Betwixt Two Hearts (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  More pictures showed a wife and him holding a baby. “You’re a grandpa and a great grandpa both.”

  Of all the clients she worked with, Arnie Holtz would have been the last she’d ever imagine breaking down, but the man clutched her laptop as if a lifeline and wept.

  “I’ll contact him, for you. I’ll meet and have coffee—see if he’s as nice as he seems. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

  The chances of finding Jordan on the streets of Fairbury at the exact time he rode through town, looking for the ice blue Honda Fit with the JORDANA license plate. Having watched her drive away had that one advantage. Now to find it… and hopefully not waste all the gas he’d burned driving all the way to Fairbury just to begin a silly “semi-secret-admirer” plan.

  Worst of all, even if he found the car, Heath hadn’t decided what he’d do. It was one thing to say, “Show your interest” but an entirely different thing to do it in a way that would intrigue rather than creep out the intended target. Now I sound like a military guy on a mission.

  After two loops, the cop on the corner began to watch without hiding his interest. That wouldn’t do at all, so Heath pulled into the drive that led to a parking lot behind The Fox Theater. There it was—her ice blue Fit. Almost as if God had said, “Here you go. Now do something.”

  Except Heath didn’t believe God worked that way—not usually, anyway. The car there meant one of two things. First, that he could just find a way to leave a note on the car and call it good. Second, that he could also do a little reconnaissance. Maybe I wouldn’t like her if I knew her better. Watching makes sense. And maybe then I can figure out how to leave a note or something.

  With that in mind, Heath climbed from the car and started to lock it. However, the parking lot lights shone on his hoodie in the back seat. With a hood, he might disguise himself better. People often remembered his hair more than anything else… Yeah. Definitely.

  It was too cold for just the hoodie, so Heath pulled his coat on over it and took off toward the street. A glance left showed a few shops and The Grind. She might like coffee. Could buy her next cup if they know her here…

  Jordan wasn’t in The Grind, however. She wasn’t in Bookends, the music store, or a crafty store promising to help create the most beautiful scrapbook layouts for Valentine’s Day, either. He pressed onward, checked out The Diner, glanced in the candy store, the little delicatessen, and even around the corner to a mailing center.

  However, just as he’d decided to go back and see if the flower shop was still open, Jordan stepped out of the post office. He passed her, but she didn’t seem to notice. I’m probably kind of forgettable in a totally unforgettable way.

  At the corner, he turned to see her talking with someone—an older man. Her arm came around the guy’s shoulder, and as they approached, he heard her say, “—emailed me back. I’ll meet with him this week, and if he’s the man I think he is…”

  He couldn’t explain why his heart sank, but it did. She’s already met someone else.

  Heath might have turned away, but her next words stopped him. “I don’t have to keep being the middleman, Arnie. If you’re ready to take over, I can give him your number and—”

  “No. I trust you. Did you check out his wife?”

  It’s not a new date. Relief he couldn’t explain washed over him. Have to think about what that means later.

  “Arnie” told her to enjoy her coffee and promised to call when he got home. “Thank you, Jordie. You take better care of me than any daughter I could have hoped for.”

  “No offense Arnie, but I’d be your granddaughter—or close to it.”

  The original coffee idea resurfaced, with a shot of inspiration. He hurried into The Grind just a minute or two before her and at his turn, slid a ten-dollar bill across the counter. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I want to buy Jordan’s coffee. Keep the change, but can I get a coffee sleeve and a marker? I’d like to leave a note on it.”

  Never had he been more thankful for teen baristas with overly-romantic notions fueled by a steady diet of Hollywood and television. The girl nearly sighed as she passed them. “It’s totally sweet of you. Guys don’t do stuff like that anymore.” With each word, the girl’s voice grew louder until Heath couldn’t hear the door for her not-so-subtle hinting.

  He assumed the red-eared guy cleaning tables in the corner was the object of her ire but tried not to show he understood. Instead, he thanked her for it and took it to the edge of the counter where he could write in relative peace. Figuring out what to write—not so peaceful.

  By the time he’d finished, he expected her to be in line already, but instead, Heath jerked open the door and almost barreled into an astonished Jordan. “I’m sorry. Did—?”

  “Aaak. I almost—are you okay?”

  Heath grinned and stepped aside. “I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

  “Have a good night.”

  A glance back as he let the door close behind him showed Jordan watching him. Was it—? She blushed!

  His more rational, scientific side argued that stepping inside out of the cold had produced the rosy cheeks. Then again, she looked back. That counts for something. If she remembered me, she wouldn’t—unless she doesn’t hate me… yet.

  The dearth of available men in Fairbury. It had been her favorite rant since moving to town, and every woman at church and in her social group said the same thing. There were more single guys than women in town. Jordan was just too picky.

  When she nearly plowed over a reasonably handsome guy, with a decided lack of wedding ring—not that she’d looked, of course… Yeah, I totally looked. Single unless he’s of the “rings are a sin” or the “just lost five hundred pounds, so it fell off” persuasion.

  That he could be a cheating jerk who kept his ring off whenever away from home did cross her mind. Jordan dismissed it. There’d been no tan line, no indent—nothing to hint of a usual ring. Not that she’d looked for those either. Ahem.

  Dark hair? Probably—if the beard color meant anything. With the hoodie he’d worn under his coat, she could only guess. Striking blue eyes. No ring. Never had the lack of left-handed jewelry been of such obvious import.

  Import. First superfluous and now import. No more nineteenth-century literature for a month—no, two.

  Only after she’d given him one last look, and caught him glancing back at him—how embarrassing! Only then did she turn and allow the rich scent of coffee to invade her senses. It might be scientifically unverifiable and possibly even ludicrous, but every time she entered The Grind, Jordan became more convinced that caffeine particles were unleashed in the air with each mocha or latte made. Just sniffing the air could clear the mind.

  Aya, her favorite barista, bounced up. “Isn’t he cute? What’s his name?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Eyes wide, Aya reached to her left. “Your usual?”

  “Yeah…”

  The girl dragged a cup with a wisp of steam exiting the tiny sip hole from behind the counter. “Here.”

  “That was fast?”

  “Cutie got it for you.”

  Lord, can I just thank You that she didn’t call him “Mr. Hottie” like that last man she salivated over? Yeah. Thanks.

  Right about then, Aya’s words clicked. “Wait, that guy? He bought me this? How’d he know I was coming in? He was going out when I left?”

  “I don’t know, but he just came in, bought it—great tipper, too—and asked for a sleeve and Sharpie.”

  Sleeve. Jordan turned the cup until a short message appeared. Did you know your freckles make me smile?

  “That’s not exactly helpful…”

  “What is it? Jason wouldn’t let me read it—made me promise.”

  But Jordan didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t even reply until the cold air from outside blasted her as she opened the door. “Night, Aya. Thanks. And be nice to Jason. He’s one of the good ones—just too young for me, unfortunately.”

&n
bsp; A glance through the window as she passed showed one of those still vignettes that Norman Rockwell would have captured. Aya leaning over the higher counter side, head in her hands—Jason trying his best not to look her way, a smile on his lips.

  The coffee, perfect. The message, cryptic. Officer Joe stood at the corner, hands stuffed in his jacket and looking much too cold. Seeing him gave her an idea.

  A wave, a smile, she hurried to his side and pointed at The Grind. “Did you see the guy who just left there?”

  “Dark hoodie and work overcoat?”

  “Yes!”

  Joe just nodded.

  “Well… do you know who he is?”

  Everything in Joe’s demeanor changed. Just as the first snowflakes of a predicted heavy snowfall landed on her sleeve, he stepped toward the street. “Did he bother you? He sure seemed odd. If he’s who I think he was, he—” Midsentence, he pointed at a car that pulled out from behind The Fox. “That car. I’d recognize that Flex anywhere. He pulled out his phone and called for another officer, but the car turned up the square a ways and then pulled out toward the highway. “He’s going right past the station. Get that license number.”

  They stood there, shivering while waiting to hear back from whoever Joe had spoken to. “Hey, want a coffee? I could go get—”

  He shook his head. “I’m going home in an hour. Unlike Alexa, if I drink coffee when I need to sleep, I won’t.

  Jordan had nearly finished the coffee before the call came back through. Joe looked ready to blast someone as he listened. He jabbed the phone screen with his thumb and shook his head. “Sorry, Jordan. Judith tried, but the car was too far down the road before she could catch up—too far out of our jurisdiction.”

  “Well, thanks for trying.”

  “I’ll keep my eye out. We don’t need people harassing—”

  “Oh, no!” She felt her cheeks heat and shifted out of the light. “He just bought me coffee, and I wanted to thank him. I just don’t know who he is.”

  As sincere as she was, Joe didn’t look convinced. “Well, if you see him again, make sure someone’s around when you do it. I didn’t like the way he hid back there behind The Fox and then showed up in a hoodie and wandered all over the place without buying anything.”

  She waggled the empty cup and began backing across the street. “But he did. He bought my coffee. Night!”

  Instinct nearly prompted her to toss the cup in the garbage as she passed The Fox, but Jordan opted for a photo first. Mom’ll want to see this.

  By the time she turned into her drive, the snow came down thick, heavy, and coating everything with a fresh layer of white stuff. By the time she got settled inside, picture taken and sent to her mother, a fire crackled in the little fireplace that D.C. hadn’t had time to remove before leaving for Syria.

  When she finally sat curled up on the sofa, phone and novel in hand, her mother’s reply came.

  Mom: Secret admirer? I thought those were out of style.

  Jordan shot back a reply.

  Jordan: I hope not. This guy was cute, and that was a nice way to semi-introduce yourself.

  Mom shot back one more reply.

  Mom: Except he knows your name, and you don’t know his.

  Something about the words didn’t ring true, but Jordan couldn’t decide why. Just as she fell asleep, the reason became obvious. I don’t know if he said my name or not. He could have just said the next woman who comes in if he knew I was coming… somehow.

  A phone appeared where her organic chemistry text should be. Heath’s voice boomed in her ear. “They matched me. What do I do?”

  Almost as disoriented as if she’d been ripped from sleep, Selby blinked at the screen. “What?”

  “You’re the one with the great plan. Fix this!”

  Just a first name. Whitney. A circle beside the name showed a dark-haired woman wearing red, but it didn’t tell Selby much. Just as she tapped the photo, her phone buzzed. The woman—she had to be ten years older than Heath. “She’s pretty…”

  “She’s…” closed out of the larger picture and tapped her name. “Forty-one.”

  “You said ten years either way… And you need practice. So, let’s do this.”

  A fresh round of objections followed—just as she’d expected. For every anticipated protest, Selby shot back a carefully rehearsed rebuttal that he’d never be able to refute. In the end, he sank down beside her on the saggy couch and asked for his first assignment.

  “I’m going to give it everything I have so you can’t blame me when it fails.” He shot her a pained look—one that almost broke Selby’s resolve. “And it will fail.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. If you just had a mustard seed’s worth, you could move mountains of dung beetles from your mind the next time a freckle-faced girl winked at you.”

  Heath just waited, thumbs paused.

  No one can say he doesn’t try. That’s big, anyway.

  The first message they wrote together. Her reply came immediately. She was eager to meet. Shoving her textbook aside, and settling into the corner of the couch, Selby grabbed the phone and reread it. “Sounds desperate.”

  Heath blanched.

  Good. You need to be nervous. Selby typed out a response and passed it to him. “How’s that?”

  Heath: How would you feel about coffee Wednesday night after church. Espresso Yourself in Brant’s Corners?

  Resistance settled over Heath’s shoulders. Just as she expected him to wrap it tightly around him and refuse to agree, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll go to church in Brunswick.”

  She tossed aside the phone and flung her arms around him. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  “You did this, knowing how hard it would be, because you trusted me. That’s big. So yeah, thanks.”

  Her phone blipped before he could answer. She fumbled for it, and as she tapped in her password, Heath said, “Should I at least exchange a few more messages before I agree?”

  “Coffee after church isn’t a big deal, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  What else he said, Selby didn’t hear. The message: from Betwixt. Subject? Your first match.

  “Oh, no…”

  “What?”

  “That fake account?”

  Laughter boomed out across the room. “You forgot to cancel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, maybe they found one of our true loves then, right?”

  Fingers flying as she scrambled to read the contract once more. Thinking aloud, she muttered, “Whew. First match is free. They haven’t charged my card yet. I’ll just send a message to cancel now…”

  “Don’t.” Heath reached for her phone and put it behind his back. “Seriously,” he added at her protest. “Just listen. If you do this, too, I’ll have an idea of how you as a girl feel about it. Right? And you can give me better pointers.”

  “I have school! I don’t have time for this.”

  He pushed away her hands as Selby fought to retrieve her phone. “You know how you burned out last semester. You can just agree to occasional chats, and one or two meets a month. Any guy who doesn’t respect your need to study isn’t the one for you anyway, right?”

  Smiling—yep. It disarmed him. Selby dealt a knockout punch to the idea in one simple, irrefutable argument. “That’s true. I do need to make that happen. But we both know I can’t afford this. I’ll just have to imagine things. That won’t be too hard.”

  “You’re right. You can’t afford it.”

  Defeat sucker punched her and knocked her smug refutations out cold as she realized what he’d say next.

  “But I can.”

  “That’s a low blow, Heath.”

  His smile disarmed her—the one that made the sides of his mustache dance each time he tried to repress it. “Yeah… but you’ll say yes, won’t you?”

  Without a word, she tapped the message and read it. The guy’s profile—something about it felt familiar the more she read. �
�Hey, Heath. Old movie. Black and white. One of those strong, silent type actors. He plays a hick, I think. I keep seeing him by some old farmhouse.”

  “That only describes a dozen or two movies we’ve ever seen.”

  “He says just one word. ‘Hopin’.’ Know what movie that is?”

  How he’d remember a single word from a movie she couldn’t identify any better, she couldn’t imagine. It was insanity, but still… Selby read the message again. “The question is, ‘Do you believe in the idea of a soul mate?’ And the answer he gives is, ‘Hopin’.’ That’s so familiar.”

  Heath closed his eyes and said it a few times… deeper… higher… with an accent. He jerked bolt upright. “You sure the guy said it? Could it have been a girl? Coonhounds baying?”

  That’s all she needed. “Sergeant York! I should have known. Gracie Williams says it when he says he’ll see her around.”

  “Yep.” Heath’s gaze fell on her—she could feel it. “Um… why do you think it’s that?”

  “I think that’s how we got matched. Listen to this one. ‘What would you hope for most from a connection on Betwixt?’ He answers, ‘The beginning of a beautiful friendship.’ That’s from Casablanca.”

  Heath leaned over and tapped the reply button on the screen. “If they found someone else who answers in movie quotes, he’s got to be the guy for you. Is there a picture?”

  A lump filled her throat. She hadn’t let herself look too closely. That first glimpse had hinted that he looked a little like Johanny. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  With the chat box open in the app, she couldn’t show him the picture so while Selby worked to construct a clever response to, “‘Make my day’ and respond to this message.”

  Instead, she just sighed and said, “The tiny thumbnail they gave me hinted that Johanny might have a doppelganger.”

  “Make that a good reply.”

  “I was thinking about asking him if he was in a coma.”

  Heath took the phone and read it. “Why?”

  “Then when he says no, I could tell him I was glad, or I’d probably spend the night confusing him.”