Speak From The Heart: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Not three,” I whisper. I don’t think I can come again.

  “Three,” he demands, flicking at my clit while he enters me over and over again. The tension builds, and he knows it’s coming. I’m amazed how well he knows my body after only a few times together.

  “There it is,” he mutters, pleased with himself as my legs stiffen and my back arches, drawing him into me as I melt around him. It’s slow and languid, dragged out over his length, and it makes me hum. My hands skim up and down his spine and coast over the warmth of his skin as I rub myself against him, clenching around him until he warns me.

  “I’m coming.” He pumps into me three times himself before stilling, and I feel the warmth within. He holds himself up as if he can see what’s happening inside me, and then he collapses, blanketing me for a moment in the heat of his body. After too short a time, he rolls us to the side, keeping us attached and tugs me tight against his chest.

  “I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

  I tip up my head, expressing my question with my face.

  “I shouldn’t have told you to shut up like that.” He slips from me, rolls to his back, and swipes at his hair, tucking his hand behind his head. I scoot into his side and wrap my leg over his.

  “You seemed very frustrated this evening.” Frustrated isn’t the correct word, but I’m softening the blow after what we’ve just done. He looks away from me.

  “You’re still leaving tomorrow?” It’s a question, not a statement of fact, but it sounds like a clarification of his earlier attitude.

  “I got offered a new position.”

  “When?” He pulls back to gaze at me.

  “I took the call a few hours ago. A colleague quit, and they offered me his column. It’s a great opportunity for me. It’s what I’ve been waiting for,” I say, but instantly, I feel the burn of the words.

  Jess stares at me. His eyes move over my face before his brows crease together. With my voice remaining monotone, even I heard the unspoken question within it.

  Am I making the right decision?

  He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead.

  When he leans away, he says, “Guess I won’t be seeing you around after all, Emily Post of Chicago.” He’s trying to tease me, but the humor is lost on both of us.

  “Guess not,” I whisper before he tucks me into his chest. We both know it’s the end of our story.

  Rule 21

  Goodbye. Is that two words or one? Like heartbreak.

  [Jess]

  I wake with a start, feeling disoriented for a moment. Last night seems like a dream.

  First, Katie spoke.

  And then Emily.

  We made love the first round, but we tackled one another on the second. I was preparing to leave when I finally admitted the truth to her.

  “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  “Then don’t.” She kneeled up on the bed and lunged for me. Her mouth crashed against mine, and my clothes came back off.

  I took her one more time before I stole off in the early hours of the morning.

  I wake alone in my own bed.

  Then I notice the door to Katie’s room is open.

  I rise slowly, suffering from both a lack of sleep and night of amazing sex. But it wasn’t just sex with Emily. It never has been. I made love to her, and even in the rapid pace of round two, I loved her with my entire being.

  Only she’s leaving today.

  I should shower, but first I want to find Katie and check on her. I tug on yesterday’s T-shirt—which holds a hint of Emily’s scent—and a pair of basketball shorts. I take the stairs down to the front room and then stop short. On the middle of the coffee table sits the radio.

  The one belonging to Emily’s nana.

  “What’s this?” I say aloud, though there’s no one in the room. My sister enters my peripheral vision as she exits the kitchen and crosses through the dining room.

  “Emily dropped this off this morning along with that envelope.”

  I step closer to the table. I can’t stop staring down at the items as if each is a dangerous foreign object or something that might burst into flames. Suddenly, I feel like I’m going to combust.

  “She stopped by and hugged Katie. It was awful. Then she left this for you,” Tricia explains.

  “She was here.” My head shoots up. Didn’t she ask to see me? I don’t ask. I told her I didn’t want to say goodbye.

  Tricia only nods. She keeps her gaze on me as she holds out a cup of coffee.

  I need to go down the street.

  I need to get back to her house.

  I need to tell her to stay.

  No, ask her if she’ll stay for me. For Katie.

  Something in my face must tell my sister my plan, but she shakes her head.

  “You’re too late, Jess. She left hours ago.”

  “What do you mean, she left?”

  She hadn’t made me the list of things I told her I would take care of for her.

  “She left.” Tricia’s eyes wander out the window and then shift like she can still see her driving away.

  So that’s it.

  Guess I won’t be seeing you around Emily Post of Chicago.

  Guess not.

  Only, dammit, I didn’t want it to end.

  Then I recall her briefly telling me about the new position. The job she’s always wanted.

  “I’m sorry, Jess.” My sister’s sympathetic tone does nothing for me. I sit on the couch and reach forward for the envelope. Even if I wanted privacy at this moment, I won’t get it. I open the flap of the envelope and remove the two pieces of paper inside. I unfold the pages and scan the brief letter.

  Dear Jess –

  Now isn’t enough.

  I want more. You want less.

  And I understand.

  Your past. Katie’s future.

  I don’t fit.

  But like this old radio, you made it work when you wanted it to sing.

  I’d like to hear the sounds we can make, not just today but tomorrow.

  Someday perhaps.

  In a garden of make-believe roses, I’d always pick you—the thorniest one—but also the most beautiful at heart.

  XO, Emily

  Dammit, I’d already told her I picked her. What did she miss?

  The second paper was the list of things she needed finished with a card for the rental agent.

  I’ve secured this company to rent Nana’s place in two weeks. Think you can fix the sink by then? I also have this list of other contractors although Sue and Joe will let them in. I hate to think of strangers in there, so perhaps you could check on the place once in a while.

  I stare at the note. She’d taken care of everything minus the installation of the sink I’d ordered for her.

  So efficient.

  Only I’m not happy with her efficiency. She’s closed herself off. She’s left me.

  “I think it’s time I move out,” I announce as I stare at the list of services she’s arranged. I’d never let strangers near her place.

  “Why?” Tricia asks.

  “I need to get back on my own two feet.” I finally look up at my sister, who has also been spending too much time at my mother’s place.

  “Sure this doesn’t have to do with a certain someone?” she teases. “I mean, who wants a man who still lives with his mother at thirty-seven?” She huffs and gives me a dismissive wave.

  “That certain someone told me about floating through her life, and I’ve realized I’ve been doing the same thing. I’ve been doing whatever is easiest instead of facing the challenges.” I glance at the radio before me.

  “I know the feeling,” my sister whispers. “There’s a sick comfort in the familiar.”

  I look up at her again, uncertain of her meaning. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to dissect my sister’s emotions today. I’m grappling with my own.

  The pitter-patter of little feet draws both our attentions, and I shift to glan
ce over the couch and watch Katie pad over to me. She holds her hand out in front of her as she walks as though she’s balancing something.

  “Whatcha got there, Katie bug?” I say, choking on the nickname given to her by a woman no longer in our life.

  “A ladybug.” Tricia answers for her, and I realize we all need to learn to adjust. We’ll need patience and guidance in how to encourage Katie to use her voice on her own instead of relying on us to speak for her.

  “Emily said ladybugs are signs of good luck.” The unfamiliarity of my child’s voice, soft and quiet, still makes my heart zing in my chest.

  “That’s right, baby,” I say although I have no idea if this is true.

  “You can also make a wish on one,” Tricia adds, and I wonder how women know all this stuff.

  “What would you wish for?” I ask as I reach out for Katie and tug her to me. She falls between my knees, leaning into my chest as she watches the red bug with black dots crawl over her wrist.

  “I’d wish for Emily to stay,” Katie whispers. Tricia’s breath hitches in response.

  “Me, too, baby girl.” I lean into her and kiss the side of her head. “Me, too.”

  Rule 22

  When a gentleman knocks, open the door.

  [Emily]

  One week down, I tell myself, fifty-one more to go. I’m surprised I’ve made it five days. I don’t know how I’ll survive months without them.

  I’m efficient, I say to myself. As the words filter through my head, I envision Jess’s face.

  I arrive at the door to my empty, lonely condo. Being efficient isn’t the same as being happy, though, and I know I’m not.

  Live for now, Emily. Nana’s words echo in my ears like a soft whisper.

  Am I? Am I following her advice, or am I still floating like I once told Jess?

  It’s only an adjustment period, I try to convince myself. So much happened so quickly, and I’m just processing. One month. In one month, my grandmother passed, and I fell in love.

  My fingers fumble with the key to my condo.

  I fell in love.

  My forehead begins to fall toward the door until I hear voices in the hallway. I don’t want any witnesses to my sadness, so I turn the key in the lock and open the door. Once I enter my place, I stare at the open concept space. My bedroom and bathroom are both within sight of the front door. It isn’t a house. It doesn’t have a yard or a playhouse in a garden. It’s four walls and three rooms sandwiched between other units. I wonder if my neighbors feel as lost as me sometimes.

  I toss my keys on the kitchen table, reach for my phone for the millionth time in a week, and then set it down. He didn’t call. I didn’t call. Neither of us is being cruel. We just decided not to say goodbye, and phone communication seems like it will only prolong our heartache over the situation.

  I had to go home. He had to stay.

  I set the phone back on the table just as the buzzer at my door goes off. I’m not expecting anyone, and I don’t know how someone got in the building without ringing me first, so I peer through the security hole to see who it is. I gasp and whip open the door.

  I stare at the man in my hallway.

  “Jess.” His name is a breath of fresh air I haven’t breathed since I returned. His hands slip into his front pockets, and a bag hangs off his shoulder. His lips twist to the side, and his jaw clenches. His eyes are sheepish but intense. I step back, and before I can invite him to enter, he steps into the condo and turns to shut the door. His bag falls to the floor as he turns back to me and cups my face in his hands. Almost immediately, his mouth crashes into mine, and we engage in a battle of lips.

  “You piss me off,” he mutters against my mouth. His voice cracks and breaks as he speaks.

  “What are you doing here?” I manage to ask the question between breathtaking kisses. Our lips continue to mold over one another’s, and I’m pressed against my closed front door in a matter of seconds. His hands don’t leave my jaw, but my arms slip around his neck, and my hands tug at his hair, which is loose and wild instead of contained in an elastic band.

  “How could you walk away?” he demands. He returns to kissing me before I can answer. Our lips fight. Our tongues wrestle. And then our wills settle. The kisses calm, and our breathing becomes more exaggerated. Finally, his forehead rests against mine. His hands still cup my face while my fingers remain tangled in his hair. I’m afraid to let him go.

  “That fucking letter,” he whispers to me. We both close our eyes as we breathe each other in. I don’t have to ask him what I said. I know what I wrote. I was honest with him. I had nothing left to lose. I figured I’d already lost them both, so I told him what I had to say.

  He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine. “Why did you leave without talking to me?”

  “We agreed not to say goodbye, but it felt like we had.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you go,” he whispers. His hands slip from my jaw, then slide down to my neck and over my shoulders.

  “What are you saying?” I whisper.

  “In fairy tales, the prince either chases the princess or lets her leave. I shouldn’t have let you go.” Our eyes lock, and he blurs before me.

  “We have so much to discuss.” My voice clogs with emotion.

  “Yes, we do,” he says before he leans toward me and kisses me again. Tender. Tantalizing. Too brief.

  “But we could always talk later,” I suggest, the words quiet and desperate.

  “Definitely,” he groans. Suddenly, my shirt is untucked from my skirt, and his hands slip upward to cup my breasts. My nipples peak under the soft fabric of my bra. He removes one hand and unbuttons the buttons of my blouse, exposing me to him. Then he lowers his head as he tugs down my bra to take one aching globe into his mouth.

  “God, I’ve missed you.”

  The admission thrills me. His sentiment mirrors my feelings. I don’t know how I’m going to live without him.

  His fingers fumble at the back of my skirt and tug at the zipper while my hands unbutton the dress shirt he wears. He doesn’t look like a small-town repairman. His dress pants and pressed shirt make him look like a casual businessman, but I’m too distracted to compliment his attire. We remove each other’s shirts. He slides my bra down my arms and drops it to the floor. I unbuckle his belt at the same time.

  He walks me to my couch, lips still attached until he sits, and watches as I slide my skirt down my hips.

  “You’re so perfect, Emily.” He leans forward, cups a breast again, and sucks at the achy globe while his other hand pinches my nipple. I groan, and his fingers trace over my stomach until they reach the edge of my underwear. His fingertips slip under the elastic, and his hands slowly drag the silky fabric down my legs until it hits my ankles, and I step out of them. I’m fully naked, and he sits back to stare at me.

  “Don’t ever leave without saying goodbye.” His words are like a strike, and my chest heaves. He shifts his pants down his hips, releasing his thick length. The intensity of his blue eyes washes over me, and his hands come to my hips to guide me to straddle him. “It’s going to be quick, sweetheart, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  With his tip positioned at my entrance, I wait only a blink before lowering myself over him, sheathing him inside me. We both groan, and I feel complete for the first time in five days.

  “I’m sorry I left without seeing you one more time,” I tell him, rocking over him, sighing in pleasure at the fullness within me.

  “You can’t . . . you can’t do that to me.” His voice cracks again, and he tugs me to him, his face against my breasts, pausing our movement. My arms wrap around his head, and I hold him tightly to my chest as I will him to hear the words my heart speaks to him.

  Ask me to stay, it thumps.

  He leans away, latches his mouth onto my breast once again then pulls back with a sharp tug. The snap makes me yelp, and it’s like someone has fired a starting gun. We’re off—racing, rocking, and thrusting. Hips crash as
he slams into me, and I sink down on top of him. We slip and slide, both of us breathing heavily, until he begs, “Give it to me, darlin’.”

  His hand slips between us, and his thumb finds just the spot I need to release a week’s worth of tension and a lifetime worth of dreams. I come so hard I see stars dance before my eyes, and I make a wish on every one of them.

  Please don’t let this end.

  Jess’s motions still while he jolts inside me. All feels so right with the world.

  For now.

  + + +

  The moment for talking finally arrives after another round of mind-blowing sex in my bed. We lie next to one another, breathing heavily until Jess lifts an arm and tucks it behind his head. His focus doesn’t leave my ceiling.

  “I could never ask you to stay. To give all this up. Your home. Your job. Your dream.” He twists his head to face me, but he makes no move to turn his body or draw mine close to him.

  “And I can’t pack up my kid and start over again.” His gaze is piercing, and I can see in his eyes he’s begging me to understand.

  “I’d never ask you to do that.”

  “Long distance seems so . . . impossible,” he admits. “I can’t put Katie through that kind of relationship. She needs someone consistent and present.”

  My lips twist into a scowl, and my heart aches. I know what he’s saying. It’s true, even if I don’t like it. The odds seem against us.

  “I owe Tom. I can’t walk away from him or the business. We have too much invested in it, and that’s not including the sentimental value connected to our dad.”

  I want to reach for him, sensing both his sadness at the loss of his father and the depth of his commitment to help his brother take over the family business. Then I remember he told me he’s where he’s meant to be.