Page 10 of Speak from the Heart

“Alright, forgive me again.” He licks his lips, and my sight follows the trail of his tongue. He also does an exaggerated twirl of his wrist and then bows before me like I’m a queen. He’s an ass.

Righting himself, he waves forward a hand, indicating I should walk before him, and I do. I’m stumped by this whole interaction. I can’t keep up with his diverse personalities, and I feel too bone weary to try.

Jess falls in line next to me and we take several steps in heavy silence. The late evening around us is quiet. The water of the large lake laps off in the distance.

“Do you really think I’d kidnap a child?” I ask, astonished by the accusation.

“I don’t know why I said that.” He swipes his hand through his loose locks again, and they cascade back in place when he releases them. He’s so not my type, but I’m still so attracted to him. Well, at least his looks—definitely not his attitude—and it’s strange to me. Why am I reacting like this?

Grace would tease me it’s because I haven’t gotten laid in a while.

Because perhaps all your suits and ties haven’t been worth the trouble.

After another step, I realize my feet are killing me. These strappy shoes aren’t made for walking, and without thought, I reach for Jess’s arm for support. Bending at the waist to slip off one, I lower my bare foot and then remove the other.

“What the . . .?” He pauses when he sees what I’m doing. “You’re going to hurt your feet.”

“They already ache. Besides, I can’t keep up with your longer stride in these.” Understandably, he’s rushing our walk to get me home and return to his friends. However, I’m not about to race him in my high heels.

Holding the ankle straps looped in my fingers, he surprises me by tugging them free from my fingertips and dangling them from his. It’s quite a sight. Tall man in leather holding delicate, heeled sandals. He’s no Prince Charming, and I’m not Cinderella. I own these shoes. I earned them on my own.

We continue in silence a few more paces when he opens his mouth and quickly shuts it. We’ve slowed quite a bit even with the removal of my shoes. I consider it might be nice to loop my arm in his, might be romantic to stroll these dark quiet streets in this quaint sleepy town, but this isn’t a date. There’s nothing romantic about this man.

“Katie is . . . special,” he interjects on my thoughts. “Not just because she’s my daughter, but because she doesn’t speak. I’m protective of her because of that.”

“That makes sense. You’re her father.”

Looking over at me, he scowls when our eyes meet and then he continues speaking. “I’m not telling you about her for your sympathy. We don’t need pity.”

My mouth pops open but he pierces me with a silencing gaze.

“She seems to have taken an immediate liking to you, and she won’t voice to me why. But she isn’t going to talk to you either, no matter how hard you try.” There’s a warning in his words.

Don’t get involved.

“I’m sensing you don’t like me very much.” I state the obvious.

“It isn’t you.”

I laugh bitterly. “It isn’t me, it’s you, right?” How many times have I heard that?

“We had fun, Em. It isn’t you, it’s me.”And then the next girl would be the right girl. She’d be the one.

“Not exactly,” he replies but offers nothing else.

We soon arrive at Nana’s because of her proximity to town.

“So, I guess this is me,” I tease, reaching out for my shoes, but he doesn’t relinquish them. He steps closer to me and our fingers brush. I’ve decided to just let the current flow. It’s all one-sided anyway.

Turning his head toward Nana’s home, he mutters, “Lots of work to do on this place.” Now, he’s stating the obvious. “Can’t get it all done in a weekend.”

How did he know I was only here until tomorrow? I’ve been thinking I might need to take an emergency vacation. I can’t leave this place like it is, or Nana like she is. I need to talk to my sister before I can make a decision, though.

“Might have to change my plans and stay a week. But only one week, and then I’m outta here.” I give him my best gangster voice, but he doesn’t crack a smile. He’s so . . . hard-edged, and he still hasn’t answered my question. What is it he doesn’t like about me?

“One week, you say?” His voice drifts as his attention remains on Nana’s sagging front porch.

“I’m efficient,” I state, defending myself, though the job before me is rather daunting.