“How’s it look?  Any problems?”

“No, sir.  We’ve got a full house, and so far, everyone has been on time for their reservation.”

“Good, good.”  Nodding, Loren started to turn away when an entry in the book caught his eye.  “What’s this?”

“What’s what, sir?”

“Dominic, stop calling me ‘sir’.  We’ve known each other since the fourth grade,” Loren said exasperatedly.

The assistant manager grinned.  “Yes, sir.  Sorry, sir.  I thought it sounded more professional out here in front of the guests.”

“Well, it doesn’t!  It sounds like you’re sucking up.  Now, explain this, please.”  Loren pointed to an entry – Reservation for two.  “There’s no name listed.  Who reserved the banquet room for two people?  We can easily fit a dozen in there.”

“I’m not sure who took the reservation, but one of the parties is already here.”

“Where?”  Loren scanned the empty waiting area.

“They’ve been seated.”

“What?  This is unacceptable!  I want to know who booked this reservation!” he snapped.  “And whoever it was better have a damned good explanation!”

“Yes, sir.”

Tossing Dominic a scathing look, Loren stalked away, wondering who in town thought they were so important as to warrant a private room on the busiest night of the year.  Doing his best to regain his composure, he slowed his step and strolled among the tables, greeting his guests, offering congratulations on new engagements and well wishes to those celebrating anniversaries.  Making a circuit around the dining room, he stopped at the door bearing a ‘Reserved’ sign and took a deep breath before entering.  His salutation died on the tip of his tongue as his brain scrambled to process the scene in front of him.

The room was bathed in candlelight; dozens of flames flickered gently.  Soft music floated from hidden speakers – Rachmaninoff, if he wasn’t mistaken.  There was a singular table in the center of the room draped in a red satin tablecloth, a red rose centerpiece and two place settings of sparkling crystal and fine china neatly arranged on top.  Nearby, a silver ice bucket chilled a magnum of champagne.

The atmosphere exuded romance, but it was peripheral, for the woman seated alone at the table held his attention.  A strapless, red sequin dress clung to her like a second skin; her flaxen hair swept back in some sort of intricate twist.  Delicate tendrils framed her face, the tips brushing her bare shoulders.  Diamonds studded her ear lobes, catching the light as she stood.

“Madison.”  His breath caught on her name, the sound barely above a whisper.  A million questions raced through his head, but the one that was foremost in his mind was who was she with?

Realizing he was still standing in the doorway, Loren cleared his throat and took a step towards her.  “I don’t mean to intrude.  There was no name beside the reservation.”

“You’re not intruding.  I’ve been waiting for you.”

“For me?”  Confusion clouded his eyes.

“Yes; for you.  The reservation was made for two, wasn’t it?”

“You mean… you’re not meeting someone?”

Madison smiled.  “No, Loren.  I’m not meeting anyone.”

Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a breath.  Did this mean what he thought it did?  Before he could ask, she was walking toward him, her hand outstretched.  Without saying a word, he took it, allowing himself to be led to the table.  Remembering his manners, he held out her chair, waiting until she was seated before lowering himself into the seat opposite her.

“How’s your arm?  I notice you’re not wearing your sling anymore.”  Brilliant, genius!  That’s the first thing you think to say?

She smiled again.  “A little sore.  Still a bit slow at making flower arrangements.”

“I wondered how you were managing.”

“Thank God for Bruce; that’s all I can say.”  She unfolded a linen napkin and placed it on her lap.

Loren raised an eyebrow.  “Bruce?”

“Bruce Campanelli.  He’s studying floral design at the university and interning for me for extra credit.  Joe and Monica have him to thank for the arrangements at their wedding.”

“This one, too?” Loren asked, pointing to the centerpiece on the table.

“No, I made that one.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”  An awkward silence followed.  She’d spent hours rehearsing what she wanted to say to him, and now she couldn’t remember a thing.  “Bruce is a lifesaver.  He stepped in for me yesterday and today.  The two busiest days of the year, mind you, and I bail on him.  He deserves a raise.  And a medal.  A raise and a medal.” 

She took a sip of water.  “He’s an extremely talented designer.  If he decides to open a shop in town, he’ll run me straight out of business.”

 “I highly doubt that,” Loren scoffed, wondering how long Bruce and his flair for design were going to be the topic of conversation.

“You’d be surprised how cutthroat the florist business can be –” 

Apparently, a while longer.

“– customers want fresh designs, and they’ll pay top dollar to get them.  It’s very competitive.”

“And here I thought a rose was a rose.”  Loren struggled to keep the sarcasm from his voice.  He understood she was nervous; hell, he was, too, but there had to be better things to talk about than flowers.

“Do you have any idea how many varieties of roses there are?” Madison asked.  What is wrong with you?  Stop!  Stop babbling!

“No,” he replied, attempting to muster enthusiasm for the subject.  “Enlighten me.”

“Well, there are over a hundred and fifty species of rose, and they come in all different colors and shapes and – ”

“Excuse me; dinner is served.”

“Thank God,” Loren mumbled under his breath as a team of servers placed appetizers, soup, and salad in front of them.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Madison said.  “I chose the menu beforehand.”

“I don’t mind at all.  I’ve heard the food here is delicious!” he winked, pouring them each a glass of champagne.  Lifting the crystal flute, he proposed a toast.  “To this most unexpected Valentine’s Day, and the woman who made it possible.  Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, and both took a sip, Madison giggling when the bubbles went up her nose.  “My turn.”  She took a shaky breath.  “To the man I love; the one I hope can forgive me for acting childish and petty, and for wasting all of the years of happiness we could’ve enjoyed together.  The man whose strength and commitment I greatly admire; whose loyalty and compassion know no bounds.  To the man I fell in love with the first day of senior year when he walked into Mrs. Allen’s homeroom and asked to borrow a pen, and to the man I’ve loved every day since.”

Her voice cracked.  “To the man who I hope will not only accept my apology, but also my proposal.  Loren Hamilton, will you marry me?”