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she found herself surrounded by people buying flowers for their loved ones. This really was the worst day of the year to be alone. Maybe she should have hung onto Peter for a few more days.
    When she finally made it to the front of the line, she deliberated for a moment. Roger might be forgetful, but Marilyn deserved to know how much he loved her. So, instead of the conventional red roses, Anne chose the kind of exotic flowers Marilyn loved and asked the florist to create a special arrangement in a classy ceramic vase. She picked a card with a romantic message and wished she’d thought to have Roger write a personal note. Even more, she wished Valentine’s Day would soon be over.
    When she got back to the office, she was stunned to find flowers on her desk. These weren’t red roses either, but a lovely arrangement of early spring blooms—hyacinths, tulips, and baby daffodils—in a bed of moss, all in a woven basket. Who on earth? Was Peter trying to get back together?
    If so, would she take him, just for tonight?
    No, of course not. Lonely she might be, but not manipulative.
    She ripped open the tiny envelope. The handwritten message read: “For my special girl, on a special day. Love always, Tony.”
    Her mouth fell open. How darned sweet—for the special girl who knew Tony. As for her, alas, there were no Tonys in her life.
    “Wow! Gorgeous flowers.” Carol, her assistant, paused in front of Anne’s desk. “Who are they from?”
    “Tony.” Anne shook her head. “And before you ask, it’s a case of mistaken identity. I have to find the person these are really meant for.”
    “I’d be more inclined to find the guy who sent them!”
    “Don’t I wish,” Anne agreed. She had a sense that Tony, unlike Peter, was a keeper. The kind of man who appreciated a woman and let her know it.
    Fortunately, the gift card had the florist’s name on it. Anne phoned and explained the problem.
    “So sorry for the mix-up,” a harassed female voice said. “Valentine’s Day is a nightmare.”
    “You can say that again,” Anne muttered.
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing. Can you check your records? The arrangement is quite distinctive.”
    She described it, and the girl said, “I remember. We made that one up specially. Let me just . . . Oh, yes, the sender is Tony d’Amato. Where did you say they ended up?”
    “With Anne Damian, the fourth floor of the Metro Tower.”
    “That explains it. They’re supposed to go to Anita d’Amato on the thirty-fourth floor. The delivery man must have misread the order. I’ll have him go back and pick them up.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ll hop on the elevator and take them up.” Today it seemed to be Anne’s mission to help other people’s Valentine’s Days go smoothly.
    With some regret, she carefully lifted the arrangement, went out, and buzzed for an elevator. When it came, two men were inside. Both wore the usual dark suits, but where one looked like any other businessman, the other had an air of masculine vitality with his curly dark hair, tanned face, and broad shoulders. He grinned. “You’ve got an armful. What floor do you want?”
    “Thirty-four.” How friendly—not to mention charming and sexy—his smile was.
    He studied the flowers more carefully. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet you were from the florist.”
    She laughed. “You’d lose. I’m an interior designer.”
    He’d been frowning slightly, looking puzzled, but now his gaze left the flowers, and his warm brown eyes focused on her face. “Really? I’m in the home renovation business.”
    The elevator pinged, and she was glad when the other man got out.
    “Renovations? Gee, I’d have expected overalls and a tool belt.”
    “That’s my normal uniform. But today’s special. I’m taking my mother for lunch.”
    “That’s sweet.” This man looked to be another keeper, like Tony. Settle down , he’s bound to be married. A handsome, sexy, considerate guy like this couldn’t possibly still