Random Stories

CINNAMON HEART 

 PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF LOST LOVE  

A Valentine Flash Mystery 

People think a private investigator spends her days chasing cheaters or snapping photos from behind a snowbank. Not me. I am Cinnamon Heart, PI of lost love. I help people find their way back to each other when the spark has slipped through their fingers like cold February light. 

Her name was Louisa and her fiancé seemed to have lost interest. That was how she said it, sitting across from me in my tiny office above the florist on Main Street. The whole place smelled like roses and wet mittens. She twisted a heart shaped locket between her fingers while snowflakes drifted past the window like lazy confetti. 

“He used to leave me little notes,” she said. “Now he barely looks up from his phone.” 

I nodded. Valentine’s week is my busiest season. Love goes missing more often than wallets. 

I started with the basics. Follow the fiancé, observe, listen, look for the quiet things people do when they think no one is watching. His name was Daniel. He worked at the hardware store, the one with the giant red heart taped to the door every February. 

For three days I watched him. Not in a creepy way. More like a guardian angel with a good coat and a thermos of peppermint tea. He was distracted, yes, but not in the way Louisa feared. He kept ducking into shops, talking to people, scribbling in a notebook. He bought ribbon, candles, a tiny brass key, and a stack of pink envelopes. 

On the fourth day he did something that made my own heart pinch. He stood in the middle of the snowy sidewalk, pulled out his phone, and whispered, “I hope she likes it.” 

That was not the voice of a man losing interest. That was the voice of a man terrified of disappointing the woman he loved. 

I followed him to the community hall. Inside, volunteers were stringing paper hearts from the rafters. Daniel slipped behind a curtain. I waited until he left, then stepped inside. 

The room was transformed. Fairy lights. A path of rose petals. A table set for two with mismatched china and a single candle. On the wall, a banner painted by hand: Louisa, my heart has never wandered. 

I felt my throat tighten. I am a professional, but I am not made of stone. 

I found Daniel outside, brushing snow off his coat. 

“You are planning something beautiful,” I said. 

He startled, then sighed. “I wanted to propose again. Properly this time. She thinks I am drifting away. I am only trying to make it perfect.” 

“Perfection is overrated,” I said. “Honesty is not.” 

That evening I brought Louisa to the hall. She hesitated at the door, then stepped inside. Her breath caught. Daniel emerged from behind the curtain, holding the brass key. 

“It is the key to the place I first realised I loved you,” he said. “I thought if I recreated it, you would feel it too.” 

Louisa burst into tears, the good kind. They fell into each other’s arms. 

I slipped out quietly. My work was done. 

On Valentine’s night, I walked home through the snow, feeling the warm glow that comes from watching two people find their way back. Love is not a mystery to be solved. It is a light to be tended and I am happy to help keep the flame.