Reckless Hearts

by Melody Grace

  Stop thinking, start following my instincts.

  And what I felt in Delilah’s arms for that brief, reckless kiss seems worth the risk. It was the push I needed, and after that, everything fell into place so fast I didn’t have time to pause for doubts. A couple of weeks later, here I am with the blank slate I was looking for.

  The question is, what am I going to do with it now?

  I’m clearing junk from the workshop out back when I hear another engine coming up the track. I head around front and find a guy about my age in work boots and a Rolling Stones T-shirt staring up at the house. “Ryland?” I ask, going forward to meet him. His construction company, Callahan and Ray, came recommended by a friend, so they were one of my first calls after arriving in town.

  “That’s me.” He shakes my hand. “Good to meet you. You weren’t lying when you said this place needed some work. Are you sure you don’t want to tear down and just go from the ground up?” he adds, taking a few steps to peer inside. “We could do something pretty spectacular with this square footage. My brother-in-law fancies himself an architect, but the guy knows his shit.”

  “Maybe down the line,” I tell him. “But for now, I’m just looking to make it habitable. Roof, floors, plumbing.”

  “Uh huh.” Ryland already has a notepad out, jotting down things as he walks the property. “What about the workshop?” he asks, when we reach the back of the house. “If you tore it down, we could do a guesthouse, or maybe put in a pool?”

  “The workshop stays,” I say firmly. It was one of the reasons I bought this house at all. “It’s actually built pretty sturdy. I just need to clean it out, and it’s good to go.”

  “Suit yourself.” Ryland grins. He looks back at the house, and I can see him weighing quotes and pricing. “Any timeframe?”

  “ASAP.”

  “It’ll cost you,” Ryland says apologetically. “Nothing happens fast around here.”

  “That’s fine. Whatever you need.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Alright then. I can have some guys out for the roof tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I shake his hand, and we go over some more details before he heads out. The sound of his truck recedes into the woods, and then silence reigns, all over again.

  I head inside, grab a beer from the cooler, then wander out back to take it all in. The silence is still weird to me, after all the constant noise of the city, but I like it. Back in New York, I’d still be in the office now, three screens running as I checked stock prices and market dives. Or maybe I’d be heading out to some fancy restaurant, slipping a fifty to the doorman to stroll into the new hottest club. Now I’ve got nothing but trees, grass, crickets, and the creek.

  And I haven’t felt this good in years.

  I think of Delilah again. She was thrown to see me again for sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so upfront about my reasons for moving here, but I’ve never been the type to play games. I see what I want, and I go for it. And damn, do I want her.

  That kiss . . .

  It took me by surprise alright, but the instant her sweet mouth was on mine, I knew I never wanted it to end. I’ve never felt heat like that, never known such an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms tight around a woman and never let go. Call it chemistry, call it fate, I don’t need to know the name. It’s the one damn thing I’ve been sure of after a world of confusion and doubt.

  I need more.

  My phone buzzes, and when I fish it from my pocket, I find a familiar number taunting me on-screen.

  Damn it.

  My fist clenches around the handset, but I stop myself before I can get too tense. I’ve left all that behind me now. I don’t have to get dragged back anymore.

  I hit “decline,” toss the phone aside, and settle back in a lawn chair to finish my beer. I’ve got a to-do list a mile long, but there’s only one thing I need to figure out right now:

  How to get the girl.

  Five.

  Delilah

  Sunday mornings are usually for getting over Saturday night, but thanks to Will distracting me, I wasn’t in the mood to hit the town. I turn in early, get a full eight hours, and still wake in time to see . . . is that sunrise filtering through my bedroom drapes?

  I leap out of bed, restless. I still can’t shake that unsettled feeling I’ve had ever since Will showed up in town, like a flock of nervous butterflies is whirling in my stomach, so I decide to harness all this energy instead: I pull on some workout shorts, lace up my track shoes, and head out for a morning run.

  My feet pound the empty sidewalks. It’s barely six a.m., and Oak Harbor is still asleep, but the air is crisp with a salty ocean tang, and the breeze feels great as I stretch my muscles and lengthen my stride, jogging along the boardwalk and cutting across the silent town square. It feels good to be running again. I was never much for fitness, but I took it up in college to keep the dreaded freshman fifteen at bay. Now, I fit it in around the rest of my schedule, but it’s been months since I’ve had a good long workout like this: pushing myself until my lungs are burning, and I feel the pleasant ache in my limbs. I do three circuits, winding around town and back, before I finally come to a stop, breathing heavily, outside the bakery on Windward Street.

  Time for my reward.

  Inside, the air smells yeasty and delicious, and the old baker, Franny, is just setting out a tray of fresh, gooey cinnamon rolls. “When I die, someone better be waiting for me at the pearly gates with one of your fresh-baked rolls,” I tell her. “Otherwise I’m coming right back here.”

  Franny waves away my praise, but her face still glows. “Why wait? Will one be enough, honey, or do you want another for the road?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I groan, laughing. “And a cup of coffee too, please.”

  “Great minds think alike.”

  I turn, startled, at the voice. Will is lounging in a chair by the windows, drinking coffee with a newspaper in his lap. “Mornin’,” he drawls, with a smile that would send my heart racing—if it wasn’t already still beating hard in my chest from the run.

  “Morning,” I manage to reply. He’s still casual, still scruffy, and damn, he still looks way too good. I see his eyes slip over me, and realize too late that I’m in my ratty jogging shorts and a bright pink sports bra, my hair in a sweaty mess, and not a lick of makeup on my face.

  Just because I have no intention of dating the guy, it doesn’t mean I want him seeing me as a complete mess. I try to act like I don’t care I have damp circles under my armpits and ask, “You managed to find the best coffee in town then?”

  “First morning out, can’t be without it.” He raises his mug, watching me with a thoughtful look. “I didn’t take you for an early riser.”

  “I’m not,” I admit. “Not on weekends, anyway. You?”

  “Always.” He gives a rueful grin. “I was in the office by seven every day, I guess I can’t shake the habit now.”

  I try to picture him in his suit and tie again, but even after just these couple of encounters, I can’t imagine it. He looks like he was born in jeans, and if the gods had any justice, he would never take them off.

  Except, when someone takes them off him . . .

  Franny returns with my paper cup of coffee, and a bag for the cinnamon bun. I fish a five-dollar bill from my sports bra, but she waves it away. “No need, sweetheart. We still owe you for finding that apartment for my Becky.”

  “Fran!” I protest, but she shakes her head firmly. “Fine.” I pretend to surrender, but I stuff the bill in the tip jar instead. “How’s she getting on?” I ask after her niece. “She must be starting that new job now.”

  “Next week, she can’t wait.” Franny smiles affectionately. “And there’s a new guy, too.”

  “Do we like him?”

  “We do.” Franny nods. “This one might work out.”

  “Well, let me know when they need an upgrade,” I wink. “I know some great single-families . . .”

  Franny laughs. “Ooh, t
hat reminds me, I heard on the grapevine that Liv Sullivan’s sister is thinking of moving to town. She just lost her husband, poor thing, and wants to be close to Liv and the grandkids.”

  “Makes sense.” I nod. “Any update on Rich Hargreaves and, you know?”

  Franny leans in. “You didn’t hear it from me, but someone saw him in Charlotte, talking to a divorce lawyer, I bet.”

  “How do you find out all the gossip first?” I ask, impressed.

  Franny winks. “I ply them with sugar, that’s the secret.”

  “Well, keep it up.”

  She heads back to work, and I make a mental note to call Liv—and Richard, too. Town gossip isn’t just for fun; for me, it’s a constant source of new clients. Births, deaths, and divorces: they all mean real estate changing hands down the line, and nobody’s better placed to help them through it than me.

  I turn to find Will still watching me. “Well, have a good day,” I say brightly, and head to the door.

  “Join me?” he asks casually, nodding to the empty chair beside him.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I pause, feeling my cheeks flush.

  “Why’s that?”

  I shrug. “Just, you know, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “And what would that be?” he asks, still smiling—clearly enjoying my rejection for some reason.

  “That I don’t think you’re slightly crazy for moving down here to be with me without calling first?” I try to be delicate.

  He laughs. “Only slightly?”

  “Fine. Totally, all-out crazy,” I agree, then pause. “Look, not to sound harsh or anything, but I want to be clear. I don’t do relationships, they’re just not my style. So if you came here expecting something . . .” I trail off, awkward, but Will just lifts an eyebrow.

  “Good to know,” he says. “And just for the record, I moved down here because of you, not to be with you.”

  “There’s a difference?” Now I’m really confused.

  “Maybe not.” Will unfolds himself and gets up, tucking the newspaper under one arm. “It depends.”

  “On what?” I ask, my breath catching as he saunters closer. He pauses, right beside me, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m suddenly hit with the memory of kissing him, blazing in Technicolor in my mind. Those hands on my body, that mouth seducing mine . . .

  Maybe Will can see it too, because he gives me knowing look.

  “On how long you can resist me.”

  He winks, then strolls past me out onto the street, leaving me flushed and breathless in the doorway.

  Because of my run, I tell myself. Just because of my run.

  Back at my place, I jump in the shower then do a quick clean-up and throw on a load of laundry to be ready for the week ahead. I love my apartment; it’s part of a brand-new building they converted from an old carriage house, set back just a few blocks from the town square. Everything is brand-new, low maintenance, and stress-free, just the way I like it. It barely takes ten minutes to run a duster over the bookshelves and set the cycle to spin—leaving me way too much time to replay my morning run-in with Will. I’m jittery and on edge, and I haven’t even touched my coffee.

  That guy is more powerful than a gallon of caffeine.

  I shouldn’t be affected like this; I’ve turned down plenty of guys, and had my fair share of rejection too. That’s why I never take it too seriously: either something turns out fun, or it doesn’t, but it’s not worth getting hung up over. I can count on the fingers of one hand the nights I’ve spent waiting around for the phone to ring, or wondering if a guy is thinking about me or not. It’s not my style to waste a moment’s thought analyzing their text messages, or all of the other things my girlfriends wind up agonizing over.

  So what is it about this man that’s so infuriatingly distracting?

  At least now I’ve made it clear nothing’s going to happen between us. That should be the end of that. I’m about to grab my computer and try to get a head-start on work when my cellphone rings. Mom.

  I brace myself as her enthusiastic voice chatters down the line. “Sweetie, are you OK? You didn’t reply to my text.”

  “Which one?” I ask lightly. “You sent me like, two dozen. You don’t need to give me a running commentary on the new Real Housewives episodes,” I add. “I can watch them myself.”

  “But it’s always more fun, you know your father won’t watch any of those shows. If it doesn’t have a cop or a dead body, he’s not interested.”

  Mom launches into a recap of her week, so I go sit on the front steps, and watch the town slowly come to life in the morning sun. One day, I want a big wrap-around porch with a swing to hang out in all day, but for now, I like my little corner of the world just fine.

  “So what’s going on with you?” she asks, barely pausing for breath. “We haven’t seen you in forever, we should come down and visit soon.”

  “You know I’m busy with work,” I remind her. “Summer is always our busiest time of year, all the tourists dreaming about living here year round.”

  “I know, but you work too hard, honey. You need to make time for other things. Like a man in your life—”

  “Mom,” I try to interrupt, warning, but she pushes on.

  “I know, I’m supposed to butt out, but I never hear you talk about anyone serious. You don’t tell me anything at all.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to tell!” I protest. And when there is, I don’t exactly want to spill the juicy details to my mom.

  “That’s the problem, if you put half as much time into finding yourself a man as you did finding your clients a new home, you’d be settled with someone wonderful by now. You know I kissed a lot of frogs before I met your father, and we’ve got our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary right around the corner. That reminds me, you’ll be able to make the dinner?”

  I tense at the reminder. I’ve been ignoring it for a while now, ever since Mom first enthusiastically shared their plans. “When is it?”

  “On the fifteenth. I sent you an email with all the details. I picked a lovely spot over in Beachwood Bay, that new seafood restaurant.”

  “I’ll be there,” I promise, sighing.

  “Oh, he’s just pulling in front the store now. Ted!” she yells, before coming back to the phone. “Hold on a second, he’s just bringing the bags in—”

  “It’s OK,” I cut her off hurriedly. “I have to go now anyway, we’ll chat some other time.”

  “Well, alright. And think about what I said, I know I’m just your old mom, but I know a few things.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I lie, before saying goodbye and hanging up.

  I sit on the steps and let out a long, weary breath.

  Twenty-five years.

  Except, it’s not really that long. Mom chooses to ignore the year we lost, after Dad came clean about the affair he’d been carrying on with a woman at his office—all that time he’d been lying to us both. It was such a betrayal; I can still remember the shameful look on his face when they both sat me down to tell me. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes, just kept his gaze fixed on the mantle—filled with happy photographs of the family that, it turned out, wasn’t enough for him, after all.

  After that, things got messy. It was summer at least, so I spent almost every night out with friends, creeping in at dawn with sand in my hair—not that anyone noticed. He packed up and went to go play house with Jana from accounting, and even thought I felt guilty about stranding mom to deal with everything, it was a blessing to leave the tearful fights and anger behind and head off for college. I thought they’d file for divorce, that it was over for good, but when I pulled back into the driveway at home for spring break, I found them both waiting for me, nervous smiles on their faces.

  They were trying again. Making it work. He’d come back begging with his tail between his legs, and mom had crumbled and taken him back.

  It t
ook me a long time to understand how she could forgive him, and I guess a part of me still doesn’t, after all this time. The cheating is one thing, but the lies . . . I can’t wrap my head around it. He betrayed her, betrayed us both, and even though I’ve done my best to follow her lead and pretend like it never happened, a part of me will never forgive him for that. When you trust somebody, and they let you down . . . there’s no going back, no second chances—at least as far as I’m concerned.

  Just one more reason not to think that a relationship is going to last forever. Once my eyes were open, I saw it everywhere: the lying, the playing pretend. My college girlfriends crying over a new breakup every other week; the guys who swore they only cared about you, but who had their phones buzzing all night with the latest Tinder matches. It seems like the minute you put a label on a relationship, or make that commitment, everyone is suddenly desperate to escape. And not just guys, either. I’d watch my girlfriends tell dozens of little white lies, pretending to be something they weren’t just to keep the illusion of whoever he thought they were alive. It looked exhausting to me, a betrayal of who you really are, so I decided, once and for all: I’d never put myself in a position like that, set myself up for heartbreak by believing a relationship could last. Keep things simple, keep it fun, and nobody has to tell any lies. After all, if you’re not expecting happily-ever-after, then you don’t lose any sleep when it all comes crashing down. I’ve never pretended to want anything different, that’s why if Will had given me any warning, I would have told him to keep his bags packed, turn around and go right back to where he came from.

  Promises you never make can’t be broken, and that’s just easier on everyone in the end.

  I decide to add my parents to the growing list of things I’m ignoring right now, and focus on having a great, relaxing weekend before the madness of work starts up again tomorrow. After I finish up my errands, I head over to my friend Sawyer’s place, equipped with beer, soda, and hotdog buns. Lottie and Kit are already in the backyard when I arrive, splashing around in their swimming gear in a bright plastic wading pool while Sawyer gets the grill smoking.