#happypedrohours

It’s not that I need to find people love in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s just that there are so many lonely hearts crying out for love, louder and louder as we near the day. It’s impossible to ignore.

The recent heartbreaks are always the easiest to spot, but I don’t go after those. They need a little time. My bow and arrow can only point a lonely heart in the right direction. I’ve learned from experience that a heart still raw can’t be moved before it’s ready.

I look for the hearts that have mended but are still scarred. Take this guy, for instance. Waiting in line at coffee shop, the saddest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He smiles so sweetly at the barista. Asks her how she’s doing before he places his order. She’s been here since 6am, she’s not interested in his pleasantries. But the woman who just walked in to order her double espresso, she will be. With the a little nudge from one of my arrows.

We don’t rock an actual bow and arrow anymore. Long gone are the times when that particular paraphernalia blended in. We’re a bit more subtle now (though I do have a cousin who loves to hang out at Renaissance Fairs just so she can blend in with her tried and true bow). I opt for a more modern take. Watch a master at work.

“I have an order for Marcus?”

The man hops up from the nearby table he was waiting at.

“That’s me.”

Slender build in a just too large gray suit, clearly off-the-rack. Ironed white shirt and a dark blue tie, firmly knotted. Hair combed neatly to the side it brushes over his forehead but keeps clear of his eye, conscientiously trimmed. This is a man who measures twice and cuts once.

But not in this instance.

In this moment he grabs the coffee cup from the counter, thanks the barista who has moved on to the next drink and heads toward the door to start his day. He takes a quick sip. The bitter drink stops him mid step. He looks down at the cup. Scrawled on the side is a name. Not his name.

He walked back over to the counter. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the beverage that doesn't belong to him.

“I’m so sorry, I think I--”

“--Are you Marcus?”

The man by that name turns toward the voice.

High ponytail atop her head not quite tight enough to keep the shortest strands locked in place. Yoga pants and a zipped-up hoodie, a yoga mat strapped to her back. Her morning routine clear.

She is holding a cup of coffee in her hand, extended toward Marcus.

“I’m sorry, I think I grabbed your by mistake.”

Marcus looks back at the cup in his hand.

“That would make you Mimi?”

She smiles and Marcus feels compelled to smile back like the muscles in his face don’t need his permission. Maybe none of his body needs his permission because he finds himself taking a step closer to exchange cups.

“I’m sorry, I took a sip before I realized,” he says.

“So did I.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I.”

She watching him now, wondering what he’ll do next now that the coffees have been returned to their rightful owner. Her lower lip pulled between her teeth, a nervous habit, one her ex always told her made her look like a child. But Marcus is still smiling at her.

I watch the interaction from a table by the door. Hoping that the simple mix up I orchestrated is enough.

“I, um, I don’t want to make you late.” Marcus gestures to the yoga mat.

“Oh, I just left class. I like to get very zen in the morning and then promptly ruin it by over-caffeinating and going to work.”

Mimi’s lips press together. She’s over-sharing again. Something else her ex didn’t like.

Marcus laughs. “I’m actually running early. Do you want to sit?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. They’re followed by the memory of his ex telling him he’s too much, too fast.

But Mimi just nods her head quickly. The ponytail on top of her head bouncing with the movement.

I lean back in my chair as they sit down in their own. Another job well done. These two are destined for the alter, I can already tell. I almost leave. Almost. But my cupid wings tingle, so I hold my position.

“So, do you work near here?” Marcus asks.

Before Mimi can answer, Marcus’ cell phone rings. He looks down at the incoming call and frowns.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Just one moment.”

He stands and answers the call, walking a few feet away for privacy.

I scowl as he his face turns serious. It feels like one of the Fates is messing with me.  

Marcus returns to the table after he hangs up.

“I’m really sorry, I have to go take care of something at work. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Mimi answers.

With that Marcus is gone. And I need a plan B.

~~~

Okay, this time my set up is sure to work. The meet-cute in the coffee shop, not my most original work. But this will guarantee wedding bells.

Mimi sits behind a small table in the reading room at the National Gallery. Above her a sign reads “Meet the Author”. She doesn’t know why her publisher insists she does these events. She’s been here for two hours and only seven people had come over to speak with her. Of those, only three had even read her book.

She looks down at her watch again. She can leave in just a few minutes. In fact, shes sure that if she left now no one would care. Mimi’s problem is that she likes the rules. And the rules say she scheduled to be here until 4pm. Not 3:55.

When Marcus rounds the corner to enter the reading room he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re Mimi Zong?”

Mimi looks up to find the dark brown eyes that have been haunting her daydreams.

“Hi! I mean, yeah, I am. How do you know who I am?”

Marcus tilts his head back with disbelief. “Are you kidding? The Fault in Renoir is one of my favorite books. Your theory that his color palette may have been influenced by rare type of color blindness helped me catch his most notorious forger.”

Marcus cannot believe that just a week ago he was sitting across from this woman at a coffee shop. Or that he spent the last week kicking himself for not asking for her number before he rushed off to the office.

“You did what? What do you do for a living?” Mimi’s delicate eyes go wide on Marcus.

Before he can answer there’s an impatient looking woman behind Mimi.

“Hey, we gotta go. You’re meeting with the Chancellor starts in five minutes, what are you still doing here?”

Mimi looks back, confused, at her assistant. When she looks down at her watch she’s shocked to see it’s almost 4:30.

Mimi jumps up. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I have to run.” With a wave she’s hurrying down the hallway and toward the exit.

I watch from a nearby table, a book obscuring my face. I slam the book down on the surface as I watch my perfectly arranged setup dissolve in front of me. Several patrons turn toward my commotion. I don’t care though. Now I know I’m being messed with.

~~~

I storm into the Fate’s cottage. Unlike most of us who have opted for more modern accommodations, the Fates insist on maintaining their rural lifestyle. Not a thing has changed here in the last five thousand years, probably more if I could remember that far back.

“What the fuck, ladies?”

Clotho doesn't even bother to look up from her wheel. Lachesis raises an eyebrow at my outburst but doesn’t say anything. Only Atropos deigns a response.

“Everything in good time, my dear.”

Of course. I don’t know what answer I was expecting. Not a god on this side of the milky way has gotten these ladies to change their minds.

“Why are you keeping my match apart. They’re perfect for each other, I know it.” Maybe I’m whining a little bit. But I know Marcus and Mimi belong together. I can feel it.

“Trust the threads, little cupid. Now run along. I know you are busy.” Atropos slices through a golden thread as she says this, letting the loose end fall to the floor.

Okay, warning received, loud and clear.

~~~

I’m following Marcus, studying his every move to plan my next attack. I mean match up. I watch him enter the crosswalk and pause to wait for the light. As the “walk” sign flashes green he begins to cross, looking back down at his phone. He doesn’t see the bus run the red light.

“Marcus!”

He stops at the sound of his name and turns back to see Mimi waving at him and hurrying down the sidewalk in his direction. A rush of air from the bus blows past him. It ruffles his suit and throws him off balance. He watches as it barrels down the road past him. His heart beat quickens in his chest. A feeling he can’t quite describe like he was on the edge of a cliff looking over and someone pulled him back just before vertigo took hold.

“Mimi, I’m so happy to see you,” he says as he shakes off the feeling.

He closes the gap between them and a notion takes hold.

“Yeah me too, I --”

Marcus doesn’t let her finish. “Would you join me for dinner tonight? On a date, I mean.”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” she says.

I lean against the brick building and watch them exchange numbers and make plans. Already I can see the tendrils of love winding around them.