This Wandering Heart

by Janine Rosche

  Robbie grabbed a roll out of the basket. He gnawed off a large bite. Perhaps chewing aided his decision-making.

  Her eyes trailed to his arms. Even through the shirt, his muscles visibly cut across one another. All the food he ate only seemed to stuff those biceps and pectorals. Meanwhile, for Keira, that bite of bread constituted her carb allowance for a week.

  “How about this? Let’s try it for six days. Worst case, we part ways on Friday and you have enough money to fund your beach trip. Best case, I have someone I can trust to continue this path with me.”

  Trust may not have been the best choice of words. She’d fully trusted him once. He’d used that to string her along. And when she’d put her foot down, he’d betrayed her completely by getting together with Vivian. Had he grown since then? Maybe. Maybe not. But he had a daughter now—one for whom he was the sole provider. Even if his respect for Keira wasn’t enough to allow integrity to bloom, his love for Anabelle was. He wouldn’t risk her. Anabelle, also, would help keep things professional between them.

  Keira had learned to stand her ground with men. She did a good job keeping John at a distance—too good of a job, in fact. She could do the same for Robbie. No man would stand in the way of her goals. But if she could partner with a man to achieve those goals, all while offering a mutual benefit to him, that was ideal, wasn’t it?

  Nothing could go wrong.

  “Please, Robbie. How will I find someone in such limited time? I was with John for two years before he pulled that stunt of his. I can’t handle being betrayed again.”

  “One week?”

  “That’s it. We’ll see how it goes and decide from there.” Keira could play dirty. She knew exactly what looks to give him to make him fold to her wishes.

  But her new little friend, scribbling furiously across the table, gave her pause.

  She wouldn’t play games with Anabelle’s heart. “It will be fun, I promise, as long as Anabelle doesn’t mind postponing her sandcastle building awhile.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Keira’s empty chair taunted him while he ate. Was he really considering a weeklong road trip with his ex-girlfriend? Well, no one had ever accused him of sanity. Strictly business, she’d said. Of course, it would be. Never mind how his entire body had reacted to her hand resting on his arm. As if the separation had never happened at all. But it had. So sour was the taste in his mouth, this steak wasn’t even good. Okay, it was delightful, as were the fancy mashed potatoes. Still, he ate in defiance.

  “Look, Daddy, I’m a mermaid.” Anabelle was holding her leg straight out. She lifted the skirt of her dress to show the skin of the salmon resting on her knee.

  He caught the tail of his guffaw with his hand. Looking around, he was glad no one had seen her comedic talents. “Kitty Kat, we can’t play with fish skins in fancy restaurants. We’ll get in trouble.”

  She pouted as he removed the fish skin, then wiped her knee with a napkin.

  Keira needed to get back soon or who knows what other crazy ideas Anabelle might try. Over her shoulder, he spied Keira near the bar. After she’d eaten less than ten bites of her food, she’d excused herself to snap some pictures. The bartender started chatting with her. She was grinning . . . with a stranger. Was this part of her Kat Wanderfull persona? Who was he committing to spending a week with? Kat or Keira?

  If he didn’t accept her offer, someone like that guy might. And he’d probably pretend to be some great man and earn her trust. Then, after a few months or years of stringing her along, she’d discover he’d been misleading her the whole time.

  He wasn’t so different. He should have told her about MRCustom. These stories never ended well when the guy hid the truth. Except in that Tom Hanks movie every girl loved about the bookstores. That blond chick didn’t mind his lie. But Robbie wasn’t Tom Hanks. And he was about 90 percent sure that if he admitted he was the guy she’d already dumped the other day, this trip would be over before it began. Then she’d put her future in the hands of someone like Whiskey Jack over there.

  That other 10 percent? That wasn’t worth getting his hopes up over. Tonight, in the hotel room, he would delete that useless account. She’d never know. Hadn’t she cyber-dumped him anyway? She wouldn’t even miss him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Later that night in the dim hotel room, the bright screen of the phone burned Robbie’s eyes. Anabelle had finally dozed off. The excitement of the day had taken its toll. By the time they’d returned to the hotel, Anabelle wasn’t listening to Robbie anymore. She’d reached full-blown meltdown in the hallway outside their room. Keira was likely regretting her proposal for him and his little velociraptor daughter on this trip already.

  His finger hovered above the Momentso icon. Just erase it. Delete the account. She’s right in the next room if you want to talk to her.

  But would she talk to him? Probably not.

  The yellow icon flashed.

  A new message? He tapped it once, then pressed the envelope in the corner. There was a lag on the hotel’s Wi-Fi. It felt like a lifetime before the message appeared.

  When he saw Kat’s name, his heart leaped so high it might’ve thunked its head on his collarbone. But, a few words in, that same heart lay down on the ground and started scooping dirt on itself.

  KAT WANDERFULL: Dear friend, I owe you an apology.

  KAT WANDERFULL: I broke up with my boyfriend this morning. I’ve realized I keep people at arm’s length. Everyone I’ve ever loved has hurt me, so I guess it’s my safeguard.

  KAT WANDERFULL: Do you know why I do this crazy Momentso thing? I was lonely after college. The kind of lonely where the walls bow in on you. I started teaching geography at my old high school, but by every Friday afternoon, the idea of returning to my quiet, dark apartment was too much. I traveled more, taking pictures along the way, and posting about it in case others couldn’t travel to see the same sights. Eventually, people started following me. They’d tell me their stories, and it was as if they invited me into their lives, even if only for a moment.

  KAT WANDERFULL: You invited me in for much more than a moment, and I pushed you away.

  KAT WANDERFULL: I miss you. Please write back.

  Keira missed him. At least a version of him. But learning her why behind this crazy charade wrenched his gut, especially knowing the role he’d played in her loneliness. Even worse was knowing she trusted MRCustom with her story. Not him.

  The green dot on her profile picture called to him. Three dots appeared, telegraphing that she was writing another message to him.

  KAT WANDERFULL: If not, I get it. I know what it feels like to be someone’s second choice. You deserve better than that. I’m so very sorry.

  Second choice? He quickly tapped a message, waited for autocorrect to catch his mistakes, then hit Send.

  MRCUSTOM: I already forgave you.

  KAT WANDERFULL: OH, THANK GOODNESS!

  MRCUSTOM: Lol. I refuse to believe you’ve ever been anyone’s second choice.

  KAT WANDERFULL: My father chose his anger over me. That was the first eighteen years of my life. Then, for years, my college boyfriend strung me along, waiting for something better to come around. When she did . . . well, she did.

  Is that what she thought? No, there was never anyone better than her. She was so first place in his mind that at the Olympics, the national anthem should sing a song about her.

  And Keira should blame God for the stringing-along bit. Robbie would have married her in high school. Or right after. Ryann had gotten married a few days after her graduation. He could have, too. If it weren’t for the Holy Spirit binding his tongue whenever he considered asking. Yes, Keira, it was God that didn’t want us to marry. Not me.

  But what girl wants to hear that? You know that thing you want most in the world? Well, God is telling me he doesn’t want you t
o get it. That would not have helped her whole what-has-God-done-for-me-lately bit.

  MRCUSTOM: You aren’t second place in my book. Why’d you open up to me?

  KAT WANDERFULL: Because I need someone to know me. Not the me I paint up and pose.

  MRCUSTOM: Why me, though?

  KAT WANDERFULL: Because you’ve been there for me, without fail.

  MRCUSTOM: I’m just a man. I’ll fail you sometime.

  KAT WANDERFULL: Doubtful.

  MRCUSTOM: Isn’t there anyone else you can count on?

  KAT WANDERFULL: Not without promising them something in return. I’ve got to go for now. I’m glad we talked.

  Thunder sounded in the distance. He hadn’t noticed a storm brewing when he’d looked to the west on the way to dinner. Skies had been clear. Again, a slight rumble. No, that wasn’t thunder. The soft rapping was coming from the door adjoining their rooms.

  He unlatched it slowly. Anabelle didn’t stir at the slide of metal. Before he’d opened the door fully, a white sheet of paper slid in front of his face.

  “Your copy of the contract I wrote up,” Keira said softly. “Take a look at it and let me know if you want to make changes.”

  She’d washed her face. Without all the makeup, she looked younger. Less porcelain doll–like. His fingers itched to touch her bare cheek. Her hair, which had been precisely curled by six in the morning, was now put up into a knotted thing on top of her head. Her oversize sweatshirt from their alma mater hung loosely over shorts so tiny he forced his eyes to her stockinged feet. Two hideously ugly alpacas had apparently sacrificed their lives so she could have warm toes.

  “Are you texting someone?” Her gaze fell to his phone.

  “Nope.” He tossed his phone onto his bed, praying it landed screen-side down in the covers.

  It did.

  He took the contract. The jumble of words below the EndeavHerMore logo assaulted his eyes. He angled the paper to allow the light from Keira’s room to illuminate them. Even worse. Was she expecting him to read it now while they stood there? Heat scorched his face.

  “There’s a lot of useless legal stuff in there. Do you . . . want me to go over it with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on in.”

  Anabelle snorted into her pillow.

  “I can’t leave her alone.” He got down to the floor, crossing one leg awkwardly beneath his other. He pressed his back against the doorframe, the trim digging into his spine. He needed her to sit down. From this angle, all he could see were legs. “Can you sit?”

  She adjusted to a seated position on the floor much more naturally than he did. Leaning against her wall, her shoulder grazed his back. Holding out the paper between them, he put his fingertip beneath the first word, then the second and the third. The air he was trying to breathe thickened to a syrup.

  Her hand curled over his shoulder blade as she angled her body toward him and the contract.

  “Read it to me. Go slow.”

  Keira’s beauty was softer without her makeup but not dulled. An intriguing beauty that crept up on him, catching his heart’s focus, not his eyes at first. It had been that way for Robbie from the start. For years he’d watched her fade into the background of every classroom and school event. To him, though, she was like one of those optical illusions. If he stared long enough and shifted his focus, he could see the young woman instead of the old woman or the stairs leading up instead of down. And once he saw it differently, he couldn’t forget it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ten Years Earlier

  Read it to me. You know the rules.” Keira tapped the eraser end of her pencil on the table. Robbie didn’t mind that hot-tutor vibe she gave off.

  After helping him twice a week all summer, Keira held a front-row seat to the circus that was his brain. But unlike the teachers he’d had in school, she didn’t pity him or get annoyed when he, a seventeen-year-old, read at an elementary-student level. Instead, she helped him. She’d read a book on learning disabilities and explained he likely had one. She’d explained that if he did have one, then that didn’t mean his brain was broken—only wired differently. Wired in a way that teaching strategies developed for the masses didn’t reach.

  At first, he’d almost stormed out of the town’s library, but she’d grabbed his hand and held it. Now she came to their sessions armed with see-through colored papers she placed over top of his book and reading guides to help him only see the line he was trying to read. She even brought him a plumbing elbow. The idea was for him to hold it like a telephone, reading aloud into the one end, then his voice would come out through the other end and go straight to his ear. That one he refused. Instead, he had to read everything out loud to her. He didn’t mind, since she sat so close to him when he did.

  “Go on. Read it,” she repeated. As one of her teaching strategies, he had to write her letters, then practice reading them out loud for fluency or some junk like that.

  Write what you think about, she’d said. So, as instructed, each week, he’d slip a folded notebook paper out of his pocket. At first, he wrote about football, fly-fishing, and partying with his friends, but now something else consumed his thoughts.

  He stared at the folded note on the flat pine surface as if it were a bomb that would explode if he didn’t Mission: Impossible this.

  “What are you waiting for, silly? I’m dying to hear more about trout and caddis fly larvae.” At the corner of her eyes, her skin crinkled.

  He’d learned that was her smile. For the longest time, he’d assumed she had crooked teeth or no teeth at all. Why else would she hide her smile away? But when she spoke, he found she had very nice teeth. Which reminded him what he’d written in this note.

  “This letter is different.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Good. The best writers use their personal thoughts and feelings to write masterpieces.”

  “This is no masterpiece.”

  “How am I supposed to know that if I don’t know what it says?” She scooted closer to him.

  He followed her gaze to the front desk.

  Mrs. Eckels, the woman in charge of the summer tutoring program, headed outside for a smoke break.

  Keira’s hand curled over his shoulder, sending his nerves into overdrive.

  He unfolded the note with trembling fingers. Why was he nervous? He’d fed so many lines to girls in the past. Why was this different? Because it was Keira. And it was true.

  “Dear Keira . . .” Robbie blew out a breath.

  “You want me to write what I think about. Fine. I think about you.” He shook his head, expecting her to remove her hand or scoot away.

  She didn’t. “Go on.”

  rWhen I’m fishing, I think about how your lips move when you say stuff to you. Oh, that should say me.”

  “No editing, remember? Just read what you’ve written.” She sounded winded.

  “At football conditioning, I wonder what it would feel like to touch your hair. It’s probably soft. When I’m working around the resort, I imagine you putting your hand on my neck.” Robbie closed the note.

  “You weren’t finished.” She unfolded it and flattened it with her hand.

  Robbie cracked a nervous smile. “When I lie in bed at night, I picture kissing you. And I hope you want to kiss me, too. Forever and always, your Robbie.” His eyes bored through the paper, through the desktop, to the ground below. He kind of wished he was six feet under in this moment. “I probably used the wrong your.”

  Next to him, she didn’t move. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing.

  Great. He broke her.

  Her hand reached for the pencil. She was shaking. On the top of his letter, she wrote, Follow me. Then she was gone, walking toward the back of the library.

 
He could see the back of Mrs. Eckels’s head through the front window, a puff of smoke rising above her. Careful not to make any noise, he pushed back his chair and followed Keira’s path. He’d lost sight of her. He checked each aisle, each alcove. He was about to check the women’s bathroom when he noticed the darkened kids’ room. Heading that way, he lifted his shoulders high.

  No matter what would happen, he was 150 percent authentic and totally not a coward.

  Though the lights were off, he could still make out the cartoon characters on the walls. He remembered coming here for story time as a preschooler. His mom used it as a break since stories were the only thing that kept him sitting still.

  Keira appeared from the shadows, grabbing his hand, then tugging him into a corner of the room.

  He’d never seen her eyes wider. Was she scared of him? Or this thing between them?

  Slowly, she reached up to her ponytail and untwisted the rubber band that held it off her face. Using her fingers, she combed her chocolate hair down over her shoulder.

  His hand didn’t wait for his brain, not that any part of him cared much about sound decision-making right now. He touched the tendril closest to her neck. Pure silk. He gentled it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Her palm touched his chest first. He inflated it like a balloon. She probably already found him attractive. Most girls did. But she wasn’t like most girls. It couldn’t hurt to remind her of his muscles. He was suddenly thankful for all those hours in the school’s weight room.

  Her hand lingered a moment, then slid up over the collar of his shirt, coming to rest on the side of his neck. It was clammy. Had she ever kissed anyone before? Probably not. Her father was a supreme jerk. School and tutoring were the only times she was allowed to leave her house. Plus, no one ever talked to her, except Robbie.

  His friend—scratch that—his former friend, Mason, said she wasn’t hot enough for homecoming, but he’d probably still show her the bed of his truck. That comment had earned him a black eye and Robbie an extra hour of conditioning.