The cold gust of wind blew hard as I walked around the corner toward the front doors of the quaint brick downtown post office. I knew it would be busy, with only a week before Christmas. I was there for stamps and hoped the lines would be shorter this early in the morning. I heard the sound of cardboard boxes tumbling behind me as I approached the post office front doors. "Aagh!" a frustrated woman's voice cried out immediately after. Natural reaction spun me around to help. A tall woman stood next to her car parked at the curb in front of the post office. Her arms were filled with two large boxes. Two medium sized boxes were strewn on the sidewalk and a small one next to her feet in between the open BMW convertible passenger door and the car.
"Can I help you?" I offered.
"I thought I could get them all."
"I'd be glad to carry some in for you"
"You don't mind?" she asked, relieved but wondering if she could trust this stranger.
"Not at all," I said. "I am on my way in too."
"I should have realized it was too much to carry," she confessed. "It took me two trips to get it all in the car."
I picked up the boxes as she stepped on to the sidewalk. After retrieving the small box, I closed her car door and we headed for the line that had already begun to form inside. We both put our stack of boxes on the counter island next to the queue. The return address on the boxes revealed her name as Grace.
"Thanks again," she said, feeling a little uncomfortable at the undeserved kindness of this stranger.
My first complete glance of her caught me by surprise. She was stunningly captivating, no longer concealed by her boxes. I was taken in by her large dark eyes as our stares locked for a magical moment. Her bright warm smile, offset by her light ebony skin, revealed more than her words. She was a tall slender 5' 10", wearing a navy blue Adidas sweat suit. The white line down the side of her sweatpants accentuated her long legs.
"No problem," I said, "I was glad to help. By the size of this line I wouldn't have gone anywhere quickly anyway."
"Well, thank you. You should at least be in front of me in line."
"That's OK," I said, "ladies first."
"That's very nice, but you have already done so much. You deserve to be in front."
"Thank you, but for me ladies always come first."
"But," she tried to interrupt.
"I think the whole idea of deserving is over rated," I persisted. "Kindness is a gift -- the moment it deserves or comes with strings attached, the gift is lost."
"That is so sexy," she muttered under her breath.
"Excuse me?"
"I've never thought of it that way," she said. "There is always some kind of string attached -- especially this time of year."
"Ironic, isn't it? I think a gift is something with no strings attached -- unless it has a bow to be untied," I said with a smile.
"That's hard for me. I am not used to that." Her discomfort showed as she unknowingly began her nervous habit of playing with the zipper on the front of her sweat suit.
"Bows?"
"No," she said allowing the humor to break the awkwardness, "to receive without feeling obligated."
"It is better to give than to receive -- but it is harder sometimes to just receive."
"It is for me. I feel like I owe them something -- like I owe you something. I should at least let you be in front of me in line."
The line in front of us moved forward a step. "Receive the gift, ladies first."
"Thank you," she said conceding with another of her warm smiles. "You are a gentleman and very nice," inadvertently glancing down my body as she turned to step forward in line.
The line moved at its slow predictable speed, allowing me to quietly enjoy the view in front of me. Grace was well proportioned and fit. The white lines of her Adidas sweat jacket invited my eyes down the line of her pants to her white Adidas tennis shoes. "Mmm," I thought, "she does a lot to generate brand loyalty!" She left the zipper of her jacket a third of the way down, exposing some of her bulging cleavage. Her beauty and subtle floral perfume captivated my attention.
"Next please," called out from the counter interrupted my daze. Grace grabbed her two large boxes and placed them in front of the clerk. She turned around and picked up the other three, offering me a wink and a smile. "Thanks again," she said, then turned to deliver her remaining boxes to the clerk.
Two or three minutes passed as she assigned different values to the boxes and made the customary decisions of insurance and return receipts. "That will be fifty two dollars and seventy five cents," the clerk volunteered after his calculations. Grace reached for her purse and realized she didn't have it. "Oh no," she said, "I must have left my purse in the car. I was so frazzled with all my boxes. I am so embarrassed. Can I run outside real fast? My car is just outside." I saw the look of panic and mortification on her face. The crowd in line was visibly impatient as they watched. She promised, "I will be right back," halfway saying it to the clerk, the other half to reassure those in line.
Grace ran out to her car, almost slipping on the ice at the base of the outside steps. I watched out the window as she looked into the front passenger window of her car, then her back window. She began to look more frantic. She pulled her car keys out of her sweat pants pocket and opened the front passenger door. She bent over, crawled in and began a panicked search.
I quietly stepped up to the clerk at the counter. "I am sorry sir," he said frustrated, "I need to wait to complete the transaction with the woman who was just here before I can assist you. She ran out to her car to get her wallet."
"I know," I said, "it doesn't look like she is having very much luck out there. I would like to purchase 100 Christmas stamps and pay for her packages as well."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "That is awfully nice of you."
"Please," I said, "I would like to have it done before she gets back."
"That will be ninety one seventy five," he said. I swiped my Visa quickly and began to make my way toward the exit that served the P.O. boxes. "Wait," the clerk called out with a puzzled look, "What do I tell her?"
"Tell her it is a gift," I replied, "no strings attached."
As I pulled out of the back exit of the side parking lot, I saw Grace in my rear view mirror. She was standing at the corner of the building hurriedly looking around, not knowing where I had gone or what kind of car I might be driving. She looked beautiful with her black hair blowing in the cold wind. I smiled as I pulled into traffic. It felt good that a small act of anonymous kindness turned a bad day into a good one for a beautiful creature -- with no strings attached.
Chapter Two
The image of Grace standing in the parking lot with her beautiful large eyes and dark hair blowing in the wind provided wonderful daydreaming distractions throughout the morning at work. As enjoyable as the "pay it forward" moment was, the hardest part was knowing I would never see her again. It was a chance encounter. The memory of the morning and of Grace faded with the intense year-end pressures that preoccupied the office this time of year.
I came back from lunch and found the first in a string of unusual surprises, a red rose delivered from a local florist to my desk. I opened the small envelope with my name on it. The card inside was simple and white with only a red heart hand drawn in the center. I quickly looked around to see who might be watching. There was no one. My mind raced to think of who would have sent a random red rose. Was there an office Secret Santa, or admirer?
Late in the afternoon, my office telephone rang.
"Mr. Cadeau?" the voice on the other end asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"I am the Maitre d' of Chez Bienveillance. I am calling to confirm your 7:30 dinner reservation tonight."
