Page 9 of Speak from the Heart

Rule 3

Ask for forgiveness or you’ll never earn it.

[Emily]

“Wait.”

Gazing over my shoulder, I see the outline of a man. Tall, lanky, and wearing an unseasonably warm leather jacket. His near-shoulder length hair hangs around his face.

Oh, no. Not him.

I spin around and walk quicker, my strappy high-heeled sandals only taking me so fast. Nana made me wear a dress to the Mueller’s and the shoes I wore are too flimsy to run in.

“I said, wait.” He huffs, catching up to me, a warm hand circling my upper arm and forcing me to stop. The electric shock from his touch stills me as though I’ve been zapped into submission. Goddammit, why does this keep happening with him? My body rattles while he seems so unaffected.

“What do you want?” I bark, whipping around to face him.

“I . . .” He releases his hand and immediately swipes it through his hair. The locks cascade back into place around his neck after he combs through them. “I wanted to apologize.”

My hip juts, and I cross my arms, waiting on more. “That’s it?” I say when he doesn’t explain himself.

“What more do you want?” His jaw clenches—a tic I’ve noticed—but it’s not enough. He can’t tempt me to his dark side with his edgy jaw covered in sexy scruff.

“Nothing.” I twist away from him but don’t make it more than a step when he stops me again with his hand on my arm.

“Don’t walk home in the dark.”

I look around us at the streetlamps placed in intervals along the road and the one stoplight on this sleepy Main Street. A mess of cars fill the diagonal parking spaces.

“What could possibly happen to me here?” I ask, exasperated and frustrated by his nearness. I’d noticed at the barbecue earlier he cleans up nicely. He also smells nice. Still sunshine, still manly, but also fresh.

“You never know,” he teases, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness. I want to laugh. It can’t be dangerous around here, but his concern shakes me.

“I’m not going back to the bar,” I state, staring down the street to the Town Tavern, the singular hangout in town. Gabe Carpenter walked over to Nana’s and found me sitting on her front porch, and I took him up on his offer for a drink. He’s a decent-looking man in his khaki pants and polo shirt. Much more my type than the biker image before me. As Nana’s next-door neighbor growing up, Grace and I saw Gabe often enough on our summer visits here. I couldn’t quite say he was a friend, but he was more than an acquaintance, and I was desperate for a reprieve from Nana’s place. I’m overwrought with decisions about what needs to be done.

“Fine. I’ll walk you home.”

“Why? Don’t you need to get back to your girlfriend?” I snap. Sue Carpenter let it slip that Jess was divorced, and I noticed that dark-haired woman with her long nails scratching at his neck. I suppose they fit. Her, all big hair and tight tube top, and . . . I stop my train of thoughts when I realize I’m being petty because of the attraction I feel toward him.

Repulsion, you mean. You can’t stand him.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m walking you home,” he grumbles.

“Date?” I interrogate.

“It’s not like that. Let’s just walk.”

I should continue questioning him, but I know what not like that means. Still, she was touching him, so his suggestion to walk with me confounds me even more than his warning not to walk home alone, and my brows lift.

“Why?” I repeat.

“Because I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Now I laugh.

“What? You think I can’t?” His voice rises, irritation lacing the edges.

“You’ve done everything to prove to me you aren’t.” I tip my chin like he did to me yesterday, when he dismissed me like I’m beneath him. I’ll have him know I’m an educated, successful woman. Not just an electrical technician who runs a harbor town repair business. A hot electrical technician who runs his own business. Dammit, I can’t even muster a real comparison that does make me better than him.