The power of Eina compelled me. Belated Happy Valentine's...?
"Happy Valentine's, baby."
"Oh. It's you."
He doesn't give you chocolates or roses. There are no (sickeningly) sweet poems with bad rhymes. There is not a single trace of the festive pink or red. There is only a chipped, ceramic plate containing a half-eaten apple pie and that damnable smile on his face (which you think—but will never admit it out loud—is adorable).
"I come bearing gifts."
He presents it to you with much flourish and ceremony. Outwardly, you are composed, bored and uninterested.
Inwardly, you are flushed, excited and everything but uninterested.
"Okay, I admit, I may have eaten some of it—"
"Some constitutes as half in your vocabulary, I guess."
"It's not my fault! Mom never told me it was for you and your family. And it was calling out to me. The apple pie was calling out to me. You do not ignore the call of dessert, ever."
The exchange takes no more than 30 seconds. Once he has delivered to you the piece of dessert he smiles a goodbye (and winks! Does he not realize, how detrimental he is to your health?), crosses the street, and you are left on your own.
And you bite your lip, and you almost sink in to the floor, and you want to hug the half-eaten apple pie to your chest like it's the greatest Valentine gift ever. (Because it actually is, you know. The greatest Valentine ever.)