Dear Stranger by Elise K Ackers

Chapter One
    Summer in Melbourne had called in sick. Winter had stepped in like a bad-tempered substitute teacher, unexpected and impatient, and shaken up the program. Reese Ahearn wished things were different. If there was ever a day that should burn gold with sunshine, it was this day. Now was not the time for the rain and the grey — not when there were so many fragile hearts out there.
    The recent downpour had darkened the concrete footpaths, the sky was bruised with a building storm, and the wind that rolled between the buildings was cold and obnoxious. Reese saw echoes of this in the hunched shoulders and tight lips of chilled commuters and tourists.
    But there were those who were immune. They walked along in a dream, lost in recollections or expectations, the weather kept at bay, unable to touch or affect. These people smiled smiles of love. Some even carried tokens of it — Valentine’s flowers, stuffed toys, envelopes containing sweet verses, confessions or thanks.
    These were not the hearts that Reese sought. The people she was looking for carried no such smile or token, nor the promise of either.
    By day’s end, a dozen people would have a little piece of her heart. Perhaps it wasn’t the heart they longed for, but hers was a willing one.
    Dressed for the occasion, Reese was a shock of colour on the subdued street. The bust of her dress was red and the lower half white. Just below her breasts the block of colour broke apart into tumbling hearts, which fell and pooled around the hem. The pockets of her long, red coat were stuffed with envelopes, none of which bore her name. Because these letters were not for her.
    Reese didn’t know who they were for.
    Each boasted the same sentence: If you’ve found me, I’m yours .
    Ian Mitchell had half an hour to revamp his attitude. Storm clouds belonged outside, not over the heads of singles, and there would be people at work waiting for him to return their smiles when they recounted their romantic mornings.
    Coffee. Coffee was the first step to improving his mood. A special someone would be better, but unfortunately one of those couldn’t be ordered and delivered as quickly as a cappuccino.
    Ian’s regular café was decorated with hearts and rosebuds. A plastic cupid hung from the ceiling vent, turning a slow circle, aiming its arrowhead whichever way the warm air-conditioning nudged it. At the moment it was pointed towards a woman who matched the décor. Near her was a couple whispering sweet words to one another over salt and pepper shakers, and beside them, a man with a glossy new paperback and an espresso. He was using a Valentine’s Day card as a bookmark.
    Ian was sure there were other single people in the city, but they certainly weren’t here. The scent of romance rivalled that of ground coffees beans and frothed milk. It was just shy of overbearing, and one that was only likely to thicken as the day progressed. He thought of the recent rain and the light, salubrious smell of ozone, and wished to rejoin it.
    The line progressed slowly.
    His aimless gaze returned to the woman sitting in the far corner. She seemed vaguely familiar. The poster-girl for coupled bliss despite the absence of a smile. Her romantic dress was so apt, he couldn’t decide if it was cliché or novel. She had a mug lifted to her lips, and watched the room over the rim of it. There was a single envelope on the table by her elbow and from time to time, she looked down as if to check it was still there.
    He wondered if it was for her or from her, if it contained a few simple lines, or if it were a letter.
    He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written one of those. Wasn’t certain he ever had. But her obvious preoccupation with it made him think it might be something worth doing one day, for someone worth doing it for.
    When it was his turn at the counter, he decided not to take his coffee to go. Instead he lingered, watching the loved-up woman in the corner. And when he took a