Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3)

by Tracy Krimmer

  She taps her breasts. “Well, these puppies do a lot of work. They probably should pay taxes.” I hope no one notices me taking a look at my own breasts. They’re average, I guess. I’ve been blessed more in the backside area than the front.

  “Anyway,” Kellan rolls his eyes, “tell me about you, Kate. You sell houses — don’t forget I want your business card — and you’re not too bad of a bowler. What else? How did you start bowling?”

  I barely remember a time when I didn’t bowl. The months after my father’s death go down in record as my longest hiatus. I recall my first experience vividly. The musty smell, the psychedelic carpeting, the roller to help me push the ball faster, and the bumpers so I didn’t lose confidence. My father’s hand on mine as he showed me how to throw it down the lane is probably the most powerful memory of all. I still own my first pair of shoes he bought me. He hated to rent them.

  “My fifth birthday. My dad took me.” Just the two of us. He made me chocolate chip pancakes that morning and let me pour the syrup. What a mess! After we ate, he took me to the library and read me a few books about this pastime he loved so much. Then he took me to the small alley in our town.

  I can still hear pins being knocked down by the men in the league practicing that day. The stale scent of cigars remains a trigger for this day. Dad and the alley owner were pals, so he opened a lane for us, way down at the end. The ball scared me. I was five years old — even the eight pound ball was too heavy. When he brought out the roller so I could push the ball down, I was ecstatic. I bowled a forty-one that day, and my dad a forty. Of course I know he let me win, but at the time I didn’t.

  “That’s cool.” Kellan takes a drink of his beer. “Gretchen and I pretty much grew up in a bowling alley.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Our mom cleaned this one so we always practiced while she did her job.” Gretchen joins in the conversation. “Dad worked long hours and she couldn’t afford any type of daycare, so we came with her.”

  “That sounds like fun.” My whole life I helped out at the bed & breakfast and eventually ran it on a day-to-day basis. Don’t misunderstand me — I enjoyed my job. Something like this, though, spending days in a bowling alley and learning the ins and outs, would have been so incredible.

  “Ned and Ted are like our brothers. Ned’s more part of the group because Ted enjoys the quieter side of life. He keeps to himself most of the time. Anyway, their grandpa owned the place before them and they practically lived here. We got into a ton of trouble together.” Kellan looks away.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “The kind Kellan doesn’t like to discuss anymore.” Gretchen puts her hand on her brother’s. “I’m sure as a kid you did a lot of crazy stuff. We had our share of stupid moments. Some more than others.”

  I wonder if she is talking about Kellan specifically. She’s wrong. I didn’t rebel or do anything to piss my parents off even as a teenager. The worst thing I can think of is the one time I cut class because I fell asleep studying and wasn’t prepared for my exam. My yearbook is hidden away so no one can see my name next to Class Goody Two-Shoes. The label upset me at first, but I own it now, even if it’s a tad excessive. I’m not that bad.

  “Maybe you can tell me about it some other time,” I whisper to Kellan, forgetting for a second he’s getting married. Remembering would be so much easier if he wore a ring. And if I slowed down on the wine. “Tell me about Macy.”

  “Macy is wonderful. She takes care of me and we've been together for a long time.”

  “Too long if you ask me,” Gretchen says.

  He glares at his sister, clenches his lower jaw, and shakes his head. His soft eyes harden when she sneers back.

  “How long is a long time?” Time is relative to most people. Long to them may mean a year. I’m surprised she didn’t come to the game. Even though she can’t play, she can be a cheerleader. Am I the only one who believes support is a huge part of relationships?

  “We've known each other almost all our lives, and we’ve been on and off all the way through college. We broke up for a brief time, but now we’re getting married.” The jukebox plays in the background, Carrie Underwood blasting through the speakers. He twirls his cup and gulps down the last of his beer and pours another one. Not the demeanor I expect from someone telling me he’s getting married — and is happy about it.

  “If you ask me she's only using you.”

  “Gretchen, would you please stop?” Kellan’s tone changes through his gritted teeth. “I’m very aware of your opinion of her and I wish you would learn to keep your mouth shut.”

  “I’m just saying she aspires to be a TV star and you're on TV. Seems a little convenient if you ask me.” I tense up as I watch this banter between them. She leans back and pops a pretzel in her mouth, crosses her arms and stares down Kellan.

  “Well, I didn't ask you and I'm only on the local station. I’m not a big celebrity. She can't get on TV through me and she knows that.”

  Tiffany pops her head in. “There’s no way you could ever star in a sitcom.”

  “Why not?”

  She helps herself to the mix on the table. “You’re too stiff.”

  “Stiff?” Kellan shakes his body. “I feel pretty loose.”

  “I think that woman of yours keeps you too much in check.” Taylor appears and pours himself another glass. “I agree with Tiff. You’re fine doing the weather, but what is that, a five-minute segment advising people if they need a jacket or not? Anyone can do that.”

  “I’d like to see you try!”

  The bickering between this group of friends reminds me of my college years, before I bore the responsibility of running the B&B and taking care of my dad as he grieved the death of my mom. “So, how did Macy sprain her wrist?” Let’s move on from this topic.

  “Too much shopping.”

  “Gretchen, let me tell the story.” Kellan is getting more upset by the second.

  Clark comes to the rescue. “Honey, let’s go play some music.”

  She shoves off the table and takes off with her husband, and Tiffany and Taylor join them, leaving Kellan and me alone. “How does someone hurt themselves shopping?”

  Kellan’s smile is bright and his eyes pull me in. I believe I can trust him, and I’m sure his audience does as well. I, for one, think he’d be fine in a sitcom. He’d draw in women viewers no problem. “She was carrying way too many bags and her wrist just snapped. It’s a small sprain. Gretchen makes it sound much worse than it is.” He taps his hands on the table. “So you don’t watch TV at all?”

  I pick up my wine and hold the glass with two hands. “I didn’t say that. I said I don’t have it on often, and I tend to avoid the news.”

  His eyes widen and he takes a drink of his beer. “Oh, I see.”

  “Well, Channel 13 anyway. Remember, I’m more of a Channel 8 gal myself.”

  He slams his cup down and pretends to shove a knife into his stomach. “Ouch! Way to knock down a guy’s pride!” He pulls the fake blade out and cleans it off on his slacks. “Why don’t you hold onto this in case you want to torture me some more?”

  I won’t tell him I’ve already pictured him naked and wondered how soft his lips are. “Brian Turdow is probably much more accurate.”

  “Okay, okay, stop now. I can’t take this anymore!” He’s holding his hand over his chest.

  I fake taking the knife from him and set the blade on the table. “I’ll keep this so you don’t keep injuring yourself.”

  “Thank you. Now don’t hurt yourself on accident. That knife is tainted with Channel 13 blood.”

  “I won’t,” I tell him. “I don’t bleed.” My entire body is full of scars, emotional ones that I refuse to open back up.

  He looks confused, but adds, “Be careful anyway.”

  I’m trying.

  Chapter

  Nine

  I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat. My shirt sticks to my stomach as I pull at the hem and my hair is
plastered to my face. The sheets beneath me trick me into thinking I’ve wet the bed. These nightmares need to stop. I’m waking up way too often and barely getting any sleep. I glance at the clock. Damnit! Six o’clock already. I have to take a shower (now more than ever) and search my closet for work attire. Laundry is piling up since developing a social life.

  The shower is the best place to be overcome with ideas. Whenever I find myself stuck on something, I turn the water up as I high as I can stand it and clear my mind as the heat cascades down my body. This morning Janice’s house is all I can think about. How in the world do I plan on selling this property? Most situations call for something as easy as a carpet cleaning and a wash down of the walls. Add a bit of decluttering and a house presents itself as almost new. Not this one. This house looks as though its been through the ringer. Like when someone skips out on their mortgage and destroys the house before they’re officially evicted. This requires me to be creative, something I’m lacking lately.

  I finish showering, make myself some tea, and heat up toast. I grab my iPad and open up the local news station and flip through the top stories for today. I’m hoping to be surprised and a positive story is posted. No such luck. Someone arrested for drunk driving, another accused of insurance fraud, protesters at the Capitol. Same old news. An exciting weekend in Madison.

  Once I’m done eating and ready for the day, I head out to the office, set on figuring out what to do with Janice’s house.

  People like Janice really irk me. No appreciation for their parents. She should be lucky her dad thought to leave her that house. With some work, the house could be a gem and stay in the family. Or find a young couple with a growing family to rent it. She could request top dollar for a home in that neighborhood, as long as the place is livable. My thoughts, though, are her dad wants the house to remain with her, for reasons she’s probably too stuck up to understand.

  The office is near empty when I arrive. Linda’s door is closed, and the receptionist is in front checking Facebook. Is that what we pay her to do? I don’t let my irritation show and head straight for my desk. This morning I need to catch up on email.

  I can’t believe the amount of spam I receive on a daily basis. Half of the newsletters I think I signed up for at some point in time, but others are plain junk. I don’t want to refinance my condo. Delete. I don’t bank with the financial institution listed here, so that’s a phishing scam. Delete. And no, I’m not interested in what Kyra has to offer me. Delete. I manage to find nine legitimate emails in the thirty-one cluttering my mailbox.

  Twenty minutes pass and my almost empty folder marks my success. I should come into the office more often. Too many distractions exist at home. My cell vibrates. A voicemail. How did I miss my phone ringing? I guess that’s what focus does.

  “Kate, this is Kellan. Can you give me a call back to discuss some houses? I want to start looking as soon as possible. Thank you!”

  I take down his number and punch in the numbers right away. I’m excited to talk with him. He picks up after the first ring, giving me no time to prep what I’m going to say.

  “Kellan Valentine. It’s a beautiful day. How can I help?”

  Okay … I roll my eyes. Pretty corny, if you ask me, but cute all the same. I picture his adoring smile while he says this. “Hi, Kellan. It’s Kate Hayes. From bowling.” Duh. He knows that.

  “Thank you for calling back so fast! Care to show me around some properties?”

  He’s happy to hear from me and wants to see me. “Today?”

  “Yeah. Today.”

  “I need a little bit of notice to set up viewings.” People don’t want to drop what they’re doing to bring strangers into their house. They want time to tidy up and make the place presentable. Unless they’re like me and everything is meticulous at any given time. But I’m the exception, not the norm.

  “Shoot. I really want to see some places today if you can make it happen. I have off, and the next few days are filled with other commitments. Are there any properties that meet my criteria?”

  He lists what he’s looking for — a three bedroom house in an upscale neighborhood, or a high-rise condo overlooking a lake. Pretty snazzy. Sure, let me just wave my magic wand and the houses will appear, ready to show. Nothing comes to mind as I run through my file in my brain. I suppose I can review the database, though I’m not confident in what I’ll find. “Can I call you back in a few minutes? I want to check my records for what’s available first. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Call me as soon as you can. I’m anxious to start the day. It’s almost half over!”

  I glance at my clock. Nine-fifteen. Half over? What time does he wake up in the morning? The only reason I’m up is because of work. Otherwise, I’d still be in bed. No doubt.

  I hang up the phone and immediately begin searching through my database. He didn’t give me too many specifics, but his price range is high — all the way up to almost eight hundred thousand. I can find a pretty nice place for that amount.

  A couple results come up as empty houses, so I can show them at any moment. The pictures inside are respectable, but I’m not positive they will suit his needs. Still, they’re great contenders if not only for the convenience. I enter their information into my phone, call Kellan back, and agree to meet him.

  ••••••••••

  Kellan meets me at my office. Normally we don’t drive with clients. These days you can’t be too careful. However, since he’s now a friend, I’m comfortable with it. Plus, this gives me more of a chance to spend time with him.

  I’m surprised he’s in the lobby a few minutes before he said he would be considering he missed bowling practice. I don’t equate him with punctuality. I’m never late. Never. I realize you should “never say never,” but it’s true. Being on time is simply a sign of respect.

  He’s standing at the window watching the traffic pass by when I approach him. He’s in jeans and a shirt that fits nicely on his body.

  “Kellan?”

  He turns and I’m immediately drawn into this dark eyes. His mouth curves at every angle, the middle of his lips forming a “V” like his last name. He’s perfection.

  “Look at you all dressed up!”

  I glance down at myself. When he first met me I wore my flashy bowling shirt and a pair of tacky khaki slacks. Now I’m in a knee-length skirt, a button down blouse, and high heels. “I can’t really wear a T-shirt and jeans to work.”

  “Are we taking your car or mine?”

  “I’ll drive.” I know where we’re going, and I’m a horrible backseat driver. Kellan doesn’t need to see that side of me.

  “Do you need anything from me? A copy of my driver’s license, a blood sample, or a hair follicle?”

  “No. I trust you.” I laugh and rearrange my keys in my hand. “Let’s head out then.”

  He follows me to my car and as I fumble to balance my phone, file folders, and tea, he opens the door for me. “Thank you.” I set my items down on the front seat so I can put my tea in the cup holder and then toss the rest in the back.

  Kellan walks around to the other side and joins me in the car. “Where are we starting?”

  I buckle my seatbelt and his cologne drifts over to my side of the car. I can’t place all the scents, but I sense grapefruit, mandarin orange, and sage. My nose is infused with the aroma, and I hope it lingers long after the house search is over. “Well, you said you want something in an upscale neighborhood. I picked a few of those to show you, and a condo if you’re interested.”

  We pull out of the lot and begin our drive. We’re both silent for a few moments, awkwardness filling the air like we’re on a date. I think my talk with Gretchen is getting to me. I’m thinking about Kellan as though a spell has been cast on me and I’m falling for the first man I see. Straight out of Teen Witch. Kellan is very attractive, but he’s also way out of my league and taken.

  “A condo? That depends, I guess.” He breaks my romantic thoughts about him. I’m
partially upset and mostly grateful. The less I picture him with his shirt off, the better. “Is there a lake view?”

  “No, but the listing boasts a private pond. I think that’s much more appealing than a lake. The pond is on your property and belongs to you. With a larger body of water, everyone with a boat will be on it.”

  “But all the tenants in the complex technically own it, not just me, right? And do I need to maintain it?”

  Excellent questions. I prefer these over “Are their granite countertops?” and “What if I don’t like the color?” Those things are cosmetic. “Right. The entire complex has access, but you’re still gaining more privacy than with a lake. The association fees help pay for maintenance.” We stop at a red light and Kellan is thinking over the condo.

  When we begin moving again, he says, “I’m not sure Macy will like a pond.”

  The mention of Macy slices through me. I keep forgetting about her. I’m used to showing couples properties, not only one half of one. “Will she be joining us on any of our house tours?” I might as well prepare myself now.

  “She travels a lot for her job, so I’m hoping she can join us via Skype.”

  Touring a house through a phone or a computer? That will prove … interesting. “If you want her to do that, let me know in advance. I’m required to check with the owners before we do any type of recording.”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  “So what does she like?” I sense she’s calling the shots when it comes to the house decision making. I might as well get the list of must haves for her.

  “Class. Anything expensive. Move-in ready. Hell, if we can find a furnished place, it’d make her day.”

  “So basically nothing requiring to lift a finger.” Macy not only sounds controlling from the things Gretchen has said, but lazy. I guess if that’s what he likes, though, I shouldn’t say anything.