Reckless Hearts

by Melody Grace

  He laughs, a rumble against me. “My pleasure.”

  His body is warm against mine, surprisingly taut and solid under that fancy suit. My pulse kicks from his closeness, and I catch a breath of his scent, fresh and clean, like the woods in spring. I have to fight the urge to slide my arms over the planes of his shoulders to lean in closer and nestle myself in the crook of his arm.

  What are you doing, Dee?

  I quickly step back, flushing. “I guess if you really want a change, you could turn to a life of crime,” I blurt, covering.

  “I’ll put it on the list.” Will looks a little thrown too, and I wonder if he felt the heat from that moment, too—or is just weirded out by being groped by a complete stranger. “Wait.” He pauses. “We got it open, but how are you going to drive?”

  “Ta da!” I lean into the car, flip the middle cup-holder, and pull out a key. “And I have a spare under the mat at home, too.”

  “You’re all set.” Will grins. “Well, I guess I better get going now.”

  “Oh.” I feel a surge of disappointment. For all the bad luck I’ve had today, this part has actually been fun. I don’t want to see him go so soon, but he’s spent enough of his time helping me out. He probably has someplace to be—and a girl to show him a good time once he’s there. “Sure, thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.” Will nods. “So . . .” He pauses like he’s going to say something else, but instead, he nods, and flashes me another heart-stopping smile. “Goodbye, Delilah.”

  “Goodbye, Will,” I echo, watching him walk away. Right on cue, there’s another ominous rumble of thunder, and then the light smatter of raindrops turns into a full-on shower. Will picks up the pace, jogging for dry land.

  I feel a pang.

  I could get in my car right now, hit the road for home, but I can still feel the warm imprint of his body against mine; feeling suddenly, inexplicably right.

  “Wait!” I call, taking off after him. I sprint down the block, my feet splashing in the gutters. “Will, wait!”

  He stops on the corner and turns back, looking confused. “Wait,” I say again breathlessly, and then before I can think twice, I reach up on my tiptoes, grab him by the tie, and kiss him.

  Just like that.

  His mouth is soft, cool from the rain, but the feel of his lips against mine is hotter than an inferno. Every last nerve in my system ignites in a heartbeat, screaming to life with red-hot electricity that sizzles and surges, making me arch up closer, wanting more.

  For a moment, we’re suspended there, frozen. And he kisses me back.

  Will pulls me against him, easing my lips open and sliding his tongue deep in a heady dance that makes my head spin and my knees go weak. The fever of the moment crashes through me, and I hold on for dear life, suddenly lost in the sweet, delicious feel of his mouth, his tongue, his hands gripping my waist tightly, and mmmm, the solid planes of his body, muscular arms crushing me close. I could stay here forever, swept up in something so sweet and wild, but at last, we come up for air.

  I step back, my heart pounding, blood singing in my veins. “Thanks again,” I murmur, as the real world slips back into focus. I smooth down his damp shirt and wink. “See you around.”

  I turn and walk away before he can say a word, breaking into a run as the rain pours down and I dash to my car through the deluge. I hurl myself inside, slam the door behind me, and catch my breath, my head still spinning.

  That was some kiss.

  A grin spreads across my face as I buckle up, start the engine, and hit the road again, the wipers doing a furious dance on the windshield. But even through the torrents of rain, I still see Will’s face, back there on the street after I kissed him: his wet hair rumpled, his eyes bright with passion, and those lips . . .

  I shiver happily. I haven’t had a kiss like that in, well, forever.

  So why didn’t you get his number?

  I shake off the scolding voice in my mind. The one thing I’ve learned about guys is the good times never last. Commitment, relationships—they all fall apart in the end, ruined by cheating or lies, or just the ordinary grind of everyday existence. I’ve seen it happen too often to keep believing in that happily-ever-after. No, I decided a long time ago that it’s better to just enjoy the moment for what it is: an amazing moment. A heart-stopping kiss. A wild, adventurous night together. Nothing more—and nothing less, either.

  This way, there’s no disappointment. I won’t ever find out that Will leaves dirty laundry on the bathroom floor, or stops calling after a couple of weeks, or has fifteen different online dating profiles and a girl in every state. No mess, no fuss, no angry, painful breakup three months from now that leaves me cursing his name into a bottle of tequila.

  He’ll always be the gorgeous guy who helped me out of a tough spot—and who kissed me on a rain-soaked street corner so hard, I forgot my own name.

  I tuck the memory away, smiling, and head for home.

  Two.

  A week later, and just as I predicted, Will seems like a distant dream. The memory of our kiss feels more than just two hundred miles away, but a different lifetime: a scene from a movie you watch before the credits roll, and you emerge from the dark theatre blinking at the bright sunlight of real life again.

  Today, real life is the Oak Harbor Realty office, my last appointment of the day, and one very nervous client finally ready to sign their lease on a dream condo. At least, that’s what was supposed to be the plan.

  “Are you sure the traffic noise won’t be a problem?” the client, Miles, pauses with the pen just over the lease. In his late fifties, with two grown children moved away and a wife who decided to pack up and become a yoga teacher in Arizona, Miles is finally ready to move on with his life—and into a neat, small condo on the golf course. We must have looked at two dozen places before finding the perfect place for him, but even now, I can see his indecision holding him back. “And those association fees . . .”

  “Are well within your budget,” I reassure him. “And we tested for noise in every room, remember? Even with all the windows open, you couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “True . . .” Miles reaches to sign, then pulls back his hand again. “I just don’t know. Maybe we should keep looking, make sure there’s nothing better around.”

  “I can promise you, you won’t find anything so close to the links. Those condos get snatched up the minute they’re free.” But I can see he’s still wavering, so I give him a big smile and add, “You know what, if you’re not one hundred percent, then don’t sign. We can look as long as you want. I’m here to help you.”

  Miles looks surprised. Maybe he was expecting me to strong-arm him with enthusiasm like other realtors, or threaten that we’d never find him something this good, but I never see the point in those kind of hard-sell tactics. My clients aren’t just commissions to me: they’re my neighbors, too. Miles here sold insurance to my parents, volunteers alongside me at the Christmas food drive, and once helped me duct-tape a leaking pipe when the water wouldn’t shut off. If he needs another day—or week, or month—before making his decision, that’s just fine with me.

  “You know what? I’m being silly now,” he declares. “This place is perfect, and I know my golf handicap will never be better.” He signs the lease with a smile.

  “Congratulations!” I reach across my desk and shake his hand. “I’ll get copies of everything made and set you up with an official move-in date.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Miles says, getting to his feet. “I guess it’s time for a new beginning.”

  “You’ll do great.”

  By the time I see him out and finish printing up some papers, it’s time to close up for the day. I’m just leaving the files on my boss’s desk when my cell rings. I fish it from my pocket.

  “Eva!” I exclaim, delighted, when I see the caller ID. “How are you? I miss you! When are you coming to visit? When can I come and visit you?”

  She laughs down the
line at my torrent of questions. “I’m great! I miss you too, not for a while yet, and whenever you get your ass up here!”

  I sink into Marcie’s chair, feeling a pang at her familiar voice. Eva’s my best friend; she just moved away with her fiancé, and even though we talk and text all the time, it’s not the same. “This place isn’t the same without you,” I sigh. “It feels like you’re on the other side of the world. But tell me you’re having a great time.”

  “The best.” I can hear the happiness in her voice. “Finn’s almost finished the new album, and I’m getting ready for classes.”

  “Next week, right?” I swivel on the chair. “You excited?”

  “Nervous,” she replies. “I can’t believe I’m going back to drama school after everything, but the teachers seemed really great, and we’re studying really interesting plays this semester.”

  “You’ll be amazing,” I tell her, for the hundredth time. “Once you get up on-stage, that’s all you need. The town still talks about your Lady Macbeth in tenth grade.”

  Eva laughs. “Enough about me, what’s new with you? How’s the empire-building?”

  “It’s being built.” My gaze lands on a stack of magazines on Marcie’s desk. American Cruising, Boat & Berth. “I think Marcie’s going to retire soon.”

  “You’ve been saying that for years,” Eva reminds me.

  “I know, but this time, it’s for real,” I insist. “She’s barely in the office anymore, and when she is, all she does is talk about their boat and the place they just bought in the Florida Keys. She’s got one foot out the door already, I’m telling you. Maybe she was just waiting until someone could take over . . .”

  “And by someone, you mean you.” Eva giggles.

  “Who better?” I grin. “It’s her name above the door, but I’m the only one bringing in clients anymore. If she wants to leave, I’ve got some savings put aside, I could try and buy her out.”

  “You think she’d go for it?” Eva asks.

  “Who knows? But imagine if it worked out . . .” I feel a shiver of excitement at the possibility. “I would have my name above the door before I even turn twenty-five.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can,” Eva says loyally. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend,” she adds, as if reading my mind. “You can sell snow to an eskimo. Remember when you sold the Kellerman’s house three times in six months—and got the buyers a profit every time?”

  “Some people called it cursed, I like to think of it as opportunity.” I grin. “And the commissions didn’t hurt, either.”

  “There you go.” I hear a noise in the background.

  “What are you up to?” I ask.

  “Just making some dinner,” Eva says. “Finn would live on takeout if it was up to him, but you should see this kitchen, it’s a crime not to use it.”

  “The photos looked great,” I say enviously. It doesn’t hurt that her fiancé is a multi-platinum musician; number one hit singles buy a lot of counter space.

  “What about you?” Eva munches on something. “Hot date tonight?”

  “Only with my conditioning hair mask,” I reply, getting to my feet and straightening up before I flip the lights out and head back to my desk to grab my bag. “I’m going to pick up a pizza from Joe’s, then head home.”

  “Joe’s . . .” Eva repeats, sounding wistful. “I miss his food.”

  “You’re in the pizza capital of the world!” I protest, laughing. “New York isn’t exactly hurting for pie.”

  “OK, OK,” Eva laughs. “I can’t complain.”

  “Go cry to your gorgeous soulmate while you have hot sex in your cool loft apartment,” I tease. “While I eat pizza and watch Grey’s Anatomy alone.”

  Eva laughs. “You? Alone? You’ve got every hot guy in a hundred-mile radius on speed-dial—and you know they would all drop everything and come running the minute you called.”

  I grin. “I wouldn’t go that far. Anyway, you have fun tonight. Talk soon?”

  “Call me anytime.”

  I hang up, lock the offices, and head across town to Joe’s pizza place. I live close by, so I walk to work the days I don’t have viewings scheduled. I like the winding route through the town square and the bustle of Oak Harbor in the evenings, especially now in the height of summer, when the streets are full of dogwood trees in bloom and tourists browsing the stores after a long day of sight-seeing or grabbing some fresh seafood at the restaurant on the pier. Joe’s is busy when I arrive, but he catches my eye and beckons me to the front of the line with a cried greeting.

  “Delilah, carino!” he leans over the counter and kisses me on both cheeks. “How’s my favorite chica?”

  Despite the Italian flag on the menu, Joseph Gonzalez is a hundred percent Cuban, which leads to some delicious flavor combinations.

  “I’m great,” I smile back. “How’s Maria?” I ask, naming his spitfire of a wife.

  “Mad at me again,” Joe sighs theatrically. He pushes a bowl of breadsticks over to me. “She says I work too hard.”

  “You do,” I agree, taking one and biting into the soft, fluffy dough. I sigh with satisfaction. “But don’t ever stop.”

  “I’ve got your pie in the oven,” he tells me. “It won’t be long.”

  A call comes from the window behind him. “Order up!”

  “That was quick,” I grin. Joe takes the box and checks the scrawl on the lid. “Montgomery?” he calls out into the busy restaurant. A voice comes, just behind me.

  “That’s me.”

  The hairs on the back of my arms stand on end at the familiar sound. It can’t be . . .

  I turn and find Will standing beside me.

  My mouth drops open in shock. He looks totally different to the last time we met—wearing a faded navy T-shirt and jeans, with stubble on his strong jaw, and his hair curling just a bit too long—but those striking hazel eyes are unmistakable, and the easy, charming smile on that skilled, perfect mouth.

  “Hey Delilah,” he says casually, like this is no big deal. “How’s it going?”

  I blink, still remembering what that mouth did that last time I saw him.

  What? How? Why?

  “Will!” I manage to connect my brain to my mouth again. “What . . . ? I mean, what are you doing here?”

  “I took your advice.” Will pulls some crumpled bills from his pocket and lays them on the counter, while I try to recover from the surprise.

  “You mean, you’re visiting?” I ask. My pulse kicks up at the possibility—and repeat performance of that amazing kiss. “That’s great,” I exclaim, already imagining his hands on me, and so much more. “I’d be happy to show you around town.”

  “Thanks, I might just take you up on that.” Will smiles at me. “But there’s no rush.”

  “There isn’t?” I’m distracted by his eyes. Were they always this green?

  “Nope. I moved here.” Will grins.

  Wait, what?

  “You were right, I needed a change,” Will continues. “And this place has one thing going for it that no place else does.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, still reeling.

  “You.” Will smiles at me. “See you around, neighbor.” He takes the pizza box and heads out, weaving his way through the crowd while I stare after him, dazed and most definitely confused.

  The hottest man I’ve ever met just up and moved halfway across the country—for me?

  Three.

  “How hot?” Eva’s sister, Lottie, demands the next morning at our regular Saturday brunch on the pier. She feeds her toddler, Kit, with one hand, but her excited gaze is fixed on me as I fill her in with what happened with Will. “Are we talking ‘hot for the bar on a Friday night’ hot, or ‘Chris Evans in a tight T-shirt holding a puppy’ hot?”

  “Chris Evans hot,” I sigh, over a plate of French toast.

  “I love it! But wait, why the sad face?” Lottie frowns.

  “Because it’s weird!” I protest, f
eeling strangely unsettled. “We met a couple of weeks ago for like, twenty minutes, and now he moves across the country because of me? Doesn’t that scream ‘stalker’ to you?”

  “That depends,” Lottie muses, licking maple syrup from her fingers. “Did he ask you out? Favorite fifty million of your social media posts? Show up on your doorstep with a marriage license and his mother’s wedding gown for you to wear?”

  “No,” I admit, confused. “He didn’t even ask me out. He just said he’d see me around, and left.”

  “There you go, not a stalker,” Lottie declares. “And anyway, you said it yourself, you told him all about how amazing this town is. Can you blame him for wanting to check it out?”

  “Booking a weekend trip is one thing, but he said he moved here.” I still can’t help feeling off-balance—although whether it’s from the details of Will’s sudden appearance, or how damn good he looked out of that suit and tie, I can’t tell. “Who does that for a girl they don’t even know?”

  “He was probably just teasing.” Lottie waves my concerns away. “And anyway, isn’t this a good thing? You said he was the best kiss you’ve ever had, and now the universe just offered him up for a repeat performance. I’d be breaking out the lip balm if I were you.”

  I laugh. “We need to get you dating again if your bar is low enough for stalkers and crazies to step over.”

  “Hey!” Lottie tosses one of Kit’s tater tots at me. “I have a man in my life already.”

  “And he’s a cutie,” I admit, smiling at Kit. “But since his conversation is limited to ‘duckie’ and ‘mama,’ I think we can do better.”

  Lottie sticks her tongue out. She’s only twenty, but the girl’s been a nun since Kit was born. I understand wanting to take some time to adjust to motherhood, but having a kid doesn’t mean she should give up on dating altogether. “This isn’t about me,” she says virtuously. “You’re the one whose love life got interesting. Although, it’s always been pretty interesting,” she adds.

  I raise my mimosa in a toast. “I do my best.”