When a jog in the park becomes a tryst with a dangerous lover. To get away from the blasted Valentine Day parties, Natalie goes out for a jog. But there's a secret hiding in the Japanese Pavilion...

This story was contributed by Lina Hansen

With a soft slap, slap, the soles of my trainers hit the trail. A spring day in winter is too rare to be missed. It feels great to be out and running again after weeks of too much junk food, too much cramming—too much of anything.

But the day is almost over, the light in the woodlands is fading, and the shadows are drawing close. And the air is getting chilly and damp. As I jog along, my breath now billows out in delicate clouds of white. The trail snakes towards the little pond, and a group of fellow runners puffs towards me, beetroot-red in the face.

"Hey," they shout and wave and, "Hey," I shout back. We pass each other. The others still have quite a bit of running ahead of them. I'll be done soon. I only have to jog once around the pond, through the little copse and back to my car. And then, I'll enjoy a nice, long soak in the bathtub, just me, a mug of cocoa, and some chocolate. Plenty of chocolate. What a great way to spend Valentine's Day. No bloody parties, noisy jokes, and stupid pimply blokes in various states of drunkenness trying to feel you up. No bad booze, loud music, and throbbing headaches the next day. And certainly, no waking up next to somebody you never met before in your life.

Well, with Garth it sort of worked. But not for long. Since we broke up last autumn, I've steered clear of men, and focussed on my thesis.

Am I virtuous, or what?

Slap, slap, slap. The pond comes into view, and the trail twists along until it hits the shore. By now, my breath is searing my throat; I have to slow down.

I really should have exercised more in winter, shouldn't be huffing and puffing like that. At almost fifty, mum is a lot fitter than me. How bloody embarrassing is that?

The car park isn't far anymore, just another ten minutes I promise myself as I trot along the shores of the pond. It's such a beautiful place in spring, summer, and autumn. During the season, the little Japanese pavilion at the far end serves green tea, sake, and sushi, and there's nothing better than sitting on the sunlit wooden deck with the girls, having a good natter and enjoying life.

But not at this time of the year and at this hour of the day. The surface of the water is a dark mirror, the mists are swirling in, and the pavilion huddles at the back, its graceful arched beams dripping and desolate. The windows are boarded up, the garden furniture stacked away, awaiting the real Spring.

By now, I'm only trotting, too tired for more, my calves aching. I stop to rub them and look out over the water where the mists are rising and falling like translucent swans about to lift off and fly to the heavens. Among them bobs something red. It glitters, catching the last rays of the setting sun.

A balloon. A heart-shaped red Valentine balloon.

Blast, even here I can't escape. Valentine's Day is everywhere. With a grimace, I force myself to move again. The sweat is cooling on my back, and the air is getting chillier by the minute. It feels as if the pond has sucked in winter and is now throwing it back into my face.

Time to go.

A soft breeze stirs the blond strands that have escaped from under my cap. I push them away and jog on. And here's the balloon, drifting across my path, carried along by the playful wind. For a moment, I wonder how the wind even got here. This place is protected by a ring of old fir trees, their feathery twigs shifting and shimmying as if alive.

Then I forget about the firs. The balloon is headed for the messy tangle of a wild rose. Balloons and thorns don't go so well together, I think, and dash across to catch it, just before the poor thing impales itself on the hedge.

I hold the big heart-shaped bubble in my hands. Cherry-red, the balloon twinkles the words "Happy Valentine" at me. Odd though, that something made of foil or whatever they use for balloons these days should feel so—warm. Soft almost, like velvet.

And alive.

Rubbish, balloons are not alive, I think when something tickles my cheeks and a bright light flashes into my eyes.

I look up at a snowstorm.

No, hang on. Not a snowstorm. Gazillions of white and pink cherry blossoms are drifting across the path, the lake, and the Japanese pavilion. The pond is no longer rimmed with firs. Instead, there are rows and rows of cherry trees that send their lace-like flowers into an air filled with the fragrance of roses. Balmy and soothing, the place rings with birdsong, and above me spans a bright blue sky where cheerful little clouds trundle across the heavens.

I stand and stare. I'm no longer sweaty and cold. Instead, I feel clean and warm. And happy somehow. So happy, I can't suppress a giggle.

How stupid is that?

I giggle again.

"Welcome, my bride," says a mellow male voice so close to me, I startle.

The voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chilly drafts of earlier. No, those are gone. That male voice is rich and deep and smooth like chocolate, and it trickles into the regions south of my navel. A delicious tingle sends butterflies into my chest.

Who am I talking to? And what did he just say?

I swing around—and stumble. Somehow, my trainers have morphed into odd wooden flip-flops on stilts. Or something like that, anyway. I can't work things out, for I'm no longer wearing leggings and a jogging fleece but some longish garment with a train. The thing is made of a stiff fabric and embroidered all over with birds and flowers and stuff. It's stunning and it rustles as I move. I trace the outline of one bird and the fabric feels like silk. The real McCoy, not the fake, cheap stuff. But the whole thing is also bloody heavy. Come to think of it, there's also something heavy on my head. I reach up. A hat of some sort, oversized and roundish.

I don't do hats. What the heck is going on here? Somehow, I manage to manoeuvre myself into a full turn and face the young man waiting on the path. He is tall with broad shoulders, but he too wears the most outrageous long robe. A skirt with formal grey folds, under a black vest, a loose jacket with oversized arms on top. Some white medallion dangles on his broad chest.

I look into his eyes, almond-shaped, they are deep and dark like pools. I could drown in them. Above them, dark eyebrows span a graceful bridge. My gaze slips to his lips, red and firm like cherries. They don't smile, but he has cute dimples in the corner of his mouth. The whole man is drop-dead gorgeous. When he moves, as he does now, coming closer and closer, he does so with the ease and grace of a ballet dancer. The only thing I don't like, is the long, curved sword dangling from his side.

Even sheathed, it looks dangerous, like a coiled snake.

He still doesn't smile. His intense gaze never leaves me. His hands, slim and slender and white, like the cherry blossoms, reach for my cheeks. His touch is flower-light, and it still shakes me to the core.

"Who are you," I croak. I clear my throat. "Sorry. Who are you?"

"Your bridegroom." He bows from the hip. "Akechi Mitsunari. What is your name?"

He's what? "Uh, I'm Natalie. Natalie Bowen. Eh, what did you just say?"

He stands still and observes me with this unnerving gaze that seems to drill right through my clothes, to the smooth skin below.

I shiver again.

"Today is the one day in the year when I can reach out for a bride. You accepted my gift, you will now live in my world with me. Happy ever after." He smiles. He looks fiendishly attractive when he does.

Standing on these wooden shoes is bloody uncomfortable, so I shift, accompanied by a silken rustle. This is the moment when I realise that there might be a lot of skirts and fabric and things, but I'm no longer wearing any underwear.

There's a strange glitter in the young man's eyes, and I wonder if he can read my thoughts.

"Gift? You mean the balloon?" The balloon is still in my hands, and I raise it at him.

He nods and moves even closer. A spicy, citrusy scent reaches my nostrils that quiver like a bunny's. I feel all dizzy and hyped up, ready to swoon. He will catch me in his strong arms, I know that. I want him to. Want to lose myself in the hardness of his body, hidden under all these clothes...

I never swoon.

Oh shit. The chilled spider legs of fear race down my spine. Something is really, really wrong.

I need to get out of here. Pronto.

He—what was his name, Akechi? is up to something. I might be mad, but I don't think so. The guy is as real as his sword. I stumble backwards. He follows me. "You don't need to fear me," he says, sounding amused. "I will look after you well, my precious."

He sounds like Gollum with his ring. But Akechi is so beautiful. So strong and manly. I long to rip off that long gown of his. To mould myself against his masculine chest.

I shake myself. That's not me, thinking these thoughts. If I stay here any longer, I'll really lose myself.

But he is so handsome, wails a voice in my head. So—perfect.

Yeah, well, that's not the most essential thing in a relationship, is it?

Swift, like a cobra strikes, Akechi grabs my wrist, lifts it to his lips and kisses the tips of my fingers.

Gazillions of butterflies dance in my stomach. I try to tell him to go away, but all I get out is a feeble "Ugh".

"We will be together for all eternity," Akechi says soothingly.

I don't find that soothing. Well, one part of me doesn't. The rest is all melting into a mush. If this goes on any longer, the real me will be gone soon.

We can't have that.

"No," I say.

He frowns. "What do you mean, no?"

"I'm not your bride. I can't stay with you. Sorry. Won't work."

The frown in his deepens. "It has always worked before."

Briefly, I wonder what happened to his other brides. I don't want to find out the hard way.

Will all the force I have left in my trembling arms, I squeeze the balloon. I dig my fingernail into the foil—and pierce it.

The air whooshes out.

"No!" Akechi wails.

The white blossoms race around me like a frothy mini-tornado. Warm first, then colder and colder. The light fades, leaving nothing but darkness behind.

I'm alone on the shores of the pond. Chilly, breathless and reeling with the wild thoughts in my mind.

What happened just now?

Did I dream this?

I stare at the deflated balloon. From somewhere drifts a rosy fragrance, accompanied by a single cherry blossom.

Then, that too is gone.

I search for the Japanese pavilion, but darkness has fallen, and the structure is only a lump at the shore of the pond.

It is cold, and I start moving with a heavy heart.

Did I kill Akechi? He must have been some sort of ghost. People say the pavilion was an original from Japan, hundreds of years old. It got reconstructed in the park. Somehow, the builders must have given a roaming soul a new home. Not such a harmless soul, come to think of it.

At that moment, the park lights come on.

"Wait," somebody calls behind me.

I whirl around, and there stands Akechi. Only, he no longer wears this kimono or whatever the darn thing was. He's wearing jeans, trainers and a hoodie, like any normal person.

He comes closer. He's still a very handsome man, but no longer so freaking gorgeous. The dangerous glitter is gone.

And the sword.

He bows. "I'm forever in your debt," he says.

"Uh, why?"

"You freed me. You said no. You burst the bubble that kept me tied to this structure." He points at the pavilion. "Nobody else dared."

I look into his dark eyes, glittering with tears. "Thank you," he whispers.

Somewhere in my chest, the butterflies flutter again. "What are you going to do? Where are you going to stay?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I'm a warrior. Or was. I'll find a way."

I have released a ghost. How freaky is that? How did he get into such a fix? So many questions and no answers. And why do I even care? But I know why. Blast, now I feel responsible for him.

But there's one thing I need to know. "What happened to your other brides?"

Now he smiles. "I let them go, After the wedding night, of course. They forgot all about me. The curse left me with enough wriggling room for that." I like the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.

In fact, I like the whole man. This time, for real. And I can't just let him stand in the woods. It's freezing out here. I wrap my arms around myself.

"You can tell me the whole story. We'll work something out."

"Are you sure?"

"We can try."

"I would very much like that." He bows.

I giggle. Then I bow back. "I do too." I really do.

I reach out. "Come on, let's go." He puts his hand in mine, shy like a toddler.

Together, we leave the park, and together we walk into a new life.

Happy Valentine's day to all of you. And promise me, you'll watch out for strangers in the woods... 

***************

Lina Hansen writes cozy mysteries with a romantic subplot. Or Romantic Mysteries. All with a dash of magic, a dollop of humour, and all fizzing with action. When she doesn't do that, she eats way too much chocolate and cuddles her cat.

She lives in the foothills of Castle Frankenstein with hubby and is a communication specialist by profession. Her debut novel, a totally revamped version of "In My Attic" will launch on 1 July 2020. Read more from Lina here