Dysfunctional Hearts

by L. S. Pullen

  Chapter 7

  Sophie

  I wake gasping for air, my skin clammy. It takes me a few seconds to shake off the fog as I find my bearings and remember where I am. I’m in bed, a blanket strangling my legs. Rubbing my eyes, I squint at the clock. Just after four.

  Groaning, I sit up. I don’t remember coming to bed. I need to get out of this dress and take this makeup off. Otherwise, I’ll need a chisel come morning.

  I cringe at the thought of Charlie having to put me to bed as I pad into the bathroom, squinting when I switch on the too-bright light. Struggling, I unzip my dress and let it pool to my feet. The bruise marks on my arm are prominent and unforgiving in this light. I peer into the mirror, my hair like a matted bird’s nest. Picking out all the pins, I let them clatter to the sink. Using my face wipes, I scrub away the remnants of the day and flinch when I accidentally rub the tender skin around my eye. The cut has closed, but it’s sore as heck, and it’ll leave a mark—my skin never heals well. I have numerous scars over my knees from the scrapes I’ve gotten into to prove it.

  Trudging back to bed, I grab for the t-shirt and slip it over my head. I freeze, wondering if he saw it. But I will refuse to let him have it back; it’s the best thing I’ve ever slept in. I fall into bed with a satisfying oomph.

  Charlie

  I’ve spent most of the early morning watching as the removal guys tear down the gazebo and packed away all the wedding décor. When they leave, I head back inside. I’ve only had one cup of coffee this morning, and my stomach grumbles in protest. When I hit the kitchen, I salivate from the scent of bacon in the air.

  Sophie has her back to me as she hovers over a sizzling frying pan. Walking over, I peer over her shoulder and inhale. I’m not sure if I’m smelling her or the food, but they’re both equally delicious.

  “Good morning,” I say into her ear.

  She startles and leans away, elbowing me in the side. I let out a laugh.

  “Any chance I can have a taste?” I’m a little surprised I let the words slip out.

  But then she replies, “Maybe… If you’re lucky.”

  Her words do something to my insides, and for a moment I’m paralysed, a response on the tip of my tongue. But then she turns to me, and it’s like a cold hose has been sprayed over my libido. The lighting highlights the bruise on her face. And…there goes my hand on a journey all on its own, reaching out to touch her.

  Her fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping my descent. “It’s fine,” she croaks. “And thank you for putting me to bed.”

  Letting go, she turns back to the stove. My hand goes to the small of her back. I lean in, about to whisper into her ear, when footsteps and the clicking of a walking stick stop me.

  Turning my head just as Ana and Evie come into the kitchen, I smile.

  “Good morning, ladies,” I say, heading over to greet them with a kiss on each cheek. They sit at the kitchen table, and I offer to make them some tea.

  “Looks like you received a better greeting than I did,” Soph says with a playful grin. She stands facing us, a spatula in one hand and a tea towel in the other.

  Without a word, I stalk back over to her, and she doesn’t move as I step in front of her. I lean down. An audible gasp escapes her slightly parted lips, and I kiss her on the cheek, lingering longer than I should before moving to whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t want my favourite girl to feel left out.” My lips graze the silky skin of her ear lobe, and it takes everything in me to step away. Her cheeks glow red as she swats me with the tea towel. I turn back to the kettle, trying to hide my arousal, keeping my body in front of the counter.

  Dead kittens.

  I regard the women in front of me when we’re all seated and can’t fight my smile. One of the things I miss the most from growing up is sitting down to eat breakfast as a family. A wave of nostalgia rolls over me. Seeing Ana and Evie—how they’re ageing has come out of nowhere—it’s all-encompassing…both physically and psychologically. Time waits for no one.

  It’s moments like this I try not to take for granted, but then the guilt creeps in. As much as my dad hasn’t been the man I knew him to be, I’m an adult now, and I know I could be a better son. We aren’t close like we once were, and in fleeting moments like this, I think maybe it’s something I should consider remedying.

  But for now, I soak up the company and enjoy my home-made breakfast. Sophie knows the way to my heart, even if she doesn’t know it yet and it’s not just through my stomach. The thought causes me to swallow hard.

  I say goodbye to Ana and Evie as they get up to leave. They’re off to the local community hall for bingo.

  “So, are you off to play bingo, too?” I ask Sophie once we’re alone.

  She swats me with the tea towel, again. “So, what if I was?” she challenges.

  I hold my hands up. “Hey, I’m not judging. You like what you like.”

  “True,” she says, and scans the length of my body, her eyes lingering for a few seconds before she nods then tries to squeeze past me. I make no attempt to move out of her way when her hip skims mine.

  Reaching around me, she brushes her shoulder across my chest. My fingers tingle, wanting to take hold of her waist. I lean closer when the heavy clank of cutlery stalls me. She pulls back, holding the plates. Her cheeks begin to colour, and I take them from her, my fingers rubbing over the back of her hand as I do.

  What I really want to do is rub my thumb along the seam of her plump lips before dipping my head and stealing a kiss. Instead, I’m the one brushing past her as I take the dirty plates to the sink.

  She’s behind me now, her hands lightly touch my hips, but heat pierces my skin.

  “Move you. Go on, get out of here. Haven’t you got work to get to?” She asks.

  Her voice holds a rough note, a tinge of nerves. And as much as I would love to stick around, she’s right. I do still have a business to run.

  “I do but I can help clear up this mess,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Stop it, it doesn’t take two of us to rinse some plates and fill a dishwasher.”

  I take that as a hint. “Okay, well thank you for breakfast,” I say and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. Again, any excuse to get close to her.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, her cheeks warm.

  I put distance between us, temptation on the tip of my tongue.

  “I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Of course,” she replies.

  I smile and turn, forcing myself to leave her to it. Shit, I am well and truly screwed.

  I still can’t believe this place is mine. Admittedly, when I first made the decision to invest in a bar after graduation, it was to piss my dad off. But truth is, I love it. I’ve been my own boss for a couple of years now and I’m finally finding my feet.

  It took a while to get the aesthetics as I imagined. I had to work hard with a contractor to have it just how I wanted. With a series of horseshoe style booths on one side and the wall opposite lined with high stools and a solid oak finish bar. Leaving more than enough room in the middle for smaller round tables and soft cushioned chairs. So, it’s both open or intimate depending on where you’re seated.

  The walls are lined with local artists work of famous London landmarks. Ambient lighting which can be adjusted to the time of day. And the bar overlooks the entire space and is fitted with ceiling-high mirrors.

  I walk through the bar and find Olly, my right-hand man, with his back to me drying some glasses. He glances up and eyes me in the mirror, nodding with a smile on his face.

  “Alright mate, was everything okay yesterday?” I ask, scanning the fridges behind him to see what needs replenishing.

  “Yep, no dramas. How was the wedding?”

  I smile. “It was eventful,” I say as I come around to start stacking the glasses on their rack.

  “I bet Felicity was as radiant as ever, and what about Sophie?” he asks. His eyes holding a gleam of eagerness as he awaits my reply.

&
nbsp; “Felicity was the blushing bride and Sophie…” She was fucking gorgeous. “Was fine until a dimwit ex of hers showed up to the reception, but I took care of it,” I say, grinding my jaw.

  He points the dishcloth towards my hands. “I did wonder if you’d gone a round or two with a punching bag without me.”

  I shrug. “He got less than he deserved.”

  “No, doubt,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I, for one, would’ve liked to have seen her in her glad rags. But my arsehole manager wouldn’t give me the night off.”

  I cock my head. “Yeah, well, your arsehole manager did pay you double bubble.”

  “True dat.”

  I check my watch. We have a hen party due in soon, and if they’re anything like the last one, it won’t let up until after closing. But it’s Sunday, so at least we get to close early.

  “You up for fitting in some sparring later this week?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  He’s a good guy—flirtatious as fuck with the punters—but he’s reliable and a decent friend. Ellie and Keira, who are also on shift tonight, walk in, laughing and joking about goodness knows what. Olly glances over and shakes his head.

  It’s been non-stop since the doors opened. I check my phone when it vibrates. Swiping the missed call alert—fuck—I left it on divert. I hold my phone up to Olly, so he knows I’m taking a call and head outback.

  “Hey, it’s me, Charlie.”

  “I know, your name flashes up,” Sophie replies.

  Always with the sass. I smile. I’ve only ever spoken to her on the phone once before, and it’s not a good memory. But she sure as hell sounds good. “Very funny, what’s up?”

  “Any chance you could grab me some Ibuprofen on your way back please?”

  “No problem. You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a headache.”

  I glance at my watch. “All right, I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “In that case, I won’t give your dinner to the dog,” she replies. I can hear the smile in her voice, and for a second I’m left speechless. She cooked me dinner.

  “Right, well, I’ll be home soon.” I cringe, not home.

  “See you in a bit.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m back at the bar, sliding my phone into my pocket when I turn to catch Olly eyeing me with a smirk.

  “What?’ I ask, frowning.

  “Nothing at all boss,” he says, holding his hands up and backing away.

  I shake my head and crack on with closing up the bar.

  I don’t think I’ve worked so hard to finish and lock up. I pull into the petrol station and run in for the tablets when I spot the foil-wrapped eggs and grab one of those, too. It doesn’t take me long to get back to the house. I’m jittery, and I don’t know why. I park in the space I’ve now declared mine and grab the carrier bag from the passenger seat.

  I skip up the front steps. My finger pauses at the doorbell. Instead of ringing, I dig in my pocket and use the key. The house is quiet with the exception of the sounds coming from the kitchen.

  I walk in; Sophie’s back is towards me. She’s in leggings, a long, baggy top, and she’s barefoot. Her hair is twisted in a knot on the top of her head, and I can’t help but drink her in. She turns and smiles when she sees me. But I’m across the tiled floor and in front of her in three long strides. Reaching up, I graze my finger close to her eye. She squints.

  “No wonder you wanted painkillers.” It’s even worse than when I left her earlier.

  “It’s throbbing, not going to lie.” She shrugs as if to dismiss it.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, dropping my hand.

  “Quit swearing and stop looking at me like someone just kicked your puppy. I’ve had worse.”

  The statement makes my stomach roll. It shouldn’t have happened at all. I scowl—the thought of her ever hurting makes me want to punch something…or someone.

  “Close your eyes,” I say.

  “What, why?”

  “Trust me.”

  Smiling, she closes them.

  “Now, hold out your hands.” She does as I ask, but I can’t help my laugh. “Palms facing up.”

  “Okay, you can look now.”

  She stares down then smiles back up at me. It’s a kinder egg and a packet of painkillers.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, her face brightening. A blush creeps up her neck and over her cheeks. Her reaction sends warmth through me. I want to make her smile like that every day. The thought makes me take a step back.

  She turns away from me to grab a glass and fills it with water from the tap.

  “Do you want a drink?’’ she asks.

  “I’ll get it.”

  She pushes me away. “No, go sit down. You hungry?”

  “Always,” I say, smiling.

  She waves me off again, so I take a seat at the table. She grabs me a bottle of beer and hands it to me. I twist off the cap and take a swig, watching her every move. She dishes me up a plate of—I double-take, the smell wafts up my nose and invades my senses—damn, she’s cooked lasagne. Is she trying to kill me? My mouth salivates from the aroma alone. I dig with my fork before I start dribbling and take a huge bite.

  “If you don’t like it, I can whip you up something else.” She reaches out as if to take my plate, and I pull it closer to me. I don’t bloody think so. I shake my head.

  I swallow down the mouthful I just devoured. “Heck no, Sophie. This right here is food heaven. Damn, girl, will you marry me?” I ask, pointing at her with my fork.

  She shies away, shaking her head, but I see the smile on her face. What I didn’t admit to is that this is as good as my mum used to make. The nostalgia hits me square in the chest.

  “I made chocolate melt for dessert if you fancy it afterwards?”

  “I’ll give it a go,” I say with a wink. When she turns her back to me, my eyes travel the length of her body zeroing in on her arse. Food catches in my throat, and I begin coughing.

  Sophie turns quickly. “Are you okay?” she asks, concern rippling her face as she walks over and begins patting my back.

  I get my breathing under control, but her touching me isn’t helping. I wave her off, and she walks over to the sink.

  “Wrong hole,” I say.

  She turns on the tap, filling a glass with water and passes it to me. I take a few sips then concentrate on eating my food. This girl is an enigma—the voice of an angel and boy, can she cook. But she’s so much more than that.

  I watch her take two painkillers and lean against the worktop, closing her eyes briefly.

  “Nate texted me to say they’d arrived,” I say around another mouthful of food.

  “Flick texted me, too. She also said we would be talking when she gets home, which means she knows enough about what happened last night. Not a conversation I’m looking forward to.”

  Her expression changes. The one she gets right before she’s about to shut you out. I can’t tell you when I began to notice these things about her. But I do.

  “I wouldn’t worry, she’ll be all blissed out from her honeymoon.” I go for a change of subject. “Are you back to work tomorrow?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. What about you, Mr. Self-employed?”

  “Not until the day after tomorrow. I have a private event to manage, then all week after that.”

  She watches me while I polish off my food. I’m tempted to lick the plate clean; it was that good. I push the plate away and pick up my beer. Contentment washes over me.

  “So, why the bar?” she asks.

  I smile. Have we never talked about this? “I always wanted to work in hospitality, and after Uni, I fell into it. Not going to lie, it helped that I had an inheritance as capital.”

  “And how did your dad feel about it?”

  I laugh. “Not anything positive. He wanted me to go into law like him, but that wasn’t going to happen. And it’s kind of hard to bribe your son when he doesn’t need your money to get by, isn’t it
?”

  “Yeah, money is evil.”

  “I’ve seen how careful you are with money and it’s probably for numerous reasons, but one thing you are not is frivolous.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I ask, perplexed.

  “See things other people don’t.”

  “I didn’t realise I did.”

  “Come off it. You’re very intuitive like that. Anyway, the way I see it, regardless of the amount of money someone has, it doesn’t make them any less important. I think that’s where my parents lost their way a little—always thriving for more, bitter over what they didn’t have.”

  I grit my teeth. From things she said in passing about her parents, they have a lot to answer for in my opinion. She’s a kind person, one who deserves parents that see how good she is.

  Shaking my head, I stand and grab my empty plate.

  “I can do that,” she says, trying to take it from me.

  “I’ve got this, Soph.”

  “Okay, it just needs rinsing. And then load it into the dishwasher and turn it on.”

  She’s such a control freak, I smirk and get to it. Her phone vibrates on the worktop followed by a ringtone, but she ignores it.

  “Did Simon get back to New York okay?” I ask, loading the plate into the dishwasher and switching it on.

  “Yep. He also gave me a grilling about the latest jerk,” she says with air quotes.

  “Because he cares.”

  “I know, and I love him for it, I do, it’s just...never mind. I was going to watch a film if you fancy it?”

  She makes us both a bowl of desert handing me one, and we head into the living room where we settle on the sofa.

  “So, what are we watching?” I ask after demolishing my desert in less than five bites. She’ll make someone a fortunate man.

  And I want it to be me. What the fuck?

  “Shawshank Redemption.”

  We are both sides of the same coin. This film that never gets old.

  “Have you seen it at the theatre?” I ask her.