Rohan is waiting for a blind date on Valentine's Day not knowing what to expect, when Miriam arrives. One impromptu art tour around Ottawa's Byward Market, and a dance with a playful bear later, their lives are forever changed, on the most romantic night of the year.

This story was contributed by MustangSabby

Her hair was like water at the bottom of a waterfall. Almost white, tumbling around her shoulders, as if swirling and dancing away from the cliffside.

She hadn't spotted him yet, looking around the coffee shop. She stood on her tip-toes to see over the heads of all the lovers, their bodies leaned towards each other, quiet conversations and smiles filling the space with emotions.

At that precise moment, as he watched her, he was doubting his agreement to a blind date on Valentine's Day. His nerves pinged, the idea that such a beautiful woman was here to meet him.

She turned in place, and he held his breath as her eyes caught his. They were a myriad of greens, like the inside of a pearl oyster shell. His mouth went dry as she smiled and they sparkled with mischief.

She wound her way towards him in the crowded shop, and when she reached him, lemongrass and citrus lifted over him in a wave. As she held his eyes, the draw to her was absolute.

She was an iridescent siren, and he the bewitched sailor.

"Hi, you must be Rohan?" she asked, her voice poised and throaty, at odds with her light, elfin features.

"Hi. Yes, ummm, yes, I am. Miriam?" he responded, stuttering as she extended her hand.

She smiled even further, a broad, enticing smile that pulled at him. He couldn't help but smile back, hoping his nerves wouldn't show, and as he took her hand to shake it, he wondered how on earth this vision could exist in the same reality as him.

"That's me! Listen, I know we were meeting here for coffee, but it is really crowded and I have an idea," she shot out, and before he could let go of her hand, she turned and towed him out of the coffee shop, and into the street. He let her lead, the energy pouring out of her impossible to resist, akin to asking the tide not to come in.

A swirl of snow was in the air, the sidewalks wet with the first flakes. The air felt festive, damp with the promise of a mild evening. As he buttoned up his coat, she let go of his hand to draw bright blue gloves onto her hands.

"I like your gloves," he managed, searching for something to say, coming up short, and blurting out the first thing that darted into his head.

She giggled, extending her hands out, wiggling the fingers. "They're my favourite colour. What is your favourite colour, Rohan?"

Rohan couldn't even formulate a response. If he were honest, he'd never had a favourite of anything, or everything was his favourite. He was at a loss to decide, in front of her. Maybe right now his favourite was whatever hers was, because the enthusiasm in her voice was enough to sway anyone to her side.

"I don't really know," he replied lamely, feeling entirely inadequate next to her. She was a shining star, and he the desolate moon in her orbit, basking in the glow.

She let out a peal of laughter and picked up his hand again. "You're a funny man, Rohan. Of course you have a favourite. Let's decide what it is this evening. Now let's go!"

They walked, their boots crunching on the salt scattered across the concrete a normal sound that he concentrated on to calm his racing heart. She interlaced her hand with his. It was entirely intimate, and he looked down between them, seeing her blue fingers peeking out between his long, brown ones, her warmth entering him and breaking some sort of invisible barrier. When was the last time he had held hands with a woman?

"So I have this map of the Byward Market. It has all the different sculptures and art here... I thought we could take a tour of them," she offered as they stopped in front of the doors to the Marche building. Men hurriedly walked out around them with flowers and bakery boxes tied with ribbon.

"That sounds interesting, where do you want to start?" he replied, intrigued by her suggestion. "I like art. I minored in art history, with my science degree."

"That is what Rajesh said, he said you were 'artsy' and would like it. Beats having to yell in a crowded shop, right?"

"Right. Hate yelling," he offered, taking a mental note to yell at Rajesh later. Artsy? What woman wants a man who is artsy? He was, yes, but he wanted to be something else. Suave, handsome... Whatever it was that she liked, because he wanted her to like him.

She pulled out a folded pamphlet, and they looked over it together. He bent in towards her as he pointed out different sculptures, and as they oriented themselves with the map on the back, he was completely and utterly distracted by the pink tip of her nose, and the way she bit her lower lip, trying to decide where to go first.

Pink was his favourite colour right now.

Recklessness hit like a wave. Her energy had infused him, and like fresh air on the beach, he took a lungful of her and let his nervousness go. A beautiful woman was interested in spending time with him. If she hadn't shied away despite Rajesh and his likely ridiculous description, he would relax and let the evening unfold as it may. Damn it all to hell, if she liked him, he would be the luckiest man in the world. He grasped her hand, and pulled her through the doors of the Marche. When they were in the middle of the market stalls, he pointed up.

"This one is one of my favourites."

She tilted her head up, taking in the fibreglass cloud with various men hanging off of it, as if selling the wares in their hands to the patrons below.

"It's called McClintock's Dream. It was done in the seventies, depicting all the Ottawa-area farmers who sold goods here."

"It's so folksy! I love it! Can you see it from above?" she exclaimed. Spying the stairwell to the upper walkway, she made a beeline for it, Rohan rushing to follow her up the steps. From the top, they evaluated the sculpture from above. Dust was in the crevices, the bulbous edges tinged with brown, lending it a vintage, forgotten feel.

They introduced themselves properly as they leaned on the railing. She was in marketing, and liked to read classic literature. She liked winter, and didn't know how to swim. He was a researcher in the government, loved summer, was more interested in science fiction, and felt more at home in the water than anywhere else on earth.

Complete opposites. She fair, he brown. She extroverted and effervescent, he stoic and solid.

But despite that, his attraction solidified, and took shape, filling in his crevices and expanding outwards in an uncharacteristic warmth. He stopped stuttering answers to her questions, and the knot between his shoulders dissolved. As she observed the people below them shopping, he watched her, entranced.

Was it possible to fall for someone within minutes of knowing them? Was she the one his soul had been waiting for? His practical side said that he was being ridiculous, that it took time, that he didn't know her at all. His heart was screaming in opposition, buffeted in a maelstrom of want as she turned and caught him staring.

"Where to next?" she asked, and her cheeks flushed as their eyes met, her teeth on her bottom lip once more.

He took her hand with confidence he surprised even himself with, and they left the building, heading towards Sussex Drive and the National Art Gallery. As they approached, she pointed out the painting on the York street stairs, the lights from Parliament Hill, the wooden twist sculpture just inside Major's Hill Park. Laughing and jostling to centre themselves, they stood directly underneath Maman and looked up, marvelling at the size of her spidery legs, delicately balanced on the interlocked stone.

Miriam talked about moving last year from Saskatchewan, and went quiet when they made their way along the building to the Running Horses, their brown rusted hues slowly fading to black as sunset turned to dusk. She glanced at him, and he saw her brilliance was dimmed, the sun muffled by storm clouds on the horizon.

"Alright?" he asked, worried suddenly he had said or done something wrong. He never wanted to see the light gone from her eyes. If there was a future with her, he would do whatever he could to ensure she was always brimming with it, overflowing.

"My mother, she loved horses. She died last year. I suppose these guys remind me of her," she murmured, and gestured out at them. "I'm sorry, I'm pretty much an open book with my emotions, Rohan. Not like you. I'm a buzzkill."

He put his arm around her, her breath pluming out in a cloud as he did. She grasped the hand palming her shoulder, and met his curious glance, eyes filled with hidden grief. At that moment, he opened his book too, and laid the pages bare at her feet. Her hurt was his, and he wanted to absorb it, take it from her.

"Never apologize for feeling," he murmured back. "You wouldn't be you if you held it in, I think."

She nodded silently, an admission on her part, and he steered her carefully away, walking in step with her back towards the street. It was the most comfortable feeling in the world, with her tucked under his arm. She belonged there, with him.

They wound their way into the Arts Court, past the triumphant angel, and crossed the street into the Tin House courtyard.

"So, what would possess a man to clad a house in tin?" she wondered as she stared up at the re-creation of the front of the house, mounted on the stone wall above their heads.

"Foisy was a tinsmith. It was his trade, and likely what he had on hand to cover the house with. He had quite an artistic flair if you see how he made it look like brick! There's quite a number of tin-sided houses here in Lowertown," Rohan provided. "Most have been sided over with vinyl, or demolished. I've always wanted to buy one and restore it."

Miriam tilted her head and studied him, and he swore, if his skin tone allowed, he would have been the one blushing this time.

"You are sentimental, Rohan. You equate memories with things, I think."

It was his turn to nod silently. Maybe he did? He had come to Canada with nothing save the clothes that his new parents had bought him, and a stuffed bear with button eyes. Since then, possessions had been touchstones of stability and family. Perhaps it was why he found such significance in art.

He had never thought of it that way before.

"Well, I think that is just fine. Everyone has their own love language, right?" she said lightly, and tugged him along, breaking the moment of reflection they had shared. Caught in the whirlwind of their connection, he directed her across another street, and into Jeanne D'arc Court. She stopped and struck a pose beside the statue of the girls dancing with a hoop, and then turned and saw the statue he wanted to show her the most. His favourite, Dancing Bear.

"Oh, he's lovely!" she breathed, and walked towards him. She ran a hand down his foreleg, and turned to Rohan, her smile back, her energy restored. He was blinded by it.

"I like to come here in the mornings in summer. I sit under the ivy benches and watch the birds nesting in the wall over there swoop down and pick at the ground. It's peaceful," he remarked as he walked over to her, and he too reverently touched the bear's paw.

Miriam took his hand once more, and stepped to him, looking up into his face. He looked down, studying her, feeling the connection strengthen. He wanted to kiss her. He could never tire of how engrossing her nearness was.

"Do you think bears dance?" she asked. He chuckled at her question, flitting his glance up to the bear, then back to her. She was inside his bubble, inches between them, and he slid his arm around her waist. Her eyes widened, and she pulled him in as well, their breath steaming together in the dusk of evening lit only by lamps at the edges of the courtyard. He wished for summer, because their coats were bulky and hindered the want he had to be close to her, to feel her heat along the length of him.

"I think he's playing. He's a polar bear, apparently. The artist is from Nunavut and models them after the bears he sees on Baffin Island," Rohan answered, reciting the tidbit he knew about the sculpture.

"Dance is a form of play, don't you think?" she countered, and grabbed his hand, setting him up and taking a few steps, leading him in a mock waltz. "Is it not considered a pleasurable thing, to dance? An expression of joy?"

He laughed as they danced around the courtyard, the abandonment of something as silly as this perfect in the moment. Her playfulness was intoxicating.

He dipped her in front of the bear, and as they caught their breath, he lost his completely with the flush of her cheeks, the whirl of her hair, and the presence of her spirit. She was like this bear, joyful in her embrace of life.

He tilted his head down, searching her eyes that he could kiss her, and when she tilted up towards him, their lips met, the chill in their cheeks melted by the heat between them. It was a merging of want, and she opened to him, her blue gloved fingers wrapping into his hair as he held her body, the strength in his embrace a new feeling that he never wanted to forget.

They parted, she quirked a smile at him, and pointed towards the bear. "I think he approves. Do you?"

He hmmed, put his forehead to hers, and they tilted to take in the bear, paws aloft, ever watchful face turned towards them. Indeed, it did feel like the bear was giving them assent to follow the path they had found. One he hoped was just beginning.

"I have a favourite colour, I think," he rumbled out as he tucked her sparkling white hair behind her ear, studied her beautiful green eyes, marvelling at her perfect pink lips so close to his.

"Oh? Is it copper, like our friend here? "

He quirked an eyebrow, and lowered his lips to hers, the answer in his kiss. 

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A busy mom of two from Ottawa, Ontario, Caroline finds time to write in the nooks and crannies of a busy life, often dreaming up new plots late at night when she should be sleeping. She fell in love with romance the moment she picked up her first novel, the idea of a Happily-Ever-After enticing. Now she writes just that, hoping others will enjoy reading her love stories as much as she did writing them! Read more from Caroline here.