toward her living room angrily.

“If you are out there, hovering around, then you are gonna…” she yanked open the front door expecting to see his beat-up face there, complete with the swollen eye and that split lip – only to see another slip of paper taped to the front door.

“What is going on?” she whispered, pulling it off and looking around warily.

He leaves her letters, soft and sweet,

Whispers love beneath her feet.

In every glance, in every smile,

He hopes she'll trust him for a while.

Aimee stared at the letter, the scrawled masculine handwriting, and marveled that someone could do something so strangely compelling… and sweet. Who would do something like this? And started, as she realized this was a continuation of the other poem.

Scrambling and running into the small kitchenette in her little home, she yanked the breadbox away from the wall and threw the lid open, letting it bang onto the tile backsplash. For some reason, everything went in the breadbox… except bread. Things she wanted to keep safe or hide from her own eyes, like bills. There, on top, was the other piece of paper. Opening it, she read the two passages, and sure enough, they flowed together… which only made her wonder how many more there were.

She hides behind quiet walls,

A heart once hurt, afraid to fall.

But fate keeps leading him her way,

Softly with words that beg her stay.

He leaves her letters, soft and sweet,

Whispers love beneath her feet.

In every glance, in every smile,

He hopes she'll trust him for a while.

Blinking back tears, she sniffed indelicately, touched… and then hesitated, dropping both sheets of paper onto the counter and stepping back. Turning, she walked to the bedroom and grabbed her phone off the charger, texting Theo again.

Why are you doing this to me?

What are you accusing me of doing now?

You didn’t just leave a note on my porch?

Of course not. I’m at the gym.

Want a pic?

I’m all sweaty and buff.

No thanks. I’ll pass.

Your loss.

“What is going on?” she whispered aloud, walking back toward the two pieces of paper, completely transfixed that someone was out there, thinking of her. She had never had someone go so far out of their way to do something like this. “This takes effort… and brains,” she breathed, talking to herself as she re-read the two passages once more.

“Who are you?”