If You Can't Stand the Heat...

by Joss Wood

  ‘Feels like it,’ Ellie muttered. ‘And might I point out that you dig around in my head, throwing questions at me, but you won’t answer any of mine?’ It wasn’t fair that he wanted to delve into her life and emotions and he wouldn’t allow her into his.

  Jack’s hands stilled on the keyboard and he sent her a shuttered look. His sigh covered his obvious irritation. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘You know what,’ Ellie muttered. She gestured to his chest. ‘Tell me about that scar. How did you get it?’

  ‘Heart transplant,’ Jack said, his voice devoid of inflection.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard what I said.’

  Ellie sat up, her headache all but forgotten under this enormous news. ‘But you look fine.’

  ‘That’s because I am fine! I’ve been fine for seventeen years!’

  Ooooh, touchy subject. Even more touchy than her father issues. ‘Hey, I’m still processing this—just give me a second, okay? How would you like me to react?’

  ‘Well, for starters, I’d like you to take that look of pity off your face!’ Jack picked his computer up and banged it down onto the coffee table. ‘That’s why I don’t tell people—because they instantly go all sympathetic and gooey!’

  Oh, wait... His sharp, snappy voice was pulling her headache right back.

  ‘Stop putting words into my mouth! I never said that.’ Ellie pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees, her eyes on his suddenly miserable face. His expression practically begged her to leave the subject alone, but he’d opened the door and she was going to walk on in. ‘Why did you need a heart transplant?’

  ‘I caught viral pneumonia when I was thirteen. It damaged my heart.’

  ‘And how old were you when you had the transplant?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Geez, Jack.’ Ellie wanted to crawl into his lap to comfort him, but knew that any affection right now would be misconstrued, deeply unwelcome.

  ‘Nobody outside of my family knows,’ Jack warned her. ‘It’s not something that I want to become public knowledge.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t define me!’ Jack’s eyes flashed with irritation.

  ‘If it didn’t define you to a certain point then you wouldn’t keep it so secret,’ Ellie pointed out. ‘What’s the big deal? So you were sick when you were a kid, and you got a new heart—?’ Ellie sat up, curiosity on her face. ‘Do you know whose heart you got?’

  ‘Yes. It was another teenager. Killed in a car crash,’ Jack said curtly. He nodded to his computer and glared at Ellie. ‘Can we get back to the subject on hand?’

  ‘No.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. So you got viral pneumonia, which damaged your heart, and you were sick for a long time. Then you got a new heart and now you’re fine?’

  ‘I take anti-rejection pills every day and make a point of keeping myself healthy. Apart from that, and the scar, I’m as normal as anyone else.’

  Physically, maybe, but Ellie suspected that there was a whole bunch of psychological stuff still whirling around in his head. She needed to understand how it had moulded the man in front of her. Because she had no doubt that it had. How could it not have? It was too big, too life-changing—in every sense of the word. ‘Tell me about those years between falling sick and having the operation.’

  ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’

  Jack rested his forearms on his knees in a pose she was coming to realise was characteristic of him and linked his hands.

  ‘I became housebound, lacking energy, lacking breath. I got sick frequently. Sport, school, partying, girls were all out of the question...it was an effort just to stay alive. At the end stages just before the op, my heart was so damaged that I could hardly walk. I...existed.’

  She could hardly imagine it—this vibrant, energetic, amazing man, who should have been an active, lively teen, restricted by his failing heart and deteriorating health. ‘Frustration’ and ‘resentment’ were words far too weak to describe some of the emotions he must have experienced at the time.

  ‘And that time defined the rest of your life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I hate being told what I can or can’t do, that I have to stay in one place, that I can’t pick up and leave. I lived a life of very few choices. I vowed to never limit myself again. For the best part of my teenage life I was so...confined that I promised myself I would never be again. And I promised Brent—’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My donor. I promised him, and myself, that I would live life, not exist. Not try to protect myself. That I’d do everything he never had the chance to.’

  Phew. Well, she’d asked.

  Jack stood up abruptly. ‘I need more coffee. Do you want another cup?’

  The door slammed shut. Ellie shook her head and wished she hadn’t. Ow, my head! How was she supposed to take in and think about Jack’s monumental disclosure when her head was splitting apart?

  No fair.

  NINE

  Jack left the room and Ellie stared at the spot he’d vacated and forced herself to concentrate. A heart transplant? Was he being serious? Of course he was, she’d seen his scar, but...holy mackerel. She’d expected to hear about a big operation, but a heart transplant was a very big deal. How could it not be?

  Ellie heard Jack’s footsteps behind her and sent him a wary look as he sat down beside her, another cup of coffee in his hand.

  ‘You still want to talk about it, don’t you?’ Jack asked, his expression stating that he’d rather have his legs waxed.

  Ellie leaned back and put her feet up on the coffee table. ‘It’s just another part of your history—like stitches or breaking a leg...though on a much mightier scale.’

  ‘You laughed when you heard about those incidents. I can handle humour. I can’t stand pity.’ Jack glared at her.

  ‘Sorry, I’m a bit short on heart transplant jokes,’ Ellie shot back. ‘And stop glaring at me! I didn’t torture you to tell me.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Jack retorted, looking miserable. ‘I look into your eyes and I want to tell you...stuff.’

  Ellie batted her lashes and Jack laughed. Reluctantly, but he laughed. ‘You appear to be sweet but you are actually a brat, do you know that?’

  ‘Sweet? Ugh.’ Ellie wrinkled her nose. ‘What a description. I prefer “amazing sex goddess”.’

  Jack’s laugh was a lot easier this time. ‘You are that too. But you’ll have to keep proving it to retain the title.’

  Ellie slapped his groping hands away and captured the hand closest to hers. ‘I will, but I need to say something to you first.’ His expression became guarded at her serious tone, but she decided to carry on anyway. She took a deep breath and spoke. ‘I’m sorry for what you lived through but, although you probably won’t believe me, I don’t feel pity. If anything I’m in awe of what you’ve achieved, how you’ve refused to allow your past to limit you.’

  Jack shoved a hand into his hair, squirmed, but Ellie ploughed on.

  ‘You could’ve chosen to protect yourself, to hide out, to nurture yourself, and everyone would’ve understood. But because you’re you you probably said to your heart, Right, dude, we’ve both got a second chance. Hang on—we’re going for a ride. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah...I suppose.’

  ‘I respect the hell out of you. You’re also...well...not ugly...which doesn’t hurt.’

  Jack’s laugh whizzed over her head as he reached for her and pulled her across his lap. Ellie looked up at him and swallowed. When she teamed her respect for him with his sharp intellect, his dry sense of humour and the fact that he was a very decent guy, her heart started doing somersaults in her ribcage.

  Add their physical chemistry to the mix and she had a soupy mess that could blow up in her face.

  Since they’d started sleeping together she’d refused to think of him as anything oth
er than a brief affair. Whenever she found herself thinking about him in terms of more, she reminded herself that she only had tomorrow or the next day or the next and closed the door on those fantasies. She wouldn’t think of him in any other context other than that of a short-term, big-fun, no-strings affair, because it would be so easy to allow him to slip inside her heart and her head and that way madness lay. He would leave—he’d told her he would—and she would be left holding her bruised and battered heart.

  Jack’s thumb brushed over her lips and he just looked down at her with a soft, vulnerable expression on his face that she’d never seen before. It was encounters like this that dragged her deeper into an emotional quagmire. He was so enticing, on both an emotional and physical level, that it was difficult to not slip over the edge into deeper involvement. She was teetering on the edge. But she had to step back...because thinking of anything else was, frankly, stupid.

  There were a couple of things she was sure of: she could love him, really love him, but he didn’t want or need her love. And he’d never need her, love her, as she needed him to.

  Life was tough enough without having to compete with his job for his attention and his time. History had taught her that she’d end up either disappointing him or being disappointed. Both sucked equally, so why risk either? No, falling all the way in love with him was not an option, she thought as his mouth drifted across hers.

  But it might be easier said than done.

  * * *

  It was the start of a new week and Jack, after spending hours at his computer, chipping away at Mitch’s story, felt as if he needed a break. It was the middle of the afternoon so he walked down to the bakery and ducked behind the counter. Sliding behind Samantha, he shoved a mug under the spout and shot a double espresso into a cup. Yanking a twenty out of his pocket, he dropped it in the pocket of her apron and snagged a chocolate muffin before walking through the stable door into the bakery.

  As was his habit, he spent a moment admiring Ellie’s legs beneath the scarlet chef’s jacket before walking over to her table and pulling at the ponytail that fell out of her baseball cap.

  Ellie lifted her fondant-full hands, smiled at him and eyed his muffin. ‘I’m starving—can I have some?’

  Jack held the muffin to her mouth and sighed when Ellie took an enormous bite. ‘Piglet.’

  ‘I didn’t have lunch,’ Ellie explained. ‘I got involved in this cake.’

  Jack ran his hand down Ellie’s back and popped the rest of the muffin into his mouth.

  ‘You have people who slap together sandwiches for your customers not twelve feet from you—order something,’ Jack suggested.

  ‘Crazy day,’ Ellie told him, and resumed working on a delicate cream rosebud that looked almost real.

  He peered over her shoulder at the sugar-rose-scattered wedding cake. ‘That’s really pretty.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ellie responded, her brow furrowed in concentration as she resumed work rolling a tiny petal.

  Jack sat on a stool next to her table and watched her work. Her laptop stood open on the table in front of her and he gestured to it with his coffee cup. ‘What’s with the laptop?’

  Ellie spared it a brief glance. ‘I’ve been trying to talk to my mother about the having-to-move-the-bakery situation and she promised to find a place she could Skype from. I’m waiting for her call.’

  Progress of a type, Jack thought, but he doubted that Ellie would share the full responsibility of Pari’s with her mother. He could see the tension in the cords of her neck, in her raised shoulders. She didn’t want to burden her mum and would find any excuse not to. And if he knew her—and he thought he did—she would downplay the situation she was in.

  Sometimes Jack wanted to shake her. She had about five months to purchase the property, do the renovations and move the bakery if she didn’t want to lose any trade. She was wasting daylight in so many ways...trying to charm the owner of the building into selling when she should be threatening to walk away...chatting to her mum via Skype when she should have demanded that she return home weeks ago... Jack sighed. He tried to negotiate, rather than confront people, but he could kick ass when he needed to. Ellie’s confrontation style was that she didn’t essentially have one.

  Although she did have a way of making him emotionally vomit all over his shoes, Jack thought, thinking about their discussion yesterday. He couldn’t believe that he’d told her about his operation, his life before he’d started living again. He’d never told anybody—never discussed his past. God, if it wasn’t for his mother nagging him about his check-ups he wouldn’t discuss it at all.

  That would be the perfect scenario. How he wished he could erase the scar, the memories, the feeling that someone had him by the throat every time he thought about it. Ellie didn’t understand how difficult talking about it had been for him. He’d felt as if he’d been giving birth while he was sitting on that couch, forcing the words through his constricted throat. He’d been catapulted back seventeen years to a place he’d never wanted to revisit. He’d always been reticent, self-contained, and being so sick had isolated him from his peers and made him more so. He didn’t allow people into his mind or his heart easily.

  Yet Ellie kept creeping in. Did that mean that they’d moved from being a casual relationship to something that mattered? If so, he sure hadn’t planned on that happening...how had that happened? And when?

  A day ago...a week ago...the first time he saw her in the bakery?

  He’d thought that he’d be able to live with Ellie, sleep with Ellie and remain unaffected...hah! And some said he was a smart guy! He shoved his hands into his hair and tugged. Being in Cape Town was becoming a bit too complicated. He felt far too at home here in Ellie’s house, among her things. He’d never meant it to be a place where he could see himself living...

  Yet a part of him could. Maybe it was Ellie...okay, most of it was Ellie, but it didn’t help that she lived in possibly one of the most beautiful places he’d ever seen. Mountains and sea, sunny days, aqua and cobalt water, a pretty town. She had nice friends, people he could see himself spending time with, an interesting job, a relaxed, comfortable house.

  It was miles—geographically and mentally—away from his soulless, stuffy flat in London, with its beige walls and furniture...although he did miss his kick-ass plasma TV. If he ever moved here that would be the only household appliance he’d pay to ship out here...

  Jack gripped the edge of the stool. He was allowing the romance of the setting, his sexual attraction to Ellie and the prettiness of this area cloud his practicality. He was going soft—and possibly crazy.

  He needed to go back to work. Needed a distraction from his increasingly sentimental and syrupy thoughts. There was nothing quite like a conflict, a war or a disaster, to slap your feet back to the ground.

  Jack’s reflections were interrupted by a Skype call coming in on Ellie’s computer. At her request, Jack hit the ‘answer’ button with his non-sticky finger and Ellie’s brown-eyed mother appeared on screen. They could be sisters, Jack thought. A couple less laughter lines, long hair instead of short, blue eyes, not deep brown.

  ‘Namaste, angel face,’ said Ashnee, blowing her a kiss before wrapping her bare arms around her knees and grinning into the camera.

  Ellie leaned on her elbows and stared at the screen. ‘Mum, I miss you so much. You look fabulous!’

  Ashnee fluffed her short hair. ‘I feel fabulous. I see that I’m in the bakery. Busy?’

  ‘Hugely,’ Ellie said. ‘And that’s what I need to talk to you about.’

  Jack listened as Ellie explained the situation to her mum, and from beside the computer watched the emotions cross Ashnee’s face. There was sadness, regret and then resignation.

  ‘And we definitely can’t afford the new rent?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Nope.’

  Ashnee looked down at her hands, beautifully decorated with henna designs. ‘So we have to move? To the old Hutchinson place?’

&n
bsp; ‘Mmm, if only I can get Mrs H to sell.’

  Ellie looked up as the stable door opened and lifted her hand to greet Merri who, as per usual, had Molly Blue on her slim hip. She indicated that she was on a call and Merri nodded and wandered over to the table where she usually worked, where two less experienced bakers were making macaroons.

  Ellie listened with half an ear as her mum repeated her words back to her. She knew it was Ashnee’s way of thinking the problem through, so she half listened and watched the conversation between Merri and the other bakers. Merri looked cross and the bakers frustrated, and when Merri picked up a batch of baked macaroons and tossed them into the dustbin behind them Ellie felt her temper heat.

  Merri had no right to do quality control when she wasn’t even working on the premises. Right—she needed to sort this out before she ended up with no macaroons and no bakers.

  ‘Mum...’ Ellie reached out her hand, grabbed Jack’s hard arm and pulled him into the camera’s view ‘...meet Jack. Jack—Ashnee. Jack and I are kind of seeing each other...have a chat while I sort something out.’

  ‘Uh...’

  Jack looked from her to the screen but Ellie ignored his panicked face. Good grief, anyone would think she’d asked him to meet the Queen! Ellie rolled her eyes and walked across the bakery. One pair of annoyed and two pairs of mutinous eyes looked back at her.

  ‘What are you doing, Merri?’ she asked, keeping her voice low and even.

  ‘The macaroons were lumpy,’ Merri stated, allowing Mama Thandi to take Molly from her. Merri placed her hands on her hips. ‘That means the mixture was under-mixed.’

  Ellie walked over to the dustbin, opened it and grabbed one of the discarded macaroons. It wasn’t Merri-perfect but they could have sold the product. And, dammit, Merri had wasted time and energy, electricity and ingredients, when she wasn’t even supposed to be at work.

  Ellie dropped the pastry back into the bin, closed her eyes and hauled in a deep breath. She felt like an old dishrag, with every bit of energy and enthusiasm wrung out of her. And the two people who’d always been her backstop, her support structure—the other two pillars of the bakery—were wafting in and out or, in her mum’s case, wafting around the Indian sub-continent, while she buckled under the responsibility of keeping the bakery afloat.