Be Careful, It's My Heart: A Small Town Southern Romance (Wishful Romance Book 2)

by Kait Nolan

  “Tyler, did you—”

  “I have to talk to Brody,” she interrupted.

  “I think he already left.”

  “Shit.” Tyler pushed passed her, racing out to the parking lot.

  He was tugging open the door of his truck when she burst outside.

  “Brody!”

  He tossed his bag into the front seat before turning to face her, bracing his arms on the open door and the frame of the cab.

  Tyler slowed, trying to get a handle on her thoughts as she approached him. Now that he was staring at her, expectation on his face, she didn’t know what she was going to say, only that she couldn’t leave things as they had been.

  “It’s a really lovely thing you’re doing for the theater,” she began carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working on this?”

  Brody shrugged. “It was a long shot. I didn’t want to get your hopes up—or anybody else’s—in case Gerald didn’t go for it. I saw you when the announcement was made. You were surprised by the news. Why?”

  She rocked back on her heels and dropped her gaze. “Because I heard you when you brought Gerald to see the theater. I was in the back of the auditorium. I heard his plans for the conference center and how he wanted to change everything. And I thought you’d encouraged him.”

  Anger and insult warred on his face as he stepped toward her. “Is that what all this was about? You thought I was helping destroy the theater?”

  Tyler refused to allow herself to bend beneath the shame. “Part of it,” she admitted. “I misjudged you, and I—I wanted to apologize for that.”

  “Then you still mean what you said.”

  Tyler wavered.

  You don’t have to hurt. Not yet. The tiny, sly voice poked at her. He didn’t want this. He’d take you back if you just relented.

  It was tempting—so tempting—the thought of having these last weeks with him and taking whatever time they had left. But how could she do that to herself? For all that she’d truly meant her attempt at living a carpe diem life where Brody was concerned, she didn’t truly believe it was worth the extra pain. What progress she’d made since she’d ended things was incredibly hard won. Sliding back into any kind of temporary arrangement with him would do far more harm than good.

  No, better to stay the course and be strong. She just had to survive the next three weeks. Then she’d finally get that clean break and her chance to start over.

  “Yes.” She trembled as she said it.

  Brody’s face softened. Stepping into her space, he cupped her cheek, sliding his fingers into her hair. “I miss you.”

  She swallowed the knot of tears in her throat. “I miss you, too.”

  Tyler half expected him to press her back against the truck, to take her mouth in one of those scorching, claiming kisses. Part of her wished he would. But Brody held still, and she realized he was waiting for her to close the distance between them. The distance she’d put there.

  It would be a mistake.

  Tyler stepped back. “Good luck in Portland, Brody. I wish you all the best.”

  The warmth of his fingers lingered against her skin as she walked away.

  ~*~

  Good luck in Portland.

  She knew. She knew he was leaving for Portland and she’d said nothing. No demands for answers, no indication she wanted him to stay. Except for the bald pain on her face as she wished him all the best.

  Why was she doing this? How could she possibly have believed he’d willingly destroy the theater?

  Brody started to go after her, to push for the fight she avoided so that they could get everything out into the open. But tomorrow was opening night and she was having enough trouble keeping to her role as it was. Blowing things wide open would likely just leave more wounds between them and there was no way they could pull an understudy substitution this late in the game. He didn’t want an understudy substitution. He wanted Tyler. So he curled his hands around the door frame and watched her walk away.

  Shortly after leaving the theater, Brody found himself pulling into a space in front of Dinner Belles. This late the diner was empty but for a couple of open textbooks on one empty table. He didn’t know what he was doing here except that he was too restless to go home and a slice of pie made thinking more palatable. He slid into a booth and flipped open his organizer. It was full of details on the Portland job, contacts, schedules, supply lists, projections and estimates. All the things that were part and parcel of his trade, the things that had dragged him up the ladder at Peyton Consolidated and landed him this opportunity. It was what he’d been working for all these years.

  There was no thrill to his success of being appointed to manage the project from the get-go. He studied the various elevations of the new building design, and all he saw was details. Meaningless, empty details.

  “What can I get you, Brody?”

  He tensed as he looked up to find Corinne standing beside the table, a coffee pot in one hand. But there was no evidence of the flirtatious smile she usually aimed his way.

  “Coffee,” he said. “And a slice of whatever pie’s left.”

  “There’s a piece of lemon meringue with your name on it.” She leaned in, efficiently flipped over the mug at his elbow and filled it without spilling a drop. And she did it all without stepping into his personal space. “I’ll be right back with that pie.”

  Curious, Brody watched her as she crossed to the rack on the counter and plated up his slice. She looked different, somehow. He thought maybe she’d put on a few much-needed pounds since he’d first come back.

  “You changed your hair,” he said, as Corinne set the pie in front of him.

  Self-conscious, she lifted a hand to her all dark locks, pulled back in a low pony tail. “Seemed like time for a change,” she said.

  It made her blue eyes stand out more and softened her face. “Looks nice,” he said.

  Her cheeks pinked at the compliment. Brody didn’t think he’d ever once seen Corinne Dawson embarrassed.

  “Thanks. Um, can I get you anything else?”

  Without the automatic defensive barrier against her flirtation, Brody noted the dark circles under her eyes, the tired set to her shoulders. It was easier to see her as a person, as a single mom who’d got the short end of the stick in life rather than the girl he’d gone to high school with. He found himself saying, “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee with me? I don’t figure anybody else’ll be coming in before closing.”

  Corinne glanced over at the open textbooks. “I should really—”

  “Study?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Five minutes,” he said. “The break will do you good.”

  After another moment of indecision, she retrieved her own coffee cup from the table and slid in across from him.

  “What are you studying?” he asked.

  “Nursing. I’m just taking a couple of classes this semester. Mama Pearl doesn’t mind if I do homework when things are slow.”

  Brody smiled. “She takes good care of folks.”

  “She’s been wonderful to me and Kurt. She’s the one that encouraged me to go back to school. Lance never—” She cut herself off and took a quick sip of coffee.

  “Lance is your ex?”

  Corinne gave a short, jerky nod.

  Sensitive subject here, he thought. “Sounds like you’re well rid of him.”

  “You have no idea,” she muttered. Squaring her shoulders, she mustered a smile. “So, opening night is tomorrow. I’m surprised Tyler’s not in here with you. Isn’t that a post-dress rehearsal tradition or something?”

  It was Brody’s turn to hide his expression in his coffee cup. “We aren’t…together.”

  “For God’s sake, why not?” The utter shock in her voice had him looking up.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that I screwed it up somehow. Again.”

  “Then you need to figure out how to fix it,” declared Corinne, thunking her mug on the table.
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  Brody lifted a brow. “That is…not the reaction I expected from you.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Flirting with you was a compulsion from the old days. I’ve got plenty on my own plate without adding a man into the equation. And anybody with eyes in their head can see that you and Tyler belong together. You always did.”

  He sifted through the vague sense of insult and surprise. “Then why did you always try so hard?”

  Corinne’s cheeks colored again, deeper this time. “Because she had what I wanted. It wasn’t you so much as someone like you. No one has ever looked at me the way you look at her. Like the sun rises and sets in her eyes. You respect her and you understand her. The pair of you were always so perfectly matched, like…I don’t know—”

  “Bookends,” Brody murmured.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I was jealous of that and I didn’t know how to find that for myself. I still don’t, but I’ve got other priorities now. Like raising my son to be a better man than his father. The point is if something is wrong between you and Tyler, you have to fix it. You can’t let the gift of that kind of relationship go just because stuff got hard.”

  “I wasn’t the one who let go,” he said.

  “Apparently you weren’t the one who fought to hold on either,” said Corinne with obvious disapproval. “I don’t know what you two fought about, and it doesn’t matter. She’s in love with you. She always has been, always will be. And if you walk away from that, you’re exactly the idiot I thought you were eight years ago.” She slid out of the booth and pulled the ticket from her apron pocket. “It’ll be $3.25 for the pie and coffee. The advice is free.” She laid it on the table and strode back into the kitchen.

  Brody sat in stunned silence for several long minutes. Laying a twenty-dollar bill beside his uneaten pie, he walked out. He opened his truck, tossed in the organizer, then shut the door again. His mind too full to drive, he began to walk the quiet streets of downtown Wishful. Corinne’s remarks bounced around like a pinball, adding to the weight of what Cam and Tucker had said.

  He knew now what was at the root of Tyler breaking things off. Despite his lingering insult over the fact that she could’ve believed he’d truly have allowed the theater to be destroyed when they’d put so much into preserving it, he understood her self-protective actions. For all that what had happened eight years ago was a terrible mistake, she had years of pain believing it had been deliberate. That wasn’t so easily overcome by logic, especially not if circumstances had led her to believe he was going to do it again.

  The question was, how was he going to fix it? Cam had said she’d need the words. But which words, and how? Brody didn’t want to offer her the uncertainty of not knowing how things could work. He felt like he owed her more than that. He needed to work out the details.

  Stopping in front of the Babylon, he looked up at the classic Georgian facade. He was damned good at details.

  A breeze gusted through the trees, snaking under his collar. Brody shivered. Damn, it had finally gotten cold. He really ought to get back to the truck. But instead of turning back, he found himself drawn into the dark of the green, toward the fountain that was the heart of Wishful. Moonlight gleamed off the faint ripples on the surface. He bent and trailed his fingers through the frigid water. Once upon a time, he’d tossed in his coin, made his wish, and been disappointed. But maybe he’d been doomed to disappointment because he’d had no faith. Hope and faith were inextricably intertwined. You couldn’t really have one without the other. Getting Tyler back was going to take a massive leap of faith.

  As he stood beside the water, Brody felt the first stirrings of a plan begin to take form. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter, rolling it habitually across his knuckles, holding his wish clear in his mind before tossing the coin in with a splash.

  “Hope springs eternal,” he muttered.

  Opening Night

  Tyler stared at the vase of bright yellow tulips on the dressing table. She didn’t need to see the card to know they were from Brody. It was another of those show traditions.

  “Aren’t you going to read the card?” asked Piper.

  She was almost afraid to open it. Her resolve was so weak at this point, she didn’t know if she could hold up against him if he decided to press the issue. But the card only read, Break a leg, beautiful in his familiar, blocky handwriting. “Just the usual,” said Tyler.

  “Did you talk to him last night?”

  “Yes.” And yet there’d been so much unsaid. But it didn’t matter now. He’d made his choice and she’d made hers. They had a show to perform.

  Tyler could see the struggle on Piper’s face, desperate to ask more. But she’d wait because now wasn’t the time. And thank God for it.

  “Ten minutes to curtain!” The call swept through backstage like wildfire, sending them all into flurries of motion.

  Tyler did her best to put Brody out of her mind, to finish her makeup and slip into the bathrobe that was her first costume for the night. She was in the wings when the opening overture began, watching as the curtain lifted on the Italian theater of World War II and Brody and Myles entertained the troops. This was it. The last opening night show she’d ever have with Brody. A part of her ached even as she enjoyed his performance. Then it was time for her own, and she had no more opportunity to think.

  As the show got rolling, Tyler managed to immerse herself in the role. She owed it to her castmates, to the Madrigal, to give it her all. But her all still wasn’t feeling right. Not until Piper ad-libbed a slap to her butt with a feather fan and startled a laugh out of her. This was supposed to be fun. An outlet for joy. It was time to remember that it wasn’t all about Brody. Loosening up, Tyler slid properly into the guise of Judy Haynes. She preened and flirted, shamelessly getting caught at playing the angle to get Wallace and Davis to come check out their sister act. So she was smiling when she rose from the table and accompanied Phil to the dance floor.

  Tyler knew the moment Brody touched her for their first number that something had changed. For all that they couldn’t seem to communicate in words, they’d always been able to speak through dance. The hand he curled around her waist was warm, firm, and proprietary, not the impersonal hold he’d been using recently. Part of her thrilled to the sensation and wanted to arch into his touch. It was instinct to flow into the rhythm of their movements and follow his lead. By the time her brain kicked in to question that instinct, the dance was over and they were transitioning to the next scene.

  The pressure of continuing to go through the motions and remembering lines kept Tyler from dwelling on anything more personal for too long. So when they reached the engagement party kiss, she didn’t feel the expected dread as Brody lowered his mouth to hers.

  I miss you.

  She felt the echo of his words in the lingering warmth of his mouth against hers, in the brush of his fingers over her cheek before he turned away to continue the scene. It wasn’t the deliberate erosion of defenses he’d pulled the first time, but his kiss stirred her nonetheless, slipping behind the pitiful walls she’d managed to erect around her heart. The punch of longing left her feeling breathless and conflicted once more. Temper sparked as she made her exit. Was he trying to make her crazy? He’d agreed to this, agreed it was over—if not in words than by his actions. What right did he have to act like nothing was wrong?

  Nate caught them during the change of scene. “Great job staying in character, you two. You’ve been struggling a bit the last couple of weeks, but you’re really back on point.”

  In character, Tyler thought. Of course. This isn’t about messing with me, it’s about the show. He’s doing this for the show.

  Brody wasn’t trying to push her into anything; he’d just dropped his guard with her to play the part.

  The truth of that made her bleed again—again and again, she kept finding new ways to hurt. But she put the hurt aside. If Brody could do this for the Madrigal, so could she. This show would be her final pe
rformance. Once he left Wishful, nothing would get her on stage again, so it was important she give it her all.

  So Tyler let the walls drop for the last time, and the old magic ignited.

  She danced. She sang. And she fell in love with Phil Davis while they schemed to matchmake Bob and Betty and rescue a retired general from obscurity. Brody glowed, owning the stage. Every smile, every glance seemed to be for her alone, despite the full house. It was their best performance ever. She didn’t need Nate’s delighted soft shoe at the transition to the final act to tell her that. Every touch of Brody’s hand set off a spark in her blood.

  When the final song began to play and he grabbed her for a kiss behind the center stage Christmas tree, she wasn’t Judy Haynes and he wasn’t Phil Davis. The arms that came around her held on, the lips that met hers tasted of the same pent up longing and need that had been torturing her for weeks. God, God, she’d missed him so much. She wanted to find a dark corner and drown in him. Myles’ boot kicking Brody’s leg was the only thing that kept them from missing their cue.

  As “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” spun out and the curtain calls began, Tyler struggled to rein in her emotions. The row of castmates in front filed out of the way, and Brody took her hand, leading her in a complicated dance that had the crowd hooting and cheering with approval. She couldn’t hold back the joy or the pain as he spun her away for her bow. The audience’s applause washed over her, making her feel at once soothed and triumphant. She’d done it. Whatever else could be said, she’d given this performance her all.

  Straightening, Tyler turned back to take Brody’s hand.

  And found him down on one knee.

  Everything inside her came to a jarring halt, and she almost stumbled. All the blood drained from her face, yet her cheeks felt almost scalding as she covered them with her hands. Beyond the stage, the cheers of the audience quieted into whispers. A sense of anticipation filled the air.