My Stubborn Heart

by Becky Wade

  “Have the antiques made Gran enormously rich?” Kate asked.

  “Enormously, as we all already suspected. You’ll see.” She nodded toward the folder. “I was able to authenticate most of the pieces, and the others all have value in their own right.” She patted Gran’s hand. “You’ll need to look into some security, a home alarm system at least, and have everything insured.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Gran murmured. “Thank you, Theresa.”

  “Thank you, Beverly.”

  “To Chapel Bluff,” Gran said, raising her teacup. Kate and Theresa clicked the rims of their cups with hers.

  Theresa chased her sip of tea with half a snickerdoodle. “Is Matt around?”

  Kate’s nerves jumped at the mere sound of his name. Since their kiss he’d been on her mind constantly.

  “Not today,” Gran answered.

  “Bummer,” Theresa said. “I made sure I looked presentable, just in case. Where is he?”

  “He flew to Atlanta,” Gran said.

  “Why? What’s in Atlanta?”

  “Beth’s parents,” Kate answered.

  Theresa’s head lolled forward. “No way. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Why did he go to see them?”

  “Apparently he has a storage unit where he’s kept stuff from the apartment he shared with Beth,” Kate said. “He went through it all yesterday, and then he flew down to see her parents today so he could bring them some of her things.”

  “He told you all of this?” Theresa asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on between you two?” Theresa asked. Both she and Gran regarded her with sharp curiosity as they waited for her answer.

  Kate wasn’t anywhere near ready to divulge the truth. She shrugged and tried not to look guilty. “We’re friends.”

  “What was the catalyst?” Theresa asked. “What made him suddenly want to clean out her stuff after all this time?”

  Another sham look of innocence. “I don’t know.”

  “What does it mean?” Theresa gazed at Kate, then moved her inquiring look to Gran.

  “I think it means something very good,” Gran ventured. “I think it means closure.”

  “You think he’s finally ready to move on? That he’ll start dating again?” Theresa laid a hand on her heart. “You think we women of the world are going to get another shot at him?”

  “Well, not you, Theresa,” Gran said, laughing. “You, dear, are married.”

  “A girl can dream, Beverly. Don’t you have a celebrity crush?”

  “Me?” Gran asked.

  “Yes, you.”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “C’mon,” Theresa prodded, “fess up.”

  “For many years it was Michael Landon.”

  “He’s dead, Beverly! You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  Gran pursed her lips. She took off her glasses and fidgeted with the beaded string that held them around her neck. “Well, if you must know, I have a little, um, soft spot for Patrick Dempsey.”

  “McDreamy? Do you watch Grey’s?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit it,” Gran said. “It’s terrible of me, but yes, I do.”

  Theresa and Kate both laughed.

  “And you, Kate?” Theresa asked. “Who’s yours?”

  Matt Jarreau. But Theresa would squawk at her for copying. “David Beckham, of course. But not so much when he’s talking. Mostly just when he’s posing for photographs.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  While Theresa brought Gran up to date with the most recent plot twists on Grey’s, Kate’s thoughts drifted predictably to Matt.

  Since their kiss, part of her—the biggest part—had been stunned, giddy, and euphoric. He actually had the hots for her! He—gorgeous, famous, craveable him—had the hots for ordinary, mortal, civilian her! He’d said, “I want to be more than just your friend, Kate,” and she could remember every exact detail of how he’d looked when he’d said it. She’d been going over and back over each millisecond of their fight and their kiss and his words, hugging the memories to herself.

  But another part of herself—the tiniest part—had been turning with uneasiness ever since. She’d spent time praying last night and this morning about Matt. Thanking God, asking Him for a future for their relationship. In response, she’d felt no answering peace or sense of rightness. On the contrary, a foreboding shadow had fallen over her. As if, should she dare to ask God directly if a romance with Matt was what He wanted, He might say no. She couldn’t bear to risk that, so she hadn’t asked and wasn’t planning on asking.

  She loved Matt. She’d tried so hard not to love him. But maybe some things in life, some loves, just couldn’t be stopped.

  She had no intention of blurting out her feelings to him and every intention of playing it cool. She’d been scrupulously careful not to let herself indulge in fantasies about his following her to Dallas, about a proposal, about a wedding and babies. She hadn’t completely lost her mind. She knew not to go there.

  Her plan? To take whatever he was willing to give her for the days that she had left in Redbud. He meant too much to her to even contemplate the idea of giving him up. No way. Not now, with so little time remaining.

  chapter nineteen

  Kate’s heart leapt when she heard Matt’s truck pull up the next morning. He’d arrived right on time, and as usual for his weekday arrivals, she and Gran were in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast. She scrubbed the countertop with extra gusto. When he walked in she wanted to look both industrious and simultaneously like someone who hadn’t gotten up extra early to shower, do makeup, and use both a blow-dryer and straightener on her hair.

  He came in with a gust of crisp morning air wearing jeans, his North Face jacket over a gray cotton shirt that fit close to his body, and his work boots. Pleasure soared through her at the sight of him, as if it had been days instead of hours since she’d seen him.

  “Matt!” Gran cried and rushed over to greet him.

  As he spoke with Gran, he met Kate’s gaze for a long moment. Obediently, he handed Gran his jacket, answered her questions, and took the cup of coffee she foisted on him.

  “Better get to work,” he finally told her. As he was walking out of the room, he glanced at Kate and tilted his head meaningfully, asking her without words to follow. She did, and as soon as they were out of Gran’s sight he reached for her hand. “Hi.” Without breaking pace, he smiled at her, a smile that could have melted butter from a hundred yards.

  “Hi, yourself.”

  He set his cup on a side table in the living room and drew her into the library. Once he’d shut the door behind them, they were alone in the quiet with sunlight streaming all around.

  His attention roamed over her as if to assure himself that she really was standing in front of him all in one piece.

  “How was your trip?” she asked.

  “It was fine.”

  “Really?” She used the single word to confirm that it actually had been fine for him, emotionally.

  “Yes.” He kept a firm grip on her hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Oddly, he seemed content just to look at her.

  She raised her brows and waited for him to say something.

  “Would you be willing to help me work today?” he asked.

  “You hardly ever let me help you work.”

  His mouth quirked up. “Things change.”

  “Gran and I are going shopping together this afternoon, but I’d love to help you this morning.”

  “You’re dressed too nice to lay tile.”

  “I’ll put on my work clothes.”

  “That black and white outfit with the ballet shoes?” Humor shone in his eyes.

  “Ballet flats, you mean.” She tilted her head. “Are you making fun of my work clothes?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “My work clothes are perfectly fine!”

  “They make you look like you’re ready to star in an A
udrey Hepburn movie.”

  “How on earth do you know about Audrey Hepburn movies?”

  He shrugged a muscular shoulder. “I’m well-rounded.”

  “Right,” she said with heavy skepticism.

  He smiled and she smiled back at him.

  “It’s really good to see you,” he said.

  “It’s really good to see you.”

  “If you’re free, I’d like to cook dinner for you tonight at my house.”

  “I’m free.”

  He squeezed her hand and gave her such a look of tenderness that her insides jumbled together with absolute, chaotic, and crazy joy.

  That night he made her steak, salad, and baked potatoes. Kate had never, in the whole of her life, seen anything quite so handsome as Matt Jarreau cooking her dinner.

  They ate at the little table in the kitchen’s breakfast nook, while the overhead fixture bathed them in light and the house’s sound system played something bluesy. They talked easily about Chapel Bluff, poker, and the seniors.

  Whenever she glanced away and glanced back, there seemed to be either more sour cream or more butter on her potato. Finally, she purposefully looked away and then almost instantly looked back and caught him red-handed, with a spoonful of sour cream suspended over her potato. His eyes sparkled like a six-year-old’s at his practical joke.

  She laughed and mock scolded him. He grinned back at her, unrepentant. To see him this way—so relaxed and charming—was more than she’d dared to hope.

  After dinner, they straightened up the kitchen and moved to the sofa in the living room. Matt leaned over and pulled a newspaper off a side table. Underneath, he’d hidden a bag of peppermint taffies. Exactly the ones she liked.

  He handed them to her.

  Kate looked down at the familiar package with complete surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I noticed some of these in your room when I was up there touching up the paint on the baseboards.”

  “And you remembered?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  “You like peppermint?”

  “I love—majorly love—this particular kind of peppermint taffy. Here. Try.” She pulled the bag open and tossed him one.

  They both chewed a piece.

  “Pretty good,” he said.

  “Could you eat, say, half a package in one sitting?”

  “No. Two will probably do me.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “Then you’re not in my league.” She tossed him another.

  Before he opened it, he reached down and swooped up both her feet. “May I?” he asked, but didn’t wait for permission before shifting so that he could drop her lower legs across his lap. He opened and ate his taffy, relaxed, as if little intimacies like her legs across his lap were common between them.

  “So,” he said, after a pause punctuated only by the sound of candy wrappers.

  “So?”

  “What about Tyler?”

  “What about him?” She smiled.

  “You know what. Is he out of the picture?”

  “We talked the last time we went out and decided to keep things friendly.”

  “He decided or you decided?”

  “I did.”

  “You’re not into him?”

  “We get along great. But no, I’m not into him like that.” Not like I’m into you.

  “Kate,” he said, grinning at her, “that is seriously good news.”

  They talked about everything under the sun until one in the morning. She noticed at some point during their conversation that the framed picture of Beth had disappeared from its spot on the bar.

  As he walked her to her car at the end of the night, he tugged her to him. He gathered her to his body and held her tightly against him. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her lips. Their breath mingled for a suspended moment and then they were kissing.

  Despite her very best efforts, the freezing temperature eventually caused her to shiver. Just as she’d known he would, Matt noticed, and bundled her into her car so she could warm up.

  Darn, she thought as she drove off. Darn that shiver! She could gladly have kissed him for hours.

  Two nights later, Matt drove his Lamborghini to Chapel Bluff to take Kate out on a date. As they made their way from the house toward the driveway, she stumbled to a stop at the sight of his car. “What’s this?”

  “My car.”

  “You drive a truck.”

  “This is my other car.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  Her eyes went big and round. “Seriously?”

  He laughed. Kate never failed to amuse him. He loved to watch her face. Loved the things she said to him. She could make him smile just by walking into a room.

  Kate circled the car, taking it in. “What is it?”

  “A Lamborghini Murcielago.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  She looked at him. “What are you, some big hockey star or something?”

  “Used to be.”

  Kate smiled. “I guess so.”

  He opened the door for her, and she slid in. He’d been looking forward to tonight for the past two days. He was going to take her three towns over to a restaurant his brother had told him about. He had a few reasons for picking the place: the drive would make the date last longer; the food was supposed to be good; and it was fancy, so he’d get to look at her all night in the snug black dress and high-heeled black boots she was wearing.

  Kate chuckled and pointed toward Chapel Bluff’s kitchen window. “Looks like we have spectators.”

  He saw both Beverly and Peg peering out at them, their faces practically pressed to the glass. He lifted a hand toward them in greeting, then took off down the driveway.

  “Feel a need for speed?” he asked her a few miles later as he steered onto the highway.

  “I don’t know. How fast are we talking?”

  “Not fast enough to put you in danger.”

  “Okay, then. Let ’er rip.”

  He grinned and hit the gas.

  Every night leading up to Thanksgiving, Matt either stayed for dinner at Chapel Bluff or invited Kate to eat dinner with him at his house. Kate accepted his invitations more than she declined them because she wanted, desperately wanted, to spend every moment she had with him. But a sliver of herself continued to urge caution.

  She knew she was mostly stupid over him, but she didn’t want to be completely stupid. She needed to preserve an escape rope of independence, some small amount of distance. Sanity. Protection. A piece of herself held back.

  So she declined a few of his invitations, too. On those occasions she sat in her room at Chapel Bluff, watching her little TV, missing Matt, and wishing she’d chosen to spend the evening with him instead.

  His family arrived from out of town the day before Thanksgiving. She didn’t see Matt at all that day, but he called her three times from his cell. Each time he wanted to tell her he was thinking about her, to ask what she was doing, and to make certain that she was still planning to come by his house the next afternoon once she and Gran finished celebrating Thanksgiving at Velma’s.

  She assured him all three times that she’d be there.

  Kate and Gran arrived at Matt’s house around five o’clock on Thanksgiving Day. He opened the door for them even before they had a chance to knock. His attention went straight to Kate, taking her in. He gave her the same warmly assessing look he gave her every time he saw her after time apart. She gazed back at him, her lips pulling into a smile, her insides tingling. This would go down as her best Thanksgiving ever simply because he was a part of it.

  “Hello, hello!” Gran greeted him. “We’re so glad to be here. Thank you for having us.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me take that from you.” He lifted the homemade pumpkin pie from her hands. “Come on in.”

  Gran sailed inside.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Kate s
aid to him softly.

  “It is now that you’re here,” he grumbled. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

  “We’re here exactly when I said we’d be.”

  “Seemed like forever.”

  “Is the day going all right?”

  “It’s going fine.” He motioned with his head. “Follow me.”

  Inside, the house was cozy, cheerily lit, and filled with the scent of turkey and cranberries. Matt’s family rose to their feet and crowded around Gran and Kate for introductions.

  Matt’s dad had dressed in an organic knit sweater, beige pants with pockets and zippers on the sides, and hiking shoes. He looked like the kind of guy who routinely trekked through the wilderness and ran marathons. All sinew and lean muscle.

  Matt’s mom, Elaine, had brown hair cut at chin length, parted on the side, and tucked behind both ears. She wore a Florida tan, tasteful diamond stud earrings, and an outfit straight out of a Land’s End catalog.

  Matt’s brother was an older and shorter version of Matt. He had the same dark hair and eyes, but he wore glasses, carried an extra fifteen pounds around the middle, and had a businessman’s demeanor. He, his wife, and their four-year-old and infant sons were all dressed and groomed in the style of a successful yuppie family.

  Matt also introduced them to three sweet-faced grandparents, one intellectual-looking aunt, and the aunt’s awkward and nerdy college-aged daughter.

  Once they’d met everyone, all the men except Matt went back to the sofa and chairs. They unpaused the TiVo and picked up their football game where they’d left it.

  One of the grandmothers and the nerdy cousin took the four-year-old to the kitchen table, where they had a game of Candy Land going. The rest of them settled around the dining room table, which had been extended as far as possible for the occasion. A centerpiece of greenery, orange gourds, thick white candles, and sprays of yellow berries had been arranged by someone female who had great taste. At one end, Rummikub tiles lay face down, at rest in between rounds.

  They spent an hour talking and visiting, getting to know each other. Matt didn’t return to the football, but instead sat next to Kate, answering questions when asked, listening. She felt almost sorry for him when Gran suggested they play Rummikub.