Category: An Itty-Bitty Romance

by Jeannie Yee Davis

He sat there, brush in hand, fast strokes up, down, and across, and a golden sunlit sky appeared across the canvas on a wooden easel. With a few skillful dabs, puffs of clouds soften the sun’s rays, casting a shadow on the deep blue ocean waves the painter laid beneath the sky. With precise, quick strokes, thin fronds came to life, swaying from the canopy of the palm trees, suspending above the glistening sand. And the sounds of the low waves and gentle breeze waft into his ears as his toes hide in the warm sand.

The bespectacled painter grabbed his water bottle from under his stool, breaking the young man’s trance from painting to painter. Their eyes lock, each curious about the other. The artist gulped short sips into his parch mouth. He wiped the drool off his shaggy pewter beard with his hand and nodded, “Son, would you like me to paint you something?”

“Can you paint me a dream?”

“I can paint anything you can dream of,” he said.

“Can you paint a hammock swinging from that palm tree with me lying in it wearing a bird of paradise aloha shirt, Bermuda shorts, straw hat, and shades? Paint a pretty brunette in a cotton dress and put her right in my arms?”  

As quickly as the young man spoke, the scene appeared as he described. The young man stared in awe as the brunette emerged on the canvas wrapped between his arms in a long purple hibiscus cotton Hawaiian ruffled sleeves dress. “How did you know to paint that dress?”

The painter finished the last strokes, put down his brush, and pointed behind the young man to the pretty brunette modeling a long purple hibiscus cotton Hawaiian ruffled sleeves dress. “Son, I said I can paint you anything. I did my part. Now, you do yours.” He nodded to the brunette. 

The young man smiled at the brunette. Thanked the painter, “You are a magician. You sure did paint me a dream.”

by Jeannie Yee Davis

If only you looked into my eyes, you would see my heart pumping in vain the words you can’t hear. I love you. I love you. I love you! I long for that day your eyes zoom into my heart. You will find an album of memories; every moment is you and me: sacred memories, dreams, wishes—a novel written for your eyes only. Moments of simple pleasures lovers enjoy—holding hands between fluttering butterflies, dancing on the grass on a warm spring night, sharing melting ice cream on a merry-go-round one hot summer’s day, giggling to teasing kisses and rubbing noses, savoring the sweetness of love, seeing our reflections in each other’s eyes, snuggling before a fire, sipping hot cocoa, and listening to our favorite songs, never wanting the moment to end.

Every morning. Every night. I dream of looking into your heart and seeing my name engraved at the center. Yet, it’s only a dream I’ve dreamed a hundred times. I want my life to be with you, but what can I do when you don’t know what it’s like to love you as I do? Can’t you feel my love reaching like corn stalks in the fields of gold as your hand almost brushed against mine when you passed by? Do you not feel the vibrations of my heart drumming when you are near? We pass each other every day. Do you not see me? How do you not know how much I love you? 

My eyes smile when I see you weaving through the couples on the dance floor coming my way. My hand is ready to join yours and let you twirl me onto the dance floor to a slow song. You get nearer and nearer, and the bass in my heart gets louder and louder, deafening the speakers as you arrive. I pivot, inhale the scent of fresh laundry, and watch you pass by, and I mentally take a picture of this moment for my album.

Loving someone who doesn’t see you is not for the faint-hearted. I’m a woman in love, not unbreakable, not weak, but rich with so much love saved just for you. There’s a way people say, but what can I do when I want you to love me, too? I won’t push. It’s meaningless unless it’s in your heart the love for me. One day, you will look into your heart and find me there. When you do, you will open your eyes, and I will be here with arms wide. Until then, I will wait and be true to you, and one day, I will hear you say the refrain in my heart every day, “I love you!”  

by Jeannie Yee Davis

This time last year, his trip home to spend Valentine’s Day with his wife was interrupted by an assignment. The assignment to restore the fine wood tables at the Divine Mansion kept him away longer than he expected. He lies in his bed every night and every morning, picturing her smiling, blowing kisses, and saying, ‘I love you,’ as she drifts farther away. He reaches out to her and is encouraged to keep working. 

He stooped over the oblong table like a pool player, his face mere inches from the surface. His eyes fixated on the spot amid opaque shavings that looked like large dandruff flakes. He worked the pointy tip of the toothpick into the varnish. “You have to be careful not to damage the lacquer finish beneath the varnish. You see, if you damage the table, that would mean overtime. They won’t like it. They will make us repair the damage, you see. Quite frankly, I don’t have the time to do that. You see, I have a deadline I’m trying to meet.” He spoke in almost a hypnotic whisper without looking up. He repositioned his arm, tensing his grip in preparation for the rapid strokes needed to graze the top layer. 

When he worked up momentum, the varnish flicked off the table like pieces of rice paper. “Removing the varnish from these fine tables requires a master’s skill. Not just anybody has the knack for this. We’re lucky, we do.” He chuckled. “The whole table can’t be treated the same way, you see. Believe me, I know. I’ve encountered a dozen different surfaces. The varnish comes right off with just a flick of the toothpick in some areas, but others require more persistence. But don’t worry; you see, I have devised ways to get around them.” He continued talking at the table, inhaling the vapor or varnish. A page from the PA system periodically drowned out his voice. Cellophane crumbs covered the surface of the mahogany table, and snowflake shavings dusted the hardwood floor beneath him. 

He scraped each spot with determination, following it farther and farther across the table in steady momentum. “When the momentum is broken, we refocus and work another area for a while. I like to come back to these tough spots later. You see, I get a lot more done that way. I like to finish parts of the table quickly, but tough spots slow me down. I’ve got to hurry, you see.” Just then, he came upon a stubborn spot that wouldn’t budge. He rubbed at it with his fingernail, and it cleared a path right through. He held a finger up to his sweaty lips, “Shh, and that’s the secret to how you do it.”  

“Be careful now. Can’t push too hard. You see, don’t wanna dent the table and don’t wanna break another toothpick.” He let out a breath that blew the flakes about the table. “Supplies are hard to come by depending on the staff. There seems to be a high turnover around here.”   

The body of the toothpick dug into the flesh of his fingers. It didn’t bother him. He has become numb to the pain. “I have to finish this one last table, and then they’ll let me go.” Sweat soaked through his white tee shirt. But he kept going.

He stopped to change hands when he couldn’t press down anymore. He swung his arm to release the toothpick onto the table, but it didn’t fall out of his grip. The toothpick embedded itself into the flesh of his fingers. He had to yank it loose from his right hand before tossing it onto the table. He rubbed at his calloused fingers and massaged one stiff finger at a time. He stood up straight and became aware of the tension in his back. He arched backward and stretched as he surveyed the table. He groaned. He took a deep breath and sucked in the familiar medicinal musky dampness. He rubbed his eyes to refocus, drying the beads of sweat from his lashes.

“Oh God! I’ve still got half the table to go. I’ll never finish in time. Wrong attitude! No choice. I must finish, and then I can go home to my wife. It seems forever since I’ve spoken to her, but she’ll understand. I’ve been busy. She’ll appreciate that I’ve devoted all my efforts to getting home to her. I know she’ll be surprised.”

He wiped his wet hair and face with his already-dampened arms. He licked his salty lips, changed hands, and returned to scraping the varnish.

“Excuse me. Excuse me,” she tapped him on the shoulder. “Could you tell me where the office is?” 

“Oh, you startled me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“The office is that way.” He pointed down the hall.

“Thanks. What are you working on?”

“I’m refinishing this table. That’s my job.”

“Your job is to refinish this table?”

“Not just this table. All the wood tables here.”

“Really? How many have you already done?”

“I’ve done nine. Once I finish this last table, I get to go home to my wife. Gotta finish this project in the next couple of weeks. I will surprise her when I show up on Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s really sweet. Well then, I’d better let you get back to work.” The young woman walked in the direction he pointed. She padded along so her clogs wouldn’t pound against the wood floor. She reached the office where a heavyset woman wearing a pale blue sweater sat with her back to the door. She knocked even though the door was open. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bennett, is this where I report for duty?”

“You must be Kimberly. Hang your coat over there, and I’ll show you around.” The elderly lady stood up, pointed to the coat rack, and led Kimberly outside the office.

Kimberly heard mumbling coming from the man at the table. She tried but couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Mrs. Bennett, who’s that guy over there?”

“That’s Peter. You give him a box of toothpicks, and he stays out of trouble.”

“He said he was trying to finish that table so he could go home to his wife. That’s so sweet.” Kimberly caught Mrs. Bennett’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Tsk, tsk, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“His wife was killed this time last year. Her death sent him here to Divine Hope Sanitarium. He’s been doing that since he got here.”  

by Jeannie Yee Davis

“I can’t believe you talked me into this, Sylvester. What makes you think Bob will come for a blind date?” If I didn’t run out of excuses, I wouldn’t. Alexis thought.

“He’ll show, Ally. Bob always keeps his word.”

“You keep forgetting. I prefer Alexis,” she lifted her petite frame taller from where she stooped, hiding behind the sidewalk bookstand at the adjacent shop to the café for her date. The hairs on the back of her neck stood upright at the mere mention of Ally, her ex-husband’s nickname for her when he gaslit her. Two years later, it still caused an emotional response.

“Sorry. Old habit. You’ve been Ally since we were kids.” Sylvester groaned into the phone. “Whatever name you go by, it’s time for you to date again. There are good people out there. Bob is one of them. He’s a widow, a loving husband to the end.”

“How do you know each other again?” Alexis glanced at the café.

“He’s my judo instructor.”

“He’s Sensei Bob? I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I should…” 

“You should shake off your doubt. That’s what you should do.”

 “You’re right, Sylvester. I need to do this.”

“Good. Go! Have a good time.” 

The call ended as Alexis was about to say something. “Never mind,” she whispered, blew the hair off her nose, and glanced at the empty table again. “He’s not going to show,” Alexis pursed her lips. She plucked a book off the shelf in front of her. She opened it, mindlessly flipping pages. Her eyes darted back and forth to the table, unaware of the tall man passing behind her, chuckling, entertaining himself watching her. 

“You know, there’s a better way to find out if he’ll show,” a masculine voice spun Alexis around just as he popped a mint into his mouth but not before she caught his smurfy grin.

“Excuse me?” Alexis peered at the too-well-dressed stranger to be shopping in a bookstore. His neatly trimmed short beard almost concealed dimples as he smiled, unhinging her. She lost her footing. 

He tenderly balanced her by her elbow, suddenly standing too close and locking eyes with her. “I noticed you playing spy and thought I’d play along,” his voice cracked to his dismay. 

“Is your idea of playing along by spying on me?” She flipped her hair off her shoulder. She kept her gaze on him and returned the book to the shelf. He crumbled his mint wrapper and tossed it in the trash bin on the curb. She checked off “neat” on her mental list.

“Do I look like a spy?” he opened his sports coat like a runway model, and Alexis giggled, noticing his purple suspenders. 

“Let me guess. You’re Bond. James Bond?”

“Bond. Robbie Bond at your service,” Robbie bowed, faking an English accent. “And who might this dainty spy be?”

“Alexis, barista by day, spy by night,” she curtseyed, feeling like a princess in her tiered dress. The simple play acting calmed her nervousness. Robbie felt like an old friend rather than a stranger she just met. “Thanks, I needed that distraction. I’m unsure about this first date since my divorce two years ago.”

“Ah, that’s cause for pause,” Robbie stroked his beard. “Before we were friends, we were all strangers. Your date might be Mr. Right. You won’t know if you don’t show.”

Seeing Alexis tense up, Robbie shared, “Ten years ago, I wasn’t crazy about a blind date either. My friend assured me that I wouldn’t be sorry. He was right. That blind date gave me nine wonderful years with my wife before she passed. I would have missed it if I didn’t go.”

“You’re right, but it’s hard when you’re learning to trust again. I’ve always dreamed of the love you two had. I thought I found it when I married my husband, but he was Mr. Wrong. I wanted to feel safe with him. For him to encourage me, cheer me on, believe in me, and love me on good days and bad. Someone who’d make me feel like…”

“…home,” Robbie finished for her. 

“Yes. Like home,” Alexis gazed into Robbie’s compelling eyes. 

“I believe Mr. Right is waiting for you. May I escort you to your table?” Robbie extended his arm to her. She weaved her arm into his.

Alexis pondered, staring at Robbie. “For a change, this feels like where I should be.”

Robbie flashed Alexis a smurfy grin and said, “You can tell Sylvester he did well.”

“You’re Bob?” Alexis gasped. 

“I prefer Robbie, but I’ll always be Bob to Sylvester.”

“I’m so glad you’re my blind date, Robbie. Now, it feels like home.”