Your Hand in Mine: A Heartwood Novel

by Brea Viragh

  Never was I drinking that much again. Ever. I made a promise to myself then. If there were free drinks involved, I needed a limit. Three. Okay, maybe four. Or better yet, how about none if there was a handsome man involved? Honestly, I didn’t remember moving past the point of tipsy last night. Either I was losing my marbles or there was some strange stimulant in those drinks.

  The handsome man I’d lassoed last night had disappeared. I managed to crack my eyes open long enough to see if he’d left a note. Nope. He’d left me. Not cool.

  And exhausted from the lack of sleep, I wasn’t a happy camper. That was putting it mildly.

  My fists balled at my sides and I let out a frustrated groan, pushing my head deeper into the pillow and somehow hoping I was wrong. Maybe he was out getting coffee and would be back any minute, knocking at the door with an apologetic smile. Sorry for worrying me in the first place.

  I waited a few minutes and knew my imagination was getting the better of me.

  Had I expected him to spend the night? Not when I really sat down to think about it, no. Seeing as sitting was the only thing my head wanted me to do, I had plenty of time to think.

  I must have had much more to drink than him. I hadn’t heard him leave, hadn’t flinched.

  Ten minutes of mentally berating myself got me thinking. I’d never really expected much from the men I saw in the past. Jackie, once she was sober, told me it was because men expended too much of their energy on their nether regions to make much of an effort anywhere else. As I’d been content with having fun—the emotionally unavailable ones were always the most fun, I knew—it hadn’t bothered me much.

  Until this morning.

  Fenton was a different creature entirely. At least, he was in my mind. He was a hard worker and a fair boss, one who wouldn’t tell his guys to do something he wasn’t willing and able to do himself. He was intelligent and strong, responsible and creative. All the things that really mattered.

  He was also a dynamite when the lights went off, and his smile…I stopped, finding my own face curved up in a similar gesture. His smile lit me up from the inside.

  But what did I have to smile about this morning? I was alone. Feeling off-center, I decided to get up and stop moping around. Otherwise, I would want to crawl under the covers and stay there for the rest of the day.

  No, we were driving home today. I smacked myself on the forehead and instantly regretted the motion. I couldn’t imagine a six-hour car ride with him at the moment.

  It took another twenty minutes before I had the constitution to stand. Another ten for me to take a shower and get dressed. I eventually found my way down to the banquet hall, now filled with round tables, white tablecloths, and a breakfast buffet set up to make use of the view.

  I let my gaze drift over the room without any particular direction. The sights and smells washed over me, through me. Then I saw him. Fenton was exactly where I’d thought he would be. Approaching the end of the buffet line with his plate filled to the brim with grease. Bacon and sausage to be exact.

  The perfect hangover foods for a queasy stomach.

  I crossed the space and grabbed a plate, my gut turning when I came to the first warmer and found scrambled eggs. Next. Soon I had a flapjack and a side of bacon gracing my plate as I hurried toward Fenton. There was nothing like a pile of grease to settle a queasy stomach after a night of drinking. Or maybe it was to settle the nerves suddenly skittering along my arms.

  I practiced a smile, keeping it in place until it felt right. I’d spent too long being ashamed of myself to hide now.

  My free hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey there, trouble.”

  “Oh, hi Shari. How are you this morning?” He flinched and said nothing else. Flinched? I started. Not the usual response I got after a night of rough, wonderful sex.

  “Okay.” I drew out the first syllable in a long exhale. Taking special time to lock my spine in place, pushing back my shoulders, I said, “We sure took advantage of that open bar last night. Huh? I don’t remember how many drinks you ordered, but it was enough to give me a raging headache this morning. I think I downed a handful of aspirin in the shower.”

  I picked up a fork and rolled it between my fingers for something to do. Anything to keep me from losing my will to stand near him.

  “Sure.” Fenton made his way toward a table overlooking the beach. I grabbed a hash brown before following.

  This wasn’t a game I liked to play. The pussyfoot around in silence game. I was an upfront, honest person. Fenton wasn’t going to get away with this awkwardness. The air was thick with it. Discomfort so thick I could have taken a knife and slathered it across my pancake.

  “I’m going to guess you feel a little weird about what happened last night. And early this morning,” I began, keeping my voice artificially bright. As light and shiny as the sun glinting off the waves outside. I wanted to run and jump in the water to cool down my head.

  This time, Fenton responded, shoveling an entire bacon strip into his mouth at the same time. His face was unreadable. Tired, with a lack of enthusiasm I’d never seen him wear before. “Oh, I’m hungry. You know how it goes.”

  “I definitely do.” I pushed a wealth of meaning into the tone. Trusting he would be in the right mindset to interpret it.

  It worked. “Shari, I want to eat. I don’t want to talk about what happened last night.”

  “Yeah, I can see,” I responded. “You’re acting like I told you I want to inject an experimental virus into your veins and see what happens.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

  “What? The morning after conversation? Is that why you left?”

  “I left…I thought it was a mistake.”

  I tested the word. “Mistake,” I repeated. It tasted like crap.

  My heart began fluttering around in my chest, pushing against my ribs. My lungs quickly joined the party and I told them all to quiet down. There was no reason to get nervous over a word. A word coming from the man I loved admitting he regretted our time together.

  “Yes, mistake,” he said in a harried whisper, leaning forward to avoid being overheard. There was uncertainty in his voice and his body had gone stiff, closed off. “I’m so sorry I took advantage of you like that. It won’t happen again.”

  “Ah, okay.” I picked at my food, pretending I hadn’t experienced the most amazing sex of my life only to have it called a mistake in the morning. “I want you to know, you didn’t take advantage of me. I wanted you. You wanted me. It was a natural process. I have absolutely no regrets.”

  And I’ll take a repeat performance whenever you can find the time.

  “It was alcohol and lessened inhibitions and…and...” he stuttered and broke off.

  I took a second to stare at him. The confident man I was used to seeing replaced by an embarrassed, disheveled stranger.

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is awesome,” I supplied. “Or mind-blowing. Dazzling would work well. I wouldn’t say no to any of them. But go on.” I reached for the butter knife and rammed it through my potatoes. Overkill, yes, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I’d love to hear what you say next. I have a feeling I’m not going to like it. Just as I didn’t like waking up alone without a note.”

  “It can never happen again,” he responded dryly.

  The memories of his creativity last night worked their way into my body in a flash and I was transported back to the room. The bed. The shower. “Yes, never again.” The repetition came with a bucket-load of sarcasm. “Sure,” I finally agreed. “You’re fighting off a hangover and aren’t in the market for a relationship. I can understand how you’d be hesitant. You can’t look me in the eyes.”

  He let his head drop to the table. “I’m a terrible boss.”

  Silverware clattered and I suddenly had no appetite for the breakfast buffet. I pushed the plate away. “I somehow thought you would find something better to say. You’re not a terrible boss. I shouldn’t have
to be the one to remind you.”

  “Yes, I am,” he insisted. “I can’t believe I took advantage of you like that. I can’t say anything to make it better, I know. If you want to quit and find another job I totally understand. I’ll offer you three weeks of pay.”

  I wondered how long I would be able to hold out before I started screaming. Screaming or crying, and I wasn’t sure which one would be better. I didn’t have the defenses to make it through being fired again. Least of all by Fenton. Least of all right after we’d slept together.

  “Are you serious? We shared a beautiful night together and you’re offering me severance pay?” I am ashamed to admit that my voice rose to the rafters. Several people from neighboring tables turned their head in my direction. I ignored them all.

  “I told you I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. I didn’t want things to get complicated between us.”

  I needed to learn how to keep my emotions under control, although I’d always thought I had. Somehow Fenton managed to get inside of me and take me down effortlessly from the inside. I forced my mind to withdraw from the pain, to slam down the shields. To protect myself.

  “Look, I didn’t force you to put the moves on me.” I tried to keep an even tone.

  “I know you didn’t.” He looked and sounded miserable. “I’m never drinking that much again.”

  “Don’t you blame the booze, either. It helped lower your inhibitions. It lowered mine and I hardly have any. But you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Want,” I clarified. “I want you. There’s no denying we have serious chemistry and an ever-present attraction to one another.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going to deny I find you attractive. I wasn’t lying.”

  “Good.” It was a start.

  “I’m so ashamed of myself, Shar. It can never happen again. Ever. It might be best if you start looking for another position. God, I hate myself right now. I don’t’ want to lose you and I’m afraid I did.”

  Was it me? Honestly, was it me? Lately, all my bosses seemed to want to get rid of me. Despite my years-long friendship with Rayne, this hurt more. This physically hurt.

  A hand rose to my chest and I tamped down the upset. “I’m perfectly fine where I am.” I stared down at my forgotten plate, stomach doing flips until it lodged in my throat. “Thanks for thinking about me.”

  Fenton fell into a stony silence. I was more than happy to join him and keep my mouth closed. What was there to say when hours after an affair the man across from me wanted nothing to do with me?

  It was better to stare at the table rather than indulging the small crisis brewing in my head. “When do you want to leave?” I finally asked.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here and take a couple extra days to yourself? I can scrounge up—”

  “Fenton!”

  It was more than a girl could handle. Not only did Fenton regret having sex with me, he felt so guilty he was going to pay for me to take a longer vacation. With a number of my ex-boyfriends, I would have happily accepted the offer. Unfortunately, this was not any guy.

  And this insult was more than I could bear.

  “We’re going to leave in an hour,” I said furiously, pointing at him. “I refuse to let you make this awkward. Which means, for the next six hours while we are in the car together, you are going to force yourself to make conversation with me and we will listen to at least one Celine Dion song. Probably more. I like to play My Heart Will Go On on repeat when I’m upset. More if I feel it necessary. Understand?”

  It curdled my abdomen to see him slowly nod. “Whatever you want.”

  “I guess a relaxing morning in my bed followed by orange juice on the beach isn’t going to happen.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t speak.”

  We made it through three Celine Dion songs before I started getting teary-eyed. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I knew Fenton wouldn’t be thrilled in the morning, but this was ridiculous. He refused to look at me. Conversation was stale.

  This was definitely going to make work difficult on Monday morning. Then I stopped, staring out the window at the endless line of trees. Why did I did it have to be difficult, or awkward?

  Aw, who was I kidding? It was going to be a rough few weeks until I got my feet back under me.

  But I’d never let him see it. I refused to let him see how I was affected. Down to my bedrock.

  A wave of heart-wrenching melancholy took me as Fenton pulled into the driveway of the bed and breakfast. There was still so much to say and not enough space in the car, or between us, to say it all.

  I groaned under my breath when he pulled the parking brake. “So…” he began after a long moment of silence.

  Part of me wanted to avert my gaze and turn tail. A mall part, mind you. I wasn’t built to run.

  I turned to face him, keeping my eyes hard. His, on the other hand, drifted over the piles of hair bundled on top of my head, down to my tank top, to my short shorts, before finally settling somewhere around my shoulder.

  “Do you need help with your bags?”

  I studied him for a moment and fought against…what? Disappointment? Need? Desperate affection?

  “I think I can manage it myself,” I said with forced aloofness, proud of the fact that I didn’t either slap him in the face or lunge for another taste of those lips. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

  Fighting against a fidget, Fenton sighed. “Right. I’d apologize again—”

  “But you know I don’t want to hear it. If you ever try to apologize to me again, I’ll do something drastic.”

  Six hours of being trapped in the same car as the man I loved, the man who wanted nothing to do with me after giving me the best sex of my life, was too much. I grabbed the handle and jumped out like the insides were suddenly on fire.

  “Shari.” He followed me out of the car. “Don’t bolt. I’m sorry, okay? I know I can’t say it enough, but I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this.”

  “I’m not bolting. I’m calmly retrieving my bags from the trunk and then I’m going home. And don’t worry, you know, I’m not going to tell anyone what happened. Although lord knows in a town as small as Heartwood, keeping a secret is a damn big deal.”

  Fenton, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation, crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t going to ask you to keep it to yourself. I know you wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

  “You don’t mind if I put out a bulletin on social media?”

  I gave him a once over and caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed once. Twice. Yeah, he definitely minded.

  The anger I felt could wait, though. Right now, I had to try and concentrate on making a grand exit without distractions.

  My chin lifted in an echo of the stubborn attitude I didn’t have to work to bring forth. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. And before you say anything,” I put in before he could open his mouth, “I don’t need time off. I wouldn’t say no if you stayed home, but I’ll be here. With goddamn bells on.”

  Ugh, what had I done? No, I reminded myself. This wasn’t on me. I’d followed my heart and his lead, which landed us all in a heap of, if not trouble, then inconvenience.

  I’d never met anyone like him and despite what had happened, I still wanted to be with him. Every time I walked into the B&B, all I wanted to do was talk to him, see how he was doing. The conversation was effortless.

  I knew he was a good person. Deep down. And once this new mess of trouble passed, I’m sure I would have no trouble remembering.

  I stopped midway to the car when a thought hit me like a bag of bricks falling from an airplane. Although why a bag of bricks would fall from an airplane, I didn’t know.

  I was stuck in the loop.

  The pattern of emotionally unavailable men. I’d done it again, fallen head over heels for someone who wasn’t present, wouldn’t be present. Except this time was differen
t.

  I wasn’t giving a yellow light anymore. I’d switched to solid green. And instead of sharing the sentiment, Fenton was on red.

  “Hey, Shari?”

  Was it too much to hope for that he’d changed his mind? Was he going to come striding toward me, take me in his arms, and tell me the mistake was meant to be after all?

  It was too much to hope for. I swept my hand across my eyes to clear them of any moisture before turning around.

  “What?” The word came out nastier than I’d expected.

  “Did you have people scheduled to do anything today? Make a delivery or come clear out the mess from the shed?”

  “No, why?” My damn eyes were stinging again. Whatever tears I tried to push down, push harder than a man trying to cram the last bit of garbage into a single bag to save trips to the curb, fought back.

  “Because someone’s been here,” Fenton said. He stood by the front porch steps staring at the ground.

  “God, please don’t tell me you see footsteps in the mud.” I stalked forward. This was not the conversation I wanted to have. “You can’t possibly have boot types and sizes memorized, not for everyone on your team.”

  He was frustrated with me. I could tell. By the time I reached him, taking careful pains not to touch him or look at his face in any way, his shoulders were shaking. “It’s not the tracks on the ground that have me worried, Shari. It’s the brick through my front window and the pile of them blocking the side yard.

  “What!”

  The issue with Fenton was forgotten. Okay, that was a lie. Not forgotten. Moved to the side in light of the newest problem in our path.

  I moved past him toward the porch and the shower of glass glinting in the afternoon sun. Indeed, someone thrown something through my brand new window. It stood to reason it was one of the bricks from the pile. The new Mt. Kilimanjaro-sized pile of bright red bricks dumped in the middle of the yard.

  What in the hell was going on?