Accidental Valentine with Ada

Her date is a bust, but when you show up at her door, your chance meeting on Valentine’s Day could change everything.

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Once Upon a Valentine’s Day…

Ada adjusted her pea coat as she stood outside the Lagoon Cinema, the humid heat of the theater replaced by the biting Minneapolis wind. The date with Brett had been a catastrophe of specific, boring proportions. Ginger’s "miracle setup" had spent forty minutes of Princess Mononoke illuminated by the blue light of his phone, scrolling through gambling apps. When the Great Forest Spirit appeared, Brett had leaned over to whisper, "Is this the part where they fight the Pokémon?"

Ada ended it right there, right on the sidewalk. A fake migraine, a swift "goodnight," and a lonely Uber ride back to the rented house in Uptown while he barely looked up from his screen to wave.

Now, she was home, the silence of the house weighing ten tons. Ginger was out at some warehouse rave and Sophie was at a silent film screening. Ada, meanwhile, was a 5'11" monument to Valentine’s Day failure. She peeled off her date clothes, tossing the skirt aside, and pulled on a pair of form-fitting black yoga pants and an oversized, cropped cream hoodie that slipped down one of her shoulders and teased a glimpse of her toned midriff, the soft fleece a small comfort against her doom and gloom headspace.

Twenty-seven, a Master’s degree, and I’m alone my own house on Valentine’s Day.

Her thick, dark curls spilled out of a messy, half-assed bun as she leaned against the kitchen counter. She felt "too much" again—too tall for the tiny seats at the theater, too invested in a "cartoon," too much for guys like Brett or her cheating disaster of an ex, Tripp. Tripp had at least liked anime, right before he decided he liked the girl in his lit seminar more.

She reached for a bottle of Malbec. Pop.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” she toasted the empty living room. She poured a glass, the irony of the "lonely spinster" trope hitting her with the subtlety of a soccer ball to the face. She reached into her bag for her phone to text her baby brother Diogo, but her hand met empty space.

No phone. No wallet.

Great. Just perfect.

She must have dropped it at the theater.