Page 30 of Speak from the Heart

Rule 9

Wishes rhymes with kisses, kind of.

[Emily]

I sit on the screened-in porch, contemplating how I’m down to only one evening before I need to leave. I know I can’t go. I don’t know how to ask my boss for more time off even though I certainly deserve the time. It’s not like I’ve been lazing away the days. The entire week has been an effort to clean Nana’s house and figure out the sink situation. Nana hardly registers the sink doesn’t work, but she notices that radio is missing, and she’s accused me of stealing it twice. I’ve done more research on Alzheimer’s and find accusations of stolen items is a common sign of early-stage dementia.

Grace and I have spoken again about my fear of leaving Nana alone as well as what to do about her situation. It’s an unresolved puzzle. A facility? And where? Keep her in Michigan or take her to Illinois? There are so many questions and I’m overwhelmed trying to figure it all out alone. I’m giving myself the night to make a final decision. I can already imagine what my boss will say if I call him and ask for another week. He’ll tell me they miss me while he’s deciding who will take over my articles. I’ve handed in two this week, despite the vacation days, and proposed another one of special interest on selective mutism.

My boss was not impressed.

My eyes close as I tip my head back on the worn outdoor cushion. This couch is still surprisingly comfortable despite the faded fabric. I’d like to fade away for a few minutes—to stop thinking—but I just can’t. In this position, my other senses take over, and I hear the noise of something moving on the gravel driveway. I assume it’s an animal scavenging through the night, and I dismiss the sound, wondering how Katie does it. How does she hold in her voice?

Suddenly, the presence of something large looms outside the screen at my back. I twist to look more closely and nearly come out of my skin at the outline of a man in the dark yard.

“Jesus,” I curse under my breath.

“Nope, Jess,” clarifies a masculine voice that sounds too familiar and slightly slurred. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I head for the door and unlatch the hook, which I realize would hardly have prevented an intruder had there really been one. Then I notice a handful of pebbles in Jess’s hand and a paper bag in the other.

“You plannin’ on breaking and entering or something?” I tease, nodding at the collection.

“I was going to toss pebbles at your bedroom window to get your attention.” The gravel falls to the ground with a tinkling sound, and I smile. It’s juvenile but kind of romantic. I hold the door open even wider and tilt my head, inviting him into the dimly lit porch.

“You didn’t come to my party.” There’s a question buried in that statement, but I don’t have an answer. I didn’t really get an invitation despite the nicety of his sister. Considering we’d kissed and he hadn’t requested I attend, I felt awkward just showing up. He speaks rather loudly when he adds, “So I brought the party to you.”

“Nana,” I whisper and point a finger toward the ceiling as if she’s both my excuse for not attending and a reason to be quiet.

“Right. Quiet.” He holds a finger over his lips and huffs out an exaggerated shush. He steps over to the couch and plops himself on the middle cushion. I seat myself next to him and notice a second bag under his arm.

“Whatcha got?”

“Wine and cake.”

“And to what do I owe the honor? It’s your birthday. I should be gifting you.”

His head rolls on the back of the cushion where it rests. Gazing at me, he says, “What would you give me?”

Swallowing the knot in my throat and ignoring the sudden pulse between my thighs, I boldly respond with another question. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer me but shifts so quickly he startles me. He places one bag on the glass coffee table and withdraws from it a plastic wrap-covered paper plate with a giant piece of cake on it. Next, he withdraws two plastic forks, holding them upright like he’s modeling them. “I want cake.”

Too bad.

“I saved my first taste for you,” he adds while looking at my mouth. His voice dips, and my core clenches. He’s rather playful this evening, which is so unlike him. He reaches for the second bag and pulls out a bottle of wine, plus an opener.

Michigan white zinfandel. “My favorite,” I comment.

“Somehow, I knew you’d like it sweet.”

I can do sweet. I can also do fast and hard, and suddenly, my libido is in overdrive. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, and I want this troubled someone sitting beside me. I shift to my side, cross my legs awkwardly to calm the rapid beat between them, and take a proffered fork. I’m wearing a cherry red T-shirt dress which slips up my thigh at my movement and exposes bare skin, which Jess does not miss. His eyes eagerly roam my thigh before he holds the cake plate between us.

“Happy Birthday,” I whisper before slicing off a bite and slipping it into my mouth. Jess watches my movements, and I might take a moment longer than necessary to savor the creamy frosting melting on my tongue. Finally dragging the fork forward, I lick my lips as if they might have a lingering crumb. Jess continues to watch each motion, and I observe him swallow.

Rousing himself from his daze, he cuts his own forkful, and shoves it into his mouth. His eyes keep their hold on mine, but his jaw moves in a way that suggests he’d devour me if those lips moved over my skin, if they dipped between my thighs. My fingers curl around the fork as if the small disposable utensil could be any defense against this man.

He’s dangerous for my heart, but I want his body more than anything.