Lovers at Heart

by Melissa Foster

  “We were all here, and she came to see you, so I’m not sure what she really wanted to say to you, but you know Dad. He took her under his wing and had her stay for lunch.”

  The thought of Max alone with his family sent conflicting emotions coursing through him. He pictured her sweet face as she might have watched them act like fools, teasing one another and flirting with her. He wondered if she thought any of his brothers were better looking or nicer than he was. Oh no, nicer. Damn it. Of course she thinks they’re nicer. Why did I have to give her that one look, and how can that one look have led to all of this?

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he answered. “Just tell me this: Do you think I should stop thinking about her now? Did one of those lugs hit on her?”

  “You’re such a softie, Treat. She was like a deer caught in headlights. She’s really sweet, you know. The boys were, well, they were who they always are, but Dad wouldn’t let them ask too many questions or pry too much.”

  “Thanks, Savannah. But what did she want? She didn’t even have Dad’s address.”

  “Didn’t she call you?”

  “No. My number’s restricted, and we never exchanged numbers. Well, she gave me hers, but I never gave her mine.” I’m an idiot.

  “Given that, then my guess is that she wanted to see you and did the only thing she could think to do. Treat, if you’re just messing with her, I think you should back off. I mean, she had that look about her.”

  Not for the first time, Treat wished he understood women a little better than he did. “What look is that?”

  “Like she was inching toward love.”

  Treat didn’t hear anything else she said. “If she comes by again, give her my number and tell her…Never mind. I’m gonna call her right now. Love you, Savannah. And thank you.”

  Inching toward love. How could Savannah know that? And what if she’d read it wrong? Treat had thought he saw that same look in Max’s eyes when they were together, but then her response when he bared his soul to her was so cold. Thanks for telling me.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as her cell phone rang and voice mail picked up. “Max, hi. It’s Treat. I’m, um. Listen, Savannah called and said you went to my dad’s ranch.” That’s not what I want to say. “Max, I’m rambling. Call me, please. I’d like to talk. I’d like to see you.” He left his phone number, then ended the call and paced. He should have apologized again, ten times, twenty, whatever it took.

  Treat contemplated going back to Allure right that second, but he might miss her call when he was on the plane, and what if Savannah had completely misread her intent? Why was this so complicated? I did this to her. He had to take his mind off of waiting for her to call. Either she would or she wouldn’t. The crowded Oyster Festival seemed like the perfect place for a distraction. Treat grabbed his keys and headed into town.

  MAX STARED AT her phone. The temptation to turn it on was burning a hole in her hand. “Ugh!” She shoved it into the glove compartment of the rental car so that she wouldn’t be tempted to make any foolish calls; then she followed the GPS from Hyannis toward Wellfleet. It was a straight shot up the Mid-Cape Highway. She was glad she’d slept on the plane, and the cool New England air gave her renewed energy. She’d forgotten to book a room, but how hard could it be to find a room during the off-season? Traffic came to a grinding halt right after the traffic circle in Orleans. Max consulted her GPS, and with less than twelve miles to go, she’d be into Wellfleet in no time.

  Twenty minutes later, she was still stuck in traffic. She’d entered Eastham, a quaint little town with cottages and a few shops off the main drag. She looked for a hotel, and as she inched down the narrow highway, all she saw were cottages with signs out front that read, no vacancy. Finally, after sitting in traffic for another fifteen minutes, she pulled into the parking lot of a Four Points Sheraton despite the no vacancy sign. How could such a small town be so busy in the middle of October?

  She squeezed between a large man and a petite blond woman. The expansive lobby was packed tight with people milling around the registration desk.

  “Excuse me. Is this a line?” she asked a middle-aged man.

  “No, hon. We’re waiting for the rest of our club. You can squeeze right between those two women.”

  Max looked at the two plump women who were deep in conversation, standing so close together that there was no way she’d get through; then she looked back at him and arched a brow.

  “Harriet, Kelly, please let this young woman through,” he said in a friendly tone.

  The women parted, never pausing their conversation, and Max slipped through, then wove around two children and another couple and finally reached the desk.

  “I’d like to rent a room for tonight,” Max said with a smile.

  A white-haired woman with leathery skin stood behind the desk looking at Max as if she’d lost her mind. “Honey, you aren’t gonna find a place to rent this weekend. This is the Oyster Fest weekend. They extended it an extra day this year. We’ve been booked for months.”

  “Do you think any of the hotels near Wellfleet would have a room?” Max asked.

  “We’re the only hotel on the lower Cape. All the motels, B&Bs, and cottages are booked for miles around. I’m sure of it. We see about twenty-five thousand people here over the festival weekend.”

  A heavyset woman squeezed in beside Max and asked the woman about transportation to the festival.

  “Are you kidding? Nothing?” A deep hole formed in the pit of Max’s stomach. Where the hell is fate?

  “Honey, we don’t kid about things like this,” the woman said.

  A man pushed his way in front of Max, and Max stepped back, wondering what in the hell she was going to do now. She grabbed a flyer about the festival and a Cape Cod map from a table in the lobby, then went back out to her car and stared at the unrelenting traffic.

  “Not exactly the romantic weekend I had in mind,” she said as she stood beside her car. She wasn’t going to let this bring her mood down. She’d find a place to sleep, even if she had to sleep in her car. She felt like this was where she needed to be, and she’d be damned if she’d give it up.

  She climbed into her car and studied the map on the festival flyer, then flipped it over and scanned the event information. It was obvious that she would never get her car anywhere near the festival, but according to the flyer, she was only a few miles from White Crest Beach, where she could catch a shuttle to the events. Might as well enjoy it.

  AN HOUR LATER, Max climbed out of the shuttle in front of the Wellfleet Town Center. The narrow street and sidewalks were filled with crowds of people moving between stores and vendors. Without even realizing what she was doing, she began studying every dark head of hair that rose above the crowd. She knew the chances of actually seeing Treat were about as slim as winning the lottery, but her heart urged her on.

  Large white tents lined the parking lot across the street. Max’s eyes lit up at the mass of people, packed in as tight as a school of fish, and leaving barely enough room to step between. Laughter and conversations carried through the beautiful sunny day. If I’m setting myself up for a major disappointment, I might as well have fun while I’m at it. She moved with the crowd across the street and into the first tent, where handmade baskets and driftwood painted with beach scenes, boats, and gulls lined long tables.

  Max weaved through the crowds from one tent to the next, tasting oysters made fifty different ways, while local artisans smiled and chatted easily with her about their crafts and the festival, and soon looking for Treat fell by the wayside.

  “Shuck this!” a man yelled, handing Max an oyster shell.

  “Thank you, but I’ve eaten so many that I think I might explode.”

  He leaned over the table and said, “That’s what your husband is counting on.” A wink and a nod later, Max finally got the joke—and it brought her mind right back to Treat.

  She already felt like one big, uncontrollab
le hormone when she was with him. She needed help like she needed a hole in her head. My hormones are already on speed. She grinned at the thought as she moved to the next tent.

  The afternoon passed swiftly and, as the sun began to set, Max made her way back toward the shuttle bus. She had to find a hotel, and as the day wore on, the disappointment of not seeing Treat settled in, putting her hopeful energy through a sharp reality check. She was sure her heart had been right, and now she was feeling more and more like one of those bumbling idiot girls who lived their lives in dream states. Not to mention what kept rolling through her mind—if fate didn’t step in, she’d have taken off work and left Chaz hanging this week for nothing. And I’ll end up back in Allure with a shattered heart that may never heal.

  TREAT COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes. He had to be dreaming. He stood in front of Abiyoyo, a gift shop on Main Street, among what must have been thousands of people. Down the street, a woman in jeans was crossing the road—from the side, she looked just like Max. It had to be her; the way she walked with her shoulders back, the familiar shift of her slim hips. His pulse raced, but his feet were rooted to the ground as he watched the woman’s ponytail swing as she stepped up onto the curb. Please turn around. Please turn around. Please—

  She shifted. He couldn’t quite see her clearly, but he clung to the hope that swelled within him. Max. He’d recognize those curves and that graceful neck anywhere. His head finally kicked his feet into motion. He weaved through the crowd, hardly able to breathe. God, she’s beautiful. She was really there. Right there, in his favorite place on earth.

  A shuttle pulled up to the curb, blocking his view. He picked up his pace and jogged toward Town Hall.

  “Treat? Treat!”

  Bonnie. He spun around. Bonnie hurried toward him with a tall blond woman by her side. Treat’s heart pulled him toward Max, while his mind told him that there was no way it could have been her. He looked down the street again just as the shuttle pulled away from the curb.

  “Treat, this is Amanda. Amanda, this is Treat.”

  The attractive blonde leaned in and kissed his cheek just as the shuttle passed. He glanced up, and his heart skipped a beat. Max. She was there, on the shuttle. It had to be her. His elation was immediately tethered by Amanda’s voice in his ear.

  “You are everything Bonnie said you’d be,” she whispered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  NO. NO, NO, NO. There was absolutely no way that she’d just seen Treat mid-kiss with some blond woman. No way. Life could not be that cruel. Max took another look out the window, and the confidence she’d bolstered over the last twelve hours took a nosedive.

  I’m an idiot. A moron. A fool. She sank down into her seat and tried her best to hold back the sobs that were blooming in her chest. She pressed the sleeve of her sweatshirt to her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He isn’t mine to cry over.

  “Are you okay?” the older man sitting next to her asked in a sympathetic voice.

  Max nodded, hoping he wouldn’t notice her trembling chin.

  “Are you sure? Because you look mighty upset.”

  Why was he being nice to her? She wasn’t asking for help, and when she looked into his old gray eyes, she felt like crying even more.

  “I am a little upset,” she admitted.

  “I thought you might be. You’re too pretty of a gal to let anything make you so upset. Wanna talk about it?”

  Max smiled. “No, thank you. It’s a little embarrassing.”

  The old man scratched his head. “Alrighty then. Did you enjoy the festival?”

  “Yes, it was nice,” she answered as the shuttle ambled along the busy road.

  “Are you from around here?” he asked. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just say this for me. Park the car in the Harvard yard and party hearty.” Every “ar” came out as “ah.”

  Max laughed. “I know this one.” She feigned a New England accent. “Pahk the cah in the Hahvahd yahd and pahty hahty.”

  “So, you are from around here,” he teased.

  “Colorado, actually. Well, that’s where I live now.”

  He told her the history of the festival and about how it had changed through the years, but Max was too lost in her own sorrow to hear any of the details. She listened instead to the calming cadence of his voice. By the time the shuttle stopped at White Crest Beach, Max’s tears were no longer falling. She shook the nice old man’s hand and thanked him for making her feel better.

  “If you just got in today, you probably don’t have any dinner plans,” he said. “You’re welcome to have dinner with me and the missus, if you’d like. I’m sure Vicky would enjoy having company. And I promise you, no oysters.”

  Max thought about her options. With the crowds she’d spent the day maneuvering through, she was sure she’d never get a dinner reservation, and she hadn’t passed a single fast food restaurant as she drove up the highway. She wasn’t hungry anyway, after the all the oysters she’d eaten, and she still needed to find a place to stay.

  “There she is now,” he said as a woman pulled up in an old pickup truck.

  “Chris, are you bothering that young lady?”

  “No, he’s been really sweet,” Max said. The woman wore her long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail much like Max’s, and her wide smile brightened her friendly blue eyes.

  “She just got into town today, and I was inviting her to have dinner with us,” he answered.

  “Why, sure! I have plenty of salmon and chicken, corn on the cob, and I know we have enough Jell-O for desert,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Vicky Smith, Chris’s better half. His manners could use a good overhaul.”

  “I don’t know,” Max said. The responsible side of her wondered if she was getting herself into an unsafe situation. They seemed nice enough, but...Just then a car pulled up with another older couple in it.

  “Hey, Vicky. Y’all coming to the bonfire tonight?” a man asked out the window.

  “Oh yeah, we’ll be there,” Vicky answered. “Hey, Marge.” She waved to a woman walking by. “You coming to the bonfire?”

  “I’ll be there!” The woman continued on her way.

  Max watched the interactions, and unless she had entered some alternate Stephen King universe where the entire town was involved in hacking up tourists, she found them very kind and welcoming. Why shouldn’t she go spend some time with them? After all, it didn’t look like she’d be able to rent a room anyway, but even if she could, what would she do in a hotel room by herself? Listen to her heart break a little more every time she thought of Treat?

  MAX HELPED Vicky with the dishes while Chris gathered blankets and chairs for the bonfire. Max had been hungrier than she’d thought she was, and the meal was delicious. She was glad she’d accepted their generous invitation. But now that the conversation had stalled, thoughts of Treat came rushing back, and sadness wrapped itself around her heavy heart.

  “Did you come out just for the festival this weekend?” Vicky asked as she scrubbed a plate, and then handed it to Max to dry. She reminded Max of her own grandmother, who had died ten years earlier. She had the same generous spirit and made the same type of quippy remarks to Chris as her grandmother had made to her grandfather.

  “No.” I came searching for a man I didn’t really think was here, but he is, with another woman.

  “Work?” Vicky pressed.

  “No, not work.” Max dried another dish and placed it on the counter.

  “Love?”

  Max didn’t respond.

  Vicky set down the dish she was scrubbing. “I’m gonna tell you what my mama told me many years ago. She said, ‘Men are like weeds. Some will strangle you until you can’t breathe, and some will strangle you once, see you can’t breathe, and till your soil for the rest of their lives to make sure you’re never strangled again.’ Then she would wink at me and say, ‘If he strangles you again, get your ass right back here. If he tills your soil, make me some grandbabies.’ And that was that.
I’ve never looked back. You just need to find your tiller, Max.”

  “Is she telling stories again?” Chris came into the kitchen with his coat on.

  “Are you ready? Truck packed?” Vicky asked, drying her hands on a dish towel.

  “All set. You gals ready?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Vicky answered.

  “Max, did you bring a coat? It gets cold, even with the bonfire. Chris, grab one of my coats.”

  “Are we going near where my car is parked?”

  “Yup.”

  “I have one in my car. I’ll be fine,” Max said, suddenly glad that she was tagging along. The weight of her stupid notion of fate stepping in had already begun to lighten with the distraction of dinner. Now, if she could only get the image of Treat and that woman out of her head, maybe she could move her feet to follow them toward the truck.

  Chapter Nineteen

  TREAT PULLED ON a heavy sweater and cursed beneath his breath when he checked his voicemail and there were no messages from Max. He’d called Max several times that afternoon, and each call went straight to voicemail. He’d driven to where the shuttle had last dropped off, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. He was so damned sure it had been her on that shuttle bus, but it made no sense at all. What the hell would she be doing in Wellfleet? He had to be wrong. His eyes were just playing tricks on him. If only Bonnie hadn’t called to him. If it had been Max, she’d be in his arms instead of on the shuttle, watching Amanda kiss him.

  Amanda was nothing like any woman he’d ever want to date. Sure, she was smart as a whip—a real estate attorney, in fact—but she was pushy in a way that made him feel dirty—and not the good kind of dirty. What kind of woman whispered something so suggestive the first time she met a guy? Bonnie had been her normal peppy self and was completely oblivious to the way Amanda’s eyes undressed him. He knew damn well what a woman like that was after. She looked at Treat and saw eye candy and dollar signs, while Max looked right past all of the meaningless facade to the man he was inside. She also saw the shadow of the mistake I made. His muscles tensed against the thought.