Sweet Hearts

by Melissa Brayden

  “Wow.” Marty was mildly impressed such a program existed and had actually been invented by the person sitting across from her, but she was more interested in how Lisa chose to view her work. “That must’ve taken a lot of time and intelligence to recognize all the factors involved in a decision like that, then make them all work together to form a coherent picture.”

  “Oh, it did. I took the expertise of many and used it to put most of them out of a job.”

  “Like the car?”

  “What?”

  “You know those nasty things that get people across the country and to work and to hospitals and everywhere. The guy who invented those things put all the horse-buggy makers out of business,” Marty said dryly. “That guy was a real asshole.”

  Lisa’s mouth turned up a little bit at the corner. “I see what you did there.”

  “Good, I don’t like to have to beat someone over the head with my metaphors.”

  Lisa sighed and stretched out her legs again. “I made my decisions. I live with them, quite comfortably really.”

  “So you still work for those banks?”

  “No, not for years now. I sold them the program for a nice chunk of change. It’s theirs to wield as they please. Now I do other stuff, contract work mostly.”

  Something didn’t make sense. Lisa’s dissonance seemed too neatly resolved for the amount of conflict she still seemed to feel. She was still holding something back, some part of the story.

  “Ready for those cupcakes?” Lisa asked, standing and stretching her arms above her head. When she did, her shirt rode up, revealing a flash of smooth skin at her midriff, and suddenly Marty’s desire to keep her close wasn’t purely emotional.

  And yet, cupcakes always seemed like a good idea. Lisa clearly wanted to put some distance between herself and the subjects they’d broached, and Marty could probably use something to do with her hands in order to keep from reaching out for more than she should really want in this situation.

  Cupcakes would pose a delicious and comforting distraction for both of them. And she had no doubt the things they were dodging would still be there long after the sugar rush had faded.

  Chapter Six

  Lisa took her time getting the cupcakes out of the box and putting them on two plates, grateful to have a few seconds to clear her head and steady her hands. Life coaches were a tricky bunch—they could start what seemed like a totally normal conversation, then end it with you telling them things you didn’t tell anyone. Or at least, things she hadn’t told anyone in years.

  She called bullshit on Marty’s unassuming interrogation style with her impromptu floor couch and the seductive way she propped herself up on her elbow to look casually sexy with her curves outlined in the warm glow of the fire. She’d practically set the scene for a damn Hallmark holiday special. And she’d almost fallen for it. She’d let out way more information than she’d intended to, but at least she’d left the biggest of all her cats in the bag o’ crazy.

  But was it really crazy? She’d made her choices, and she’d made peace with them. She didn’t like everything she’d put out into the world, but given the same choice again, she’d make it quickly and gladly. Just because another good-bye was on the horizon didn’t mean she had any regrets about what she’d done to try to stop the first one, or what she’d been able to do for the people she loved since then.

  “Damn it,” she swore, out loud this time. Why was she harping on all this? If she could’ve been angry at Marty, she would have been. She had no right to meddle, but she looked so damn beautiful while doing it, it hardly felt intrusive at the time. Well two could play that part. She might have been off her game a little bit, but she was aware enough to realize Marty wasn’t immune to the situation she’d cultivated. The casual touching wasn’t quite so casual anymore, and she’d seen her already dark irises swirl with something deeper as her eyes raked over her body.

  If something had to tip the balance between them, she’d much rather land on the physical side of that fence than the emotional outpouring one.

  “Did you get lost in your cavernous kitchen?” Marty finally called.

  “Nope.” She grabbed a bottle of pinot noir and quickly slipped a bottle opener into her back pocket before stacking the cupcake plates waitress style and hooking the stems of two wineglasses between her fingers.

  “Voilà, one afternoon picnic of decadence at your service.” She presented her cache of treats with a flourish.

  “Wow, did you work in food service growing up?”

  “No, I’m just a glutton who’s learned to juggle her addictions with grace.”

  Marty took the wineglasses. “I appreciate a woman who doesn’t let her vices get in the way of style.”

  Lisa remembered to take the corkscrew out of her pocket before sitting back down on the blanket and promptly put it to use.

  “I also appreciate that we don’t mind the social edicts about drinking midday.”

  “Well the thing is, I was pouring out a lot of personal information there, and you weren’t returning the favor quite as much, or even at all.”

  “So you thought you’d loosen my lips with a little vino?”

  “And sugar”—Lisa nodded to the cupcakes—“don’t forget the sugar.”

  “Well, add your valiant effort to the growing list of things I appreciate, but I hate to say it was unwarranted.”

  “Because you won’t spill?”

  “No, because I will, even without bribery or buttering up.”

  Lisa eyed her, hoping she came across as suspicious, but her gaze might have lingered on her beautifully soft lips a bit too long.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It just seems like I’ve done all the talking about my damaged sense of self and my parents’ disappointment and selling my soul to the corporate overlords, yada yada.” She filled Marty’s glass with the deep red wine.

  “It’s interesting you got that from the conversation. I had a totally different takeaway.”

  “Nice try, Coacharella,” Lisa said, pouring herself a decidedly smaller portion of wine. “I live with a life coach, remember. I know all about the redirect. Now back to you.”

  Marty laughed as she shook her head. “Maybe I redirect without even realizing it.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Lisa curled back into a cross-legged stance and motioned for Marty to continue.

  “Okay.” Marty sighed heavily as if searching for something to say. “I guess it might be a good time to say my situation’s not entirely different from yours, really.”

  “Really? Or are you just making this cupcake and wine fireside chat all about me again?”

  “Both, I suppose, because when you talked about your family, maybe instead of deflecting, I should’ve said I understood what you meant at least a little bit. Maybe by trying to ask you questions to help you affirm your choice to break the mold, I was making myself feel a little better too.”

  “But you’re classy, and you have a job in a field that helps people. Even if I don’t buy into the whole self-help craze myself, I see what it did for Joey. And Elaine’s always happier when she gets off Skype with you.”

  “Well that’s awfully magnanimous of you to say. And I do agree, for the most part. I’m prouder of my work than you are of yours, but when you put it up against the family business, it can sometimes look particularly small in scope.”

  “I thought you were a military brat.”

  “Yeah, I should’ve been part of the third generation to serve,” Marty said, shifting so she could pick at her cupcake while lying on her side. “My father was actually born in an internment camp during World War Two.”

  A chill ran the length of her arms. “Are you serious?”

  “I am. Sounds like something out of a history book, right?”

  “Yeah.” Lisa didn’t know what to say. An internment camp. Those happened in another world, in another time. Not to real people’s parents, at least not people she knew. />
  “Well it still hangs over our family, most of them, and I guess me too in some ways. My grandparents ran a little corner grocery store in Pasadena. Their parents had been born in America. You have to go back like three more generations to get to the immigrants, but it didn’t matter, they all got rounded up. My grandma already had two kids and was pregnant with my dad, but my grandfather, in an attempt to prove his patriotism, joined the army.”

  Lisa shook her head. “He went to fight for the country that locked up his wife and kids? I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’d want anything to do with a military like that.”

  “Thank you for seeing it that way,” Marty said, her relief genuine. “I always feel guilty for those thoughts. He was highly decorated, though. My dad still has all his medals. He brings them out on special occasions and says: 442nd Infantry Regiment, the most decorated unit in US military history. For a while I thought four hundred forty-two was one of our identifiers, like our last name or our address.”

  “I can see how something like that could shape a family.”

  “He was proud to have liberated people from the Nazi camps. I think they felt very personal to him after what happened back home. He lost his right leg in the process. He used to tell us he just left it in Germany. Forgot to pack it in his rucksack on the way back.”

  She tried to tread as carefully as Marty had with her, but she couldn’t hide her amazement. “I guess that’s an impressive way to prove you belong in a country you shouldn’t have to prove you belong in.”

  “It would’ve been enough for most people, but he wanted more. He wanted his sons to always be proud of their American heritage, but I think he was still trying to prove something. The shame of the camps got passed down as much as the pride.”

  “So your dad joined up too?”

  “Yeah. He ran headlong into Vietnam, three times.”

  “What?” Lisa exclaimed so loudly she grimaced at the sound of her own voice reverberating off the hardwood floors. “Three times? Was that normal?”

  “No.” Marty laughed. “Most people did only one tour. He says he did all three for love.”

  “Love?”

  “The first two for love of country, the third for love of my mother. She was a military nurse. They met three weeks before she left for Saigon. He says he volunteered for a post there the day after she left because he’d rather be in a war zone with her than safe at home without her.”

  “Holy shit. Your dad’s a military hero and a romantic rock star.” Lisa once again felt wholly unworthy. She’d never live up to a romantic role model of that caliber.

  “He really is. They both are. They all are. My brother served in the first Iraq war, and now he’s a therapist who focuses on PTSD. My sister works in counterterrorism. They save all the lives.”

  Lisa fell over dramatically onto one of the pillows. “My family fights death, your family fights the agents of death.” Somehow it felt funny. The laughter bubbled up inside her and she couldn’t hold it in. It wasn’t appropriate to giggle about something so personal, something she’d felt so insecure about, something Marty had shared so openly. A better person would’ve nodded sympathetically, offered words of affirmation, soothed her fears. Sadly, Lisa was not a better person, because no matter how she clenched her jaw, the laughter still shook her shoulders and hitched her breath.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she finally gasped, but when she pushed herself back up to a sitting position, she found Marty lying on her back, laughing as well. Softly, but with so much abandon that tears streaked down her cheeks, and every time she wiped them she laughed harder, making them flow even more. The vicious cycle sucked Lisa back in, and she flopped to the floor once more.

  “Oh my God, we’re the most highly functioning underachievers to ever walk the earth,” she whispered as she stared at the ceiling and tried to think of things to make her stop laughing. She went through scary clowns, creamed spinach, and sick puppies before she could draw a steady breath.

  “We really are,” Marty agreed. “Just look at us. Lying around drinking wine and eating cupcakes in the middle of a weekday while our families save the world.”

  She didn’t sound any more disappointed than Lisa felt.

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No,” Marty said quickly. “I can’t find it in myself to regret it.”

  “Me either,” Lisa said. “I think that’s the hardest part for me sometimes. I don’t regret it. I feel like I should. I feel like that makes me a terrible person. Or it did, until you got it. And then suddenly it all felt hilarious!”

  “Hysterical is more like it,” Marty said, rolling over to face her.

  “Yeah, we sort of fell apart there.”

  Marty ran her fingers lightly across Lisa’s cheek. “But in a good way, right?”

  Lisa closed her eyes, letting the question seep in like the warmth of Marty’s touch. So gentle, and yet so stirring. It had been a long time since she’d felt so secure, so at peace, and yet not quite peaceful. As she opened her eyes to search Marty’s darker ones, she saw so much of herself reflected there. Recognition, attraction, and desire all seemed so clear. Her heart rate rose steadily as she lifted Marty’s hand in her own and brought it to her lips. She kissed the tip of each finger before smiling at her again.

  “Yes,” she finally said, “I think we’re falling apart in a very good way.”

  *

  Marty’s breath caught in her throat. Lisa was so beautiful, her dark hair falling across her forehead, the mischief in her hazel eyes shifting to something more powerful than playful. She wondered briefly if Lisa could see the same in her. Had she watched the scales tip and their trajectory together alter in the moment when they’d finally fully seen each other? Did Lisa feel it sweep across her skin the way she had? She drew her gaze from Lisa’s eyes, dragging it down across the smooth skin of her cheek to the flushed softness of her lips. She gave only a passing thought to the fact that she might never see her again after tomorrow, but somehow the idea that had given her pause earlier only added urgency now.

  She hooked an arm around Lisa’s waist and pulled them together. Their bodies brushed against each other, hips, legs, chest, and, most thrillingly, lips. Their mouths met in the same way they had the night before, natural, easy, as if they’d been born to kiss one another. They set an unhurried but purposeful pace without hesitation or doubt, not exploring so much as experiencing. Marty worked her fingers under the hem of Lisa’s shirt, finding the tantalizing bit of skin she’d caught a glimpse of. It was as soft and warm as she’d expected, but instead of being satisfied, she only craved more.

  She slid her hand up the curve of her hip and over the ridges of her rib cage until she found the soft swell of her breasts. Lisa gasped, then caught Marty’s lip between her teeth, nibbling just hard enough to send her arousal up another level. It must have had the same effect on Lisa, because her hands began to blaze a mirror path up her body. Marty’s attention was divided in the most beautiful way, between touching such beauty and being touched so beautifully.

  Lisa pushed her knee between her legs, and Marty found the friction of their clothes all at once arousing and too restrictive, but before she had a chance to act, Lisa rolled her onto her back and kissed a wandering trail down her neck. All other intentions left her mind as she luxuriated in the feel of Lisa’s warm breath against sensitive skin. Lisa ran her hands up under Marty’s sweater, causing it to ride up as she went. Soon the area of her torso left uncovered was much greater than the part left under the sweater. Lisa kissed her way down along her abs and stomach, then, threading a hand behind her back, urged her up gently enough to slip the fabric off completely.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Lisa whispered, lowering her back to the blanket. The thrill of her voice, so low, so close, pulled at something almost primal in Marty. She didn’t want to simply lie back and be admired. The evidence of Lisa’s desire fed her own, and she wouldn’t be passive on the path to fulfilling it.

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nbsp; Lisa lowered her mouth again, this time to run her tongue along the line where her bra met her skin. Marty raked her hands along her back, pulling the soft cotton up as she went. Lisa paused long enough to help shrug the shirt off before pulling Marty back up and unclasping her bra. She cast it aside quickly, their pace accelerating to match the rhythm of their increasingly shallow breaths.

  “Marty, I want…” Lisa stumbled and then, releasing a shuddering breath, smiled. The expression conveyed so much need and still a surprising amount of insecurity.

  “Yes.” Marty whispered the answer to all the unspoken questions, then, cupping her face in her hands, pulled her back down to reaffirm the word with action.

  This kiss was hotter as they melted together again. She loved the weight of Lisa settling against her, skin on skin, heat to heat. The sensations accompanying their closeness were overwhelming and still not enough. She worked her hands between them and unclasped the button on Lisa’s jeans, then slipped slowly inside across the smooth plane of muscles hardened with anticipation.

  Lisa extended her arms on either side of Marty, lifting her body in push-up position and allowing her jeans and underwear to be pushed down before she kicked them away. Marty reached for her, clutching at bare skin, wanting to be smothered in her, but Lisa had her own ideas. She crawled down, kissing her way along Marty’s stomach. As she flipped open the button of her jeans and lowered the zipper, her mouth quickly covered each little bit of skin the second she revealed it.

  Marty arched her hips, pressing into the pressure of Lisa’s mouth and allowing her to pull her jeans over her hips and down her legs. There were no more thoughts, no more reason beyond their need.

  Hands, legs, torsos, mouths all blurred together. How long had it been since she felt like this? Yesterday? Years ago? Never? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t focus on anything but Lisa. The sound of her raspy breath in her ear, the scent of her cologne mingled with sweat, the rapid beat of her heart against the skin of her own chest, the insistent press of her hand between her legs, stroking her, urging her higher, closer.