For a woman who was normally too busy mentally adding and subtracting numbers, checking off to-do lists and managing my tasks in my head, I was thinking too much about love today.

Probably because at twenty-five, I'm now the same age my mother was when she married my father. And today was their thirty-year anniversary. Well, it won't actually be until tomorrow here in Canada because the Philippines was almost a day ahead.

Thirty-years ago, my mother promised her love and loyalty to one man—a good man because my father was devoted and kind—and as romantic as that all seemed, it occurred to me that nothing of that sort was happening in my life at this moment.

I had no love story of my own.

I had to remind myself that I wasn't unhappy.

To be honest, I had no reason to be.

It was about two and a half years after I boarded the plane to Edmonton, temporarily leaving behind my family and friends, and my own dreams, so that I could ensure that both my younger siblings could make it through college. And so far, they've done their part. Abigail earned her teaching degree a year ago and just started her first full-time job at the local high school back home. Luis was going to be a nurse and he was graduating in a little over three months. I could wrap up the last few months I had left of my contract and finally go home.

Or you can stay another year and see what life brings you. Maybe, in thirty years, your daughter will be happily celebrating your own wedding anniversary.

I shook the thought away as I got off the bus at the end of the block and started my way to the bank.

For the past week, I'd been racking my brain with a decision I couldn't seem to make—and I usually made up my mind quickly. My boss, Dolores, offered to extend my employment for another year. That extra year had never been part of my initial plans and for all my detailed planning, I didn't know what to do with that opportunity. I had some time before the paperwork needed to be started and today was a good day to put it off just a little bit longer.

My steps had a little bounce to them when I approached CIBC. My bank account was going to feel much lighter after today's global money transfer but I was excited to part with this money, knowing my parents wouldn't be expecting it at all. It was just a little extra I'd saved on the side from tips and a few shifts I'd picked up. Every dollar I'd sent home was spent prudently on my siblings' tuition and other important emergencies. This would be a gift.

The teller patiently waited as I withdrew a wad of neatly folded bills from my wallet and counted each one. This was all my tips this week and it was just enough to cover the rest of the amount I needed.

Because I couldn't resist, I smiled at the teller as she processed the global money transfer and said to her, "It's for my parents. I'm hoping they can finally go to Baguio once and for all."

The teller—Maricris according to her name tag—looked up and smiled broadly. She was Filipino and she understood every single word I said in Tagalog and she responded in kind. "It's the perfect time to go. It's going to be cooler and strawberry season is in full swing."

I laughed. "My father hates being cold—although he probably doesn't know the real meaning of cold like you and I do living here in winter city—but he would love the strawberries. And the sights. And he'd love the smile on my mother's face."

The woman's smile softened. "Your parents are very lucky to have you."

I shrugged. "I'd like to think I'm the lucky one."

Ten minutes later, I made my way out of the bank and texted my mother to let her know that a small surprise was on its way to them. She would see it in the morning when she woke up.

"Hey, Diana. I was just about to call you," Marilou's greeting in Tagalog came on the line as I sat inside the small bus shelter waiting for my next ride. Marilou was the routing manager of Prestige Services, the small cleaning company where I worked. It was owned by Dolores Barrowman, a Filipina, along with her husband, Harry. There were a lot of Filipinos on the staff because Dolores mainly looked after the hiring. She was the reason I got this gig with little trouble. She was my aunt's best friend in high school.

"Really? Do you have any new shifts I could do this afternoon?" I asked, mentally outlining my schedule. I used to spend two afternoons a week cleaning a bingo hall with a couple other people but since it shut down permanently a week ago, I haven't been reassigned anything new yet. I was still getting my base salary but the tips and the overtime helped a lot. I could use the extra cash to replenish what I'd just sent home today.

"Rowena finally resigned this morning. She said she's going home to her kids for good," Marilou said, referring to one of our more tenured staff who'd been having so much trouble with her rheumatism lately. "So I have a couple of her houses unassigned. Thought I'd give one to you. The other one conflicts with that accounting office you look after in the mornings."

I practically sang my thank-you to Marilou and gave her air-kisses over the phone until she burst into giggles before hanging up. I checked the name and address she'd texted me right after, along with the details of this specific job.

It was for a lawyer named David Kemble and the address was in a wealthy neighborhood. I was to clean three times a week on an MWF schedule, early in the afternoon. Very promising. Three times a week for a house was a little more than the average but if he could afford it, why should I complain?

I boarded the bus back to the small, cozy office of Prestige Services at the end of an old strip mall and grabbed the keys. I hopped right back on the bus that eventually dropped me off at the end of the block of a gated neighborhood. At the gatehouse, I punched in the security code before walking a few blocks down, passing large, beautiful homes until I reached the end of Thorncliffe Lane. A very modern house—mostly glass and steel—sat perched on a thickly-wooded ravine that overlooked the vast river valley that ran across Edmonton.

It wasn't enormous but it looked intimidating, which said a lot about its owner.

I walked up the long, curving driveway and stood just outside the door for a moment. Marilou told me the owner worked long hours and wasn't home for most of the day—which gave me some flexibility on when to come over depending on where else I was scheduled to clean that day. The house was dark inside and clearly empty. For some reason, I just knew that this Mr. David Kemble lived all by himself in what seemed like a beautiful but very lonely-looking home.

I let myself in, leaving my winter boots, jacket and backpack by the front hall. I found the switches and lit up the place before taking my time to tour the two spacious levels. It resembled a museum more than someone's home with everything so neat and luxuriously yet sparsely furnished. There weren't even any picture frames to put a face to the man's name. I was only assured of the fact that someone lived in it because the bed covers were a bit wrinkled in one of the three bedrooms, there were a few items of food in the fridge, and the office looked like it'd seen more hours from its inhabitant than anywhere else in the house.

It wasn't going to take much to whip this place up into shape, especially if I could clean it on a regular basis. It wasn't going to be too much work for something that paid a little more since Marilou told me this client signed up for one of our premium service levels. I started thinking of how much extra money I could save but I quickly caught myself.

Get to work, Robles. Count your chickens after the eggs hatch.

So I did—get to work, I mean—happily.

The first time I cleaned some stranger's toilet, years ago, I cried—full gasping sobs and all.

I guess that was when it hit me that the life I'd suddenly found myself in wasn't the one I'd planned to have.

The next day, I buckled up, got back to work and never looked back.

The first few visits went without incident. I tidied up according to my usual routine, spending a little bit more time in the office where more work was needed.

David—because Mr. Kemble just sounded too formal in my brain—didn't just work long hours at his work office. He went home every day and continued those long hours probably well into the night. There were always papers and folders cluttered on his desk which I didn't touch.There were also at least four nearly empty cups of coffee each time I came in. Pens turned up in all kinds of places in the office. Considering neither his pantry nor fridge contained a lot of food, I suspected the man only survived on black coffee and caramel hard candies. There were always at least twenty of those plastic wrappers cluttered around his desk. Eversince I found a few bags of the same candy in the pantry, I always made sure his little glass bowl in the office was refilled and a fresh pot of coffee waited in the kitchen. There was always a generous tip sitting by the kitchen counter so things were going splendidly.

Until that first note.

It was a pale yellow square stuck on the mesh trash can that stood in a corner of the office. It used to be a few feet away from his desk until I moved it on my last visit.

Why did you move the trash can? -D

My first instinct was to reply even though I knew it was safer not to. But considering he took a few seconds of his precious time away from work to write me a note, it meant he was genuinely interested.

There's always way too much crumpled paper around it. Thought if I moved it a little, your shots would improve in accuracy. -D (but for Diana)

It crossed my mind after I left that day that I'd gone too far.

But there was another note the next day.

So I just have to improve my odds and not my skills. -D (for David)

Nothing wrong with that. Use whatever you have at your disposal. -Diana

Doesn't feel like a true win. -David

Life doesn't always let you win. Sometimes, you have to go and take your victories where you can. -Diana

And so it began that way.

A simple question about the trash can first led to philosophies about life and then to the random things that made up that life each day.

Where's the blue sweater I left on the armchair? -David

Hanging in your closet. The cheese is expired so don't eat it. I left you a coupon with $5 off for a new one. -Diana

There's a baby cactus plant on my desk. It looks ugly and it probably won't live past a week. -David

I'm taking care of the cactus so it will see a long, full life. Not that it wants to at this point since you called it ugly. -Diana

I will not apologize to the cactus. And a little self-acceptance will only make it stronger in life. -David

Why can't the cactus just live in blissful ignorance? -Diana

Because it's a cactus and I don't think it cares as much as we do. -David

You should write a grocery list and I'll take it to the store. I'll probably even cook you something—I'm a good cook. Man can't live on coffee, caramel candies and canned ham alone. -Diana

This man will have to since he can't cook. -David

It's a week before Christmas and the whole street is lit up. Do you celebrate it? -Diana

I thought Christmas was still three weeks away. Thought I had time. -David

I found the Christmas tree in the basement with a box of decorations. Hope you don't mind that I put it together. -Diana

The tree looks lovely. Thank you for the card. -David

Thank you for the box of chocolates. My waistline doesn't share the sentiment. -Diana

It went on like that for about two months, except Christmas and New Year which were days I didn't work. Before we could figure out what we were really doing, we'd exchanged over two dozen sticky notes. We didn't leave it at one note a visit either—we'd write each other several ones scattered around the house.

We developed an odd kind of friendship—definitely not a very professional one—but I couldn't find it in me to stop writing.

It was harmless—until it wasn't.

One big snowfall swept the city late into winter. I was done cleaning but I saw on my phone that several bus routes—including mine—were cancelled due to bad roads. Taking a cab would be very expensive and there was also about a two-hour wait time for them anywhere in the city. I could call Edgar, one of my five roommates, to pick me up in his ancient sedan but he would be just starting his shift cleaning at an office downtown.

It was only quarter to four. David usually didn't get home until early evening. I could wait out the blizzard at least until the snow plows cleared the roads. I curled up in the big couch in David's office. It was my favorite place in the whole house—probably because it told me more about him than anything else. I needed a book to keep me busy but the entire wall of bookshelves only offered heavy law books so I wrote him a note.

Do you ever lose yourself in stories? Try it one day. -Diana

I picked out a thin hardbound featuring high-profile case studies related to media bodies.

It was actually starting to get interesting...

The first thing I realized when I opened my eyes was that the room was warm and I could hear the hiss and crackling of the fireplace.

I didn't light it but someone definitely did.

I glanced down and saw the large gray cashmere blanket covering my curled form. I remembered folding it neatly and draping it on the back of the wood and leather armchair—

My heart slammed in my chest when my eyes finally found that armchair—and the man sitting in it.

He was reading the book I'd picked out earlier, quietly turning a page as if there was nothing unusual about all of this.

David.

He looked nothing like I expected.

He was still mostly in his black business suit except for the jacket which he'd tossed on his desk. His tie was loosened and the top buttons of his white shirt were undone. Based on his long frame, he was probably just around six feet and lean enough to show no evidence of his very unhealthy diet. He had messy, dark blonde hair, his jaw square and shadowed with a day-old stubble.

When he finally looked up, tired but smiling blue eyes greeted me.

"Hey."

His voice was low and husky and made me think that he was a man who only spoke when there was something important to say. That didn't seem to match the man who'd been writing me silly notes the last two months. But somehow, as our gazes locked in place, I knew that we were both aware of exactly who the other person was.

"Hi," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I know this looks bad. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stayed—or slept on your couch—but I..."

"It's still heavily snowing outside. The drive home was a nightmare," he said casually, showing no sign of anger or disdain at finding his house cleaner stretched out like a queen on his couch. In fact, he was smiling a little. "The snow plows are out. Once the roads are better—and once you're better-rested—I'll drive you home."

I couldn't help grinning. "You know who I am, right?"

His eyes lit up, the exhaustion gone, and my heart sped up. "The mysterious Diana who's been running my life for the past two months one note at a time. I'm very glad to finally meet you. David Kemble—at your service."

I laughed. "You're not supposed to ever meet me."

David raised a brow. "Of course, I was."

He looked quite serious about it that I just laughed again. "If I knew that, I don't think I would've written you any of the notes that I did."

His expression softened with a broad smile this time. "And if you didn't, I would've never wanted to meet you. And that would've been a real shame."

I couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice or on his face but I couldn't take this conversation somewhere it might never return from.

"Not if you would've saved a whole stack of sticky notes," I said with a light shrug.

David closed the book and set it aside, his eyes now bright with amusement. "I'd buy more if it means I could add to my growing collection of your notes."

A warm, tender feeling expanded in my chest even as I tried to look horrified. "I will not be the reason for your destiny as a note-hoarder."

He burst out laughing, the rich, happy sound washing over me. He glanced back at me, his grin just crooked enough to give him a boyish charm. "Some things in life are worth keeping, Diana, no matter how unexpected."

I was about to blurt out that this—him and me and a snowstorm and over two dozen silly notes—was unexpected but something I couldn't keep. I'd be crazy to think otherwise.

But I didn't get a chance to speak because he suddenly stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "It's almost six. I don't know about you but I'm very hungry. And before you suggest the caramel candies, or canned ham—let me proudly inform you that I got some groceries yesterday based on the list you gave me."

"Finally!" I beamed and slid off the couch to follow him out of the office. "I know you go out a lot for dinner but it doesn't hurt to have something healthy to eat when you're home and hungry."

We technically only just met today but the familiarity between us that started over two months ago made it seem like we'd been doing this our whole lives. We said things we definitely would've written each other in notes, found the same things funny, and talked like we would never run out of things to talk about.

This wasn't typical me—I was all about the rules and the right thing—but I couldn't make myself care right at this moment.

An hour later, we were sitting at the breakfast nook, eating the last of the ham and cheese sandwiches we'd made.

"Do you ever get lonely here?" I blurted out a question I'd often ask aloud in his empty office whenever I find proof that David simply worked his life away.

"I'm used to it," he answered. "I was the only child of two people with very successful, demanding careers. I eventually learned to like my own company."

Without thinking, I reached out and touched his arm. "I grew up in a loud household with two younger siblings so I can't imagine what it must've been like for you being all by yourself. My family drives me crazy sometimes but I can't picture my life without them."

"Yet here you are, in a foreign country, thousands of miles away from them," he said.

It didn't take a genius to know that like many Filipino temporary workers in the country, I was here all on my own.

I smiled. "It's just physical distance. I'm here because of them so they're still very much a part of my life."

He studied me for a full moment, as if weighing his question, before finally asking it. "You speak and write English very well. Why clean houses?"

I raised a brow. "Because it's a job no one wants to do."

"But do you want to do it?"

I stared at him to see if he was making all kinds of assumption about me but he just looked genuinely curious.

I sighed softly. "No, not really. I wanted to be a journalist. I had my entire future planned out but as soon as I grew up, I learned that life has plans of its own."

"What happened?"

"My family always managed financially—my mother owned and ran a roadside eatery with an attached sari-sari store." He looked blank for a second and I grinned. "A sari-sari store is like a mini convenience store, usually found in residential neighborhoods. They sell everything from canned food to candy to dried fish—all through a large screened window."

"Interesting concept," he mumbled, smiling a little. "Keep going. I'll raise my hand to ask if I don't recognize something."

I rolled my eyes and continued. "My father drove his own taxi. We could afford school even though I earned my communication arts degree through a scholarship. And we probably would've continued to manage if my father didn't get into an accident that paralyzed him from the waist below. Healthcare there mostly came out of your own pocket. The hospital bills, the operation that did nothing to fix him—they drove my parents deep into debt. My world changed in an instant. Something was suddenly up to me to figure out. I looked for the easiest way to work abroad and earn a lot of money—even if it meant cleaning."

"You were probably still very young then."

"I was twenty-two, fresh out of college and working as an intern at a local paper," I said. "I wasn't making enough money. My parents' business could pay down the debts over time but there wasn't enough to keep my younger siblings in school. Abigail and Luis are good and smart kids. They deserve the chance to make something of themselves someday."

"I say you deserve the same thing yourself," David said but there was no judgement in his tone.

"And I agree. But I was the eldest," I replied. "I could wait for my turn. I'd have it someday soon."

I didn't tell David any of this for pity's sake. I told him because he wanted to know and because saying it out loud reinforced my reasons for the decisions I made.

But what I saw in his eyes wasn't pity.

There was actually a bit of pride there, along with a gentle smile as he reached forward and put a hand over my own.

"If there's one thing you truly deserve, Diana," he said softly. "It's the chance to be happy."

I knew that myself.

I just didn't know what that looked like in the future.

For tonight though, it looked like David, because in the additional two hours we spent talking after dinner, and during the hour-long drive to my apartment while I was warmly wrapped in his spare winter jacket after he decided that mine was too light in this brutal weather, I was happy.