[2018] Confessions From the Heart

by TB Markinson

  “I’m so sorry.” Her gorgeous eyes landed on mine. “Oh, it’s you.”

  I tilted my head. “Fancy running into you again.”

  She smiled.

  My heartbeat ricocheted throughout my body. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve run into worse things.” She rubbed one eye as if unsure whether she’d insulted me or not. “You may be the tallest, though.” Her smile was alluring and genuine.

  “Ha!” I blushed over my lame retort. “I’m Cori.”

  She reached for my hand, her palm warm. “Kat.”

  “Where are you heading to in such a rush?” I asked.

  Kat shook her head in an appealing lackadaisical way. “Nowhere in extreme urgency. I’m just not good at watching where I’m going.”

  “Lucky me.”

  She slanted her head, a beguiling glint in her expression. “How so?”

  I put a hand on my chest. “You’re kidding, right? There’s a state law about bumping into someone.”

  Kat laughed, intrigued. “Go on.”

  My insides went gooey. “Since I was at fault by stopping without the proper hand signal”—I mimicked one I remembered learning back when I started riding a bike—“I have to buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “Hand signal!” She hooted. “I think that pertains to bikes, not walking.”

  “Again, I have to correct you. Boston is a walking city. And, I, for one, am not the type to shirk the rules.”

  “Who created this rule?”

  “John Adams, himself.”

  “Not Abagail?”

  “Funny you mention her. That’s how they met.” I smiled. “Now, where can I take you before the police haul me off to etiquette jail?”

  “Does this act usually work?” She straightened, but her eyes sparkled.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just living up to my civic duty. When a drop-dead beautiful woman bumps into me, I have to take her for coffee.”

  She studied me for a moment, looking me up and down. “I wouldn’t want to involve the police if we can resolve this matter on our own.”

  “Many thanks.” I glanced around. “Any recommendations?”

  “Medium regular.”

  “You aren’t from out of town, then. How in the world did you not know about the John and Abigail coffee regulation?” I motioned for her to head toward the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts.

  “My father kept me locked up in our castle,” she joked. An air of sadness fleeted briefly across her face. “But, now that I’m thinking about it”—she tapped a nail against her front teeth—“I think it also states we have to find a bench outside if the weather is nice.”

  I palm slapped my forehead. “How’d I forget that part?”

  Her feet remained glued to the sidewalk.

  I hefted an eyebrow.

  “You don’t offer an arm to a lady?” She smiled.

  Bending my elbow, I said, “It’s like I’ve never been around a woman before.”

  She hooked her arm through mine. “I suspect you have some experience.”

  “I plead the fifth. Where would you like to go?” Having her arm attached to mine felt fantastic, like snapping the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place.

  Kat peeked out of the corner of her eye. “If you aren’t averse to getting some exercise, I’m playing tourist today and considered heading to Mount Auburn to explore.”

  “The cemetery?”

  “Yep. Don’t tell me you’re scared of ghosts.” Her laughter made the hairs on my body stand up, not in fright.

  “May I suggest stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts, here? Otherwise, we’d have to go out of the way.”

  “Do you know where to find all Double D branches?”

  I tapped my chest with my free hand. “Boston, through and through. So, you ready for your drink?”

  “Yes, but I’ve changed my mind. Iced latte.” She fanned her face with her hand.

  Outside Dunkin’ Donuts, there was a tree with blissful shade, and a slight breeze kicked up. I said, “You got it. Stay here.” I motioned for her not to move an inch.

  “Are you afraid I’ll run?” The arch in her brow didn’t put me at ease.

  “It wouldn’t be ideal, since I would have to devote the rest of my life to tracking you down. How much do you think billboards cost in this state?”

  “Probably more than they’re worth.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” I winked and disappeared inside.

  As a surprise, I decided to order Munchkins. Unsure which Kat would like, I selected three of each: glazed, chocolate, jelly, powdered sugar, and cinnamon.

  Back outside, I found Kat observing the horizon, with a serene look on her face. When her eyes got a load of the bulging brown sack, she said, “Are you sure you got enough?”

  “Time will tell.”

  “But what about my waistline?”

  I made a show of checking her out. “Pul-lease. You don’t have a thing to worry about. Besides, I like a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.”

  “Is this a test, then? For a second date?”

  “Are we on a first date?” I suspected I was grinning like a fool.

  “Time will tell. Now don’t think you distracted me. Ghosts. You afraid of them?”

  “You can’t live in Massachusetts and be afraid of ghosts.” We made our way down Brattle Street, our arms naturally locked again.

  “Why’s that?”

  “All the history. You can’t go one block without finding any historical markers.”

  She squeezed my arm. “I can’t tell if you think that’s good or bad.”

  “Good. This place always seems alive, even in the dead of night.”

  “Do you often go for strolls during the witching hour?”

  “In the summer, it’s the perfect time for a run. The humidity during the day can be killer.”

  “One of the reasons I prefer the gym.”

  I casually looked down at her, trying not to be a perv, but the V-neck shirt, coupled with my height, made it nearly impossible not to see the goods.

  “Do you often explore cemeteries?” I asked, in hopes of drawing her attention away from my not-so-accidental glimpse.

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say often, but I like to get out and about to explore the city now that I can.”

  “Ah, did you grow up outside of Boston?”

  “Nope. Louisburg Square,” she said in a tone that didn’t invite questions.

  “Oh,” I replied. It was a fashionable location for Bostonians going back generations. Sensing she wanted a change of topic, though, I blurted, “I live near Boston College.”

  “I live near B-Right-On.”

  I laughed. “Not sure I’ve heard anyone pronounce Brighton that way.”

  “Is that where you go to school?”

  I smacked my lips. “Harvard, actually.”

  She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Several people almost collided into us. “What are you studying?”

  I whisked her out of harm’s way. “Creative writing. And don’t forget to make the proper hand signals when stopping, especially when we’re heading to your cemetery.”

  “My cemetery?” Her pinked glossed lips made my mouth water.

  “It’s a rule I’m instituting right now. All the beautiful places belong to you.”

  “What do you get?” She started walking again, with me right at her side.

  “Sporting venues, especially Fenway.”

  She laughed. “You can have all of them.”

  I glanced at her sideways. “Not a sports fan, I’m taking it.”

  “Oh, I see their appeal.”

  I laughed. “This I have to hear.”

  “People like to believe in things. You religious?”

  I shook my head. “Unless you count being a lifelong member of Sox Nation.”

  “Americans and their sports!” She reached into th
e bag and pulled out a jelly Munchkin.

  “Aren’t you American?”

  “Not as much as you.” She bit into the dough, squishing jelly onto her cheek.

  I brushed it away with my thumb, and she waited to see what I’d do. I had two options. Wipe it on the bag or lick my finger. Greedily, I sucked the jelly from my thumb.

  The farther we traveled, the business structures gave way to houses. We passed a yellow Victorian residence with a white waist-high fence. A modest blue cape-style home was next door.

  “I love the feeling here. Quiet. Peaceful.” She sighed.

  “And not a tourist in sight,” I added.

  She rolled her eyes. “I know tourism is vital, but I prefer having this to ourselves.”

  “Then we should always go for a walk on a hot afternoon.”

  “You may have to carry me home.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem.” I nudged her side.

  We walked for many moments, not speaking.

  Without a glance at my face, she said, “Do you only like watching sports, or do you play as well? My guess is basketball. Scholarship, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I played sports. No scholarship, though.”

  “What? You weren’t good enough?” Her teasing tone brought a smile to my face.

  “Harvard doesn’t give scholarships for athletics.”

  “And you were dead set on going to Hah-vard?” Her voice connected to my entire being.

  “It’s a family thing.”

  “Ah, Bostonians and their traditions.”

  The cemetery was now within sight. “Are you looking for anyone in particular, or do you just want to explore?”

  “A little of both. I want to visit Isabella Stewart Gardner.”

  My feet skidded to a stop. “Really?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised? And, you forgot the hand gesture. Are you trying to worm your way to a second coffee date?”

  “Possibly. Is it working?”

  “Perhaps.” She bumped me with her hip. “You were going to say about the cemetery…?”

  I hesitated for a second. “You may not believe this, but my grandfather was working on a book on Gardner’s museum when he died.”

  She put a hand on her heart. “We don’t have to visit her today if it’s too much.”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine, really.”

  “Did you two get along?”

  I shrugged. “He wasn’t the type to invite warm feelings.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “I think I know the type.”

  Upon entering Mount Auburn, Kat pulled me to the side. Her gaze swept across the greenery. “What a beautiful place to spend eternity.”

  A Golden-crowned Kinglet hopped from one conifer branch to another, his wings fluttering with each movement. The high-pitched song he emitted sounded like “see, see, see” followed by chattering tones.

  “Isn’t he beautiful,” she said as if she’d never seen a bird before, but then she surprised me by saying, “Although, whenever I see a bird, I’m filled with tremendous sadness.” She flapped her arms as if warding off negative thoughts and said, “Come on. Let’s explore.”

  I had to admit there was mystery surrounding the woman that pulled me in. We wandered the paths with no discernable pattern. When Kat spied something she wanted to see more closely—a flowering tree, interesting headstone, or whatnot—she pulled me along like a child who’d ditched overly strict parents. Her sense of wonder and curiosity made me believe in things I’d long forgotten. If I wasn’t careful, soon I’d believe in Santa all over again. Worse things could happen.

  When we neared the pond, Kat instructed with such earnestness, “Keep an ear out for toads.”

  “Do you plan on kissing any?”

  She scouted over her shoulder at me. “That remains to be seen.” She winked. “They started a project reintroducing the American toad to the area. Experts aren’t sure why they’ve disappeared, but many think it’s the result of overusing pesticides decades earlier. Tadpoles have been introduced. The hope is in three to four years, the sound of trilling toads will be heard by visitors once again. If we hear one, we’re supposed to send an email.”

  I laughed. “You’re full of surprises.”

  She eased her gait and slipped her arm through mine again. “How so?”

  “When I first saw you in the store, I had no idea you were a toad hunter.”

  “What did you think?”

  I squeezed her arm with my hand. “Do you expect me to spill everything on the first date?”

  “It would be a good start. I already know you like sports and played, but you haven’t told me which.” She raised two fingers. “You’re from Boston. Attend Harvard. You’re a writer.” She curled her fingers into a tiny fist. “So far, I find you intriguing. Sports and writing. Not sure I’ve known someone with that combo. If you want to see me again, you can’t rely on a silly, not to mention pretend, law to squire me away for an afternoon.” She sounded sincere.

  “In that case, I couldn’t believe such a beautiful woman existed, and I felt a fool letting you out of my life without…”

  “Yes,” she encouraged with a gentle tug on my arm.

  “I don’t think I even said hello.” We stumbled upon a vacant bench by the pond. “Shall we sit for the rest of the interrogation?” I wiped the seat with a napkin for her.

  She nodded thanks. “You make it sound like I’m torturing you.” She lowered her face. “Trust me, if I was, you would know. And, you might not object.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She let out a burst of laughter. “Since you’re studying creative writing, I’m assuming you want to be a professional writer.”

  “Correct.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that when I first laid eyes on you. I knew you were a jock, but I didn’t sense your sensitive side.” She peered deeply into my eyes. “I see it now. You’re a thinker. And, I have a feeling you’re the protective type. I like that about you.” She dragged out each syllable, making my cheeks flush.

  “Let me see if I understand. At first, you thought I was a dumb jock?”

  “I never said dumb.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on. That’s the assumption most make.”

  “I’m not most.”

  “Touché.”

  “What was the first thought you had about me? Aside from disbelieving someone like me existed.” She did a little curtsy in the seat. “Sex?”

  “O-of course not.”

  She laughed. “This is why it’s best not to judge a book by its cover. I saw a jock. You saw a slut—”

  I tried to interject.

  “It’s okay, not once did you treat me like one. That’s what’s important.”

  I raised a shoulder. “And, I guess you haven’t treated me like a dumb jock.”

  “Because you aren’t. I’d label you as an intellectual. Like I said, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

  I reached into the bag and pulled out a glazed Munchkin. “Because jocks can’t have a sensitive or intellectual side?”

  She rolled her eyes. “That made me sound pretentious, didn’t it? And, after calling you out for noticing my attributes.” Kat leaned over to give me an eyeful.

  I popped the Munchkin in my mouth and slapped my hands together to get the sugar off. Holding my finger and thumb in the air, I said, “Slightly, but I am appreciating the view.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  “At least you’re honest. And to satisfy your curiosity some, I got the lit gene from my mom. My dad and uncle are the sports fanatics.”

  “Is your mom an English teacher?”

  “Nope. Author.”

  “What’s her name?”

  I supplied it.

  “You’re Nell Tisdale’s daughter!” She latched onto my arm with both hands and shook it.

  “I have the birth certificate to prove it. Not on me, though.”
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br />   Her smile was infectious. “Wow.” Her mouth formed an O. “Imagine bumping into you.”

  “Want a signed book?” Usually, I hated when people asked me for Mom’s autograph, but for Kat, I would do anything.

  Her face twisted in confusion. “Have you published a book?”

  I laughed. “I meant one of my mom’s books.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t blush, but her expression was adorable, in a sexy way. “Sure, but I won’t let up. I want the first copy of your book, signed.” She pressed a finger into my breastbone.

  “You got it.”

  “Okay, I have a literature question for you. Do you prefer Charles Dickens or Wilkie Collins?”

  I laughed. “Not the question I was expecting.” I popped another donut into my mouth to give me time to ponder the question. After swallowing, I said, “Dickens.”

  “Not Wilkie.” The color drained from her cheeks.

  “Uh-oh, it seems I answered your question incorrectly.”

  “Did you answer it honestly?” Her intriguing smile returned, pulling me back into her web.

  “Yes.”

  “Then it wasn’t incorrect.” She placed her hand on my leg. “I happen to prefer Collins’s frugal prose and the psychological development of his characters over Dickens’s. And his stories are well crafted.”

  “Come now, Great Expectations is one of the most perfectly plotted novels, ever.” I sliced a finger through the air.

  She twisted her body and pulled both legs up on the bench, holding her knees with her arms. “Don’t go tossing out the word perfect about any creation. No novel, no matter how brilliant, is perfect.”

  “Perfect, perfect, perfect.”

  “Is anything you’ve written perfect?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Your mom’s novels?”

  I shook my head.

  “But Mr. Dickens—you credit him with the perfect novel.” Her eyes danced.

  “As close to perfection as anyone can get.”

  She ran a hand over her brow, standing up some of the individual hairs of her left brow. “Tell you what. I’ll read it again, and then we’ll discuss it.”

  I ran the pad of my thumb over her brow, laying the hairs back into place. “Name the day and time, and I’ll be there.” My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it.