Hidden Hearts

by Olivia Dade

  His words, low and soft, seemed to travel from her left ear to her lower belly, sparking electricity the whole way. He was standing right behind her, strong and tall and so male she could hardly breathe.

  “Not a madman,” she whispered back. “Just a man concerned about you. Later, you’ll have to tell me why.”

  “It’s a long, sordid story, filled with pizza and self-pity and stern lectures from Eugene.”

  When he laughed, his lips brushed her ear. She instinctively swayed toward him. And before she realized it, her bottom was pressing into the cradle of his body with startling intimacy. They both froze for a moment, and she heard him swallow hard.

  “Wow,” he finally said, his voice husky.

  They jumped apart when Eugene slammed his car door. “I have another pie to bake, so I don’t have time to show you that video on my phone about heart attacks. But rest assured, you’ll be watching it the next time I come this way.”

  “I figured,” Miles called back to him, and then pressed a ten into her hand. “Can you give him this while I take the last two pizzas? He doesn’t accept tips from me, but maybe he’ll allow it from you.”

  Glad for an excuse to take a breather from Miles’s potent charm, she let herself fall into a good-natured argument with Eugene about the tip while Miles dealt with the remaining food. And by the time Eugene had turned on to the winding country road that led to his restaurant, she felt normal again. Sensible.

  Well, kind of. Following Miles into the wood-timbered cabin, she couldn’t help but admire his round, muscular backside and the strength of his long legs in his dark jeans. The breadth of his shoulders in that blue T-shirt. The way his biceps flexed when he held the door open for her.

  And the wry sweetness of his grin when he handed her one of Eugene’s nutritional pamphlets. “So you too can lecture me on my wicked ways.”

  The absolute last thing she wanted to do was lecture the man. Although she hadn’t minded his beard, she had to admit it: Seeing that smile in its full glory kicked up the pace of her heart. The pizza looked darn good, but Miles…he looked so scrumptious, she couldn’t even formulate a coherent sentence.

  No wonder the man was a television star.

  No wonder Constance obsessed over him.

  No wonder Mary wasn’t sure she could hang on to her usual circumspection when it came to first dates, qualms or no qualms.

  “Mary?” Miles gazed at her quizzically. “Are you okay?”

  She shook herself back to reality. “Fine. Just a little hungry.”

  “I thought we might watch a movie on the couch while we had the pizza.” He gestured toward a faded old love seat, virtually the only furniture in the living room apart from an enormous television. “My kitchen table wobbles.”

  That sounded exceedingly cozy, and maybe a teensy bit dangerous. Still, she couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to say no. So she went over to the two-seater couch and sat down on the right side. He settled on the other end, and they both took paper plates from a pile on the scarred coffee table. He’d set the pizza boxes to one side, and for a few minutes, they bustled around each other in a busy flurry as they chose their pizza slices, served themselves, arranged napkins, and grabbed drinks from the cooler near their feet.

  Then they fell silent in the dim coolness of his cabin, sitting only inches away from one another. Awareness unfurled between them like a sweet pea’s tendrils, drawing them ever closer together.

  “Ready to begin?”

  She knew he meant the movie, but she couldn’t help reading more into that question. And either way, the answer was the same. “Yes. Let’s start.”

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he turned to her and spoke quietly. “Trust me, Mary. I won’t push you. I promise.”

  She offered him a nod and a smile of gratitude.

  And then thought to herself, Well, that’s a shame.

  * * *

  Over the course of the evening, she found out for sure: Miles O’Connor was a man of his word. Unfortunately.

  During the movie, he didn’t stray over to Mary’s side of the couch for a single moment. And after the credits rolled on the film—a non-gory historical epic he’d chosen with her interests in mind—he simply turned off his television and struck up a casual discussion of the plot and costume choices. She did her best to pay attention and keep up her end of the conversation, despite the potent distraction sitting only a scant foot away from her. But eventually, inevitably, the discussion petered out. A hush fell over them like a down comforter, warm and heavy.

  No streetlamps or light pollution illuminated his lonely corner of Nice County. When the sun set during their conversation, his living room went dark. So dark they seemed alone in the world.

  The hooting of owls outside and the rustling of tree branches in the spring breeze offered the only noise other than the whisper of their breaths, the rustle of his jeans as he shifted on the couch, and the faint sound of slick flesh on flesh as she licked her dry lips.

  “Did I pick a good movie for you?” His voice had gone low and soft.

  “The cinematography was beautiful, like I said. And I do love history.” She crossed and re-crossed her legs, restless in a way she’d rarely experienced.

  “In one of your e-mails, you said sweeping epics were your favorites.”

  “Well…” Telling a fib via e-mail was one thing. In person, she couldn’t do it, not even to protect herself from embarrassment. “Second favorite, actually.”

  He leaned toward her. “You misled me?” He sounded amused. “Shame on you, Mary Louise Higgs. So what’s your favorite type of movie then?”

  “It’s silly.” Goodness knew her friends and family teased her enough for it. “Promise not to make fun of me?”

  He crossed his heart. “Promise.”

  “Tearjerkers.” She spread her hands. “I love a good cry. What can I tell you? If a beloved family member, friend, or pet is about to become terribly, picturesquely ill on screen, get me a ticket for the opening weekend. If devoted lovers are about to be torn apart for all eternity, buy some tissues in bulk and count me in. And above all else, if Pixar is going to create a silent montage of a loving couple’s marriage, infertility, and eventual separation through death, expect me to sob into my popcorn for an embarrassing number of minutes, then watch the movie again a million times afterward.”

  “And that’s…” He sounded bewildered. “That’s a good thing?”

  “Of course. If my sinuses aren’t clogged and my eyes aren’t bloodshot when the credits roll, I don’t consider it a satisfying cinematic experience.”

  “So you’re saying the movie I chose was too happy?”

  “A little. I mean, everyone survived.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “You are a bundle of surprises, Mary.”

  In the dark, she could barely see his eyes. But she could feel his intent gaze resting on her, compressing her chest and spiking her heart rate.

  He moved his hand from the back of the couch and stroked the chain around her neck. “Do you keep a picture inside this?”

  “A photo of my family.” She exhaled shakily at the trail of fire he was leaving on her skin. “I got it when I came back from LA. As a reminder of what’s important.”

  “Hmmm.” He played with the chain, tracing its path down to the sensitive spot between her collarbones.

  What were we even talking about? “I only take it off in the shower and in bed.”

  Oh, dear. That came out wrong, she thought. Way too suggestive, given the circumstances.

  Or maybe it came out just right, a wicked little voice in her mind argued.

  His fingers stilled, and she could hear his harsh intake of breath. She froze, unsure of what he wanted and what he’d do next. Even less sure of what she wanted and would do in response.

  A moment later, he sprang from the couch and turned on the overhead light. She scrunched her eyes shut against the glare of the fluorescent bu
lbs, wrinkling her nose.

  “I had a great time tonight.” In one smooth move, he scooped up their paper plates and dumped them in a nearby trash can. “I hope we can do it again soon.”

  Some hints required interpretation. Some, however, did not.

  She rose from the couch. “Thank you for the invitation. I enjoyed myself.”

  His phone, perched on the coffee table in front of her, rang. He glanced at the screen and rejected the call. Then, his shoulders stiff with new tension, he powered the cell down entirely.

  “You could have taken that,” she said. “I’m about to leave, anyway.”

  “No. I couldn’t have.” For the first time since they’d met, his voice had turned short. Forbidding.

  She winced. “Okay.”

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to talk to anyone but you tonight.”

  Two minutes later, she found herself standing beside her car in the bright glow of his porch light. And after he offered her a swift, firm peck on the cheek and opened her car door, she climbed inside and turned the key in her ignition. He shut the door behind her without another word.

  She didn’t roll down the window and force the matter. She simply buckled herself in and started her quiet drive home.

  Normally, she wouldn’t consider the distance from his house to hers particularly long. But that night, for Mary—alone, confused, and wondering where she’d gone wrong—it seemed like a world away.

  And that’s how it felt, too. Like Miles O’Connor might as well have existed on the other side of the Earth.

  7

  Mary’s phone dinged as she pulled into her driveway, and she eagerly dug it from her purse, hoping Miles had sent her a text. He hadn’t. Instead, Sarah had sent one of her frequent all-caps, emoji-laden messages.

  DYING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED ON YOUR HOT DATE. DYYYYYYING. YOU MUST TELL ME IMMEDIATELY AFTER YOU GET HOME, LEST I EXPLODE FROM FRUSTRATED CURIOSITY.

  She’d included at least a dozen emoji skulls, several emoji bombs, and—inexplicably—a plump emoji eggplant.

  Well, Mary didn’t want her best friend to die, did she? So she sent a response right away:

  Just got home. There wasn’t time to tell you earlier, but I have big news. Related to the date, but even bigger than the date. Want to come over?

  The response arrived within seconds. Yes! I’ll be there ASAP. My mutant man-beast boyfriend could probably use a little break from basking in my magnificence. And when I return home, he can tell me how desperately he missed me. A brief pause, and then another message. At least, he’d better tell me that. Otherwise, he’s in deep, DEEP

  The message ended with another little emoji, one that resembled a swirl of chocolate frosting with eyes. Mary suspected, however, that Sarah had intended a different interpretation.

  She giggled and got out of the car. And by the time she put away the day’s detritus, changed into pajamas, and washed off her makeup, her doorbell was ringing.

  Sarah didn’t even make it completely inside the house before she started talking. “So what’s the big news? Is he a spy? A long-lost prince? Is he about to sweep you off to his tiny but wealthy and remarkably photogenic European kingdom, where his family got deposed in a tragic military coup, but now the populace wants the royal family back in charge, and he’ll be their new ruler and you’ll be his gorgeous queen?”

  “Um…” Mary closed the door. “No.”

  Sarah flopped on to Mary’s overstuffed living room couch, her blond curls bouncing. “Is he a superhero? Can he shoot webs from his wrists, or”—she looked hopeful—“somewhere else?”

  No point in delaying the inevitable. Before Sarah could dream up any further explanations, Mary handed over the Blu-ray she’d checked out from the library that afternoon.

  “What’s this?” Sarah asked, and then looked more closely at the cover. “Oh, holy crap.”

  Her jaw agape, she turned over the case and began to read the back.

  Mary sat down beside her. “I know. I had no idea. I mean, his name isn’t that uncommon. Who’d have thought a television star would be living here in Nice County?”

  “He basically is a prince,” Sarah whispered. “You’re dating a prince of the HATV Network. And his kingdom resides in the hearts and loins of adoring women across America.”

  Mary wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  “Heck, his kingdom resides in Constance’s loins. She’s going to freak out when we tell her.” She tapped the picture of Miles on the cover. “Incidentally, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a T-shirt that tight. He might lose circulation to crucial organs, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay. Or, more accurately, have him pay.”

  Trying not to look too hard at that tight, tight shirt, Mary laid a hand on Sarah’s arm. “Please don’t say anything to Con. I think he wants to keep it quiet for now.”

  “Oooh. I like having illicit knowledge. Especially when I can taunt people who’d like to have that same knowledge. Excuse me.”

  Sarah’s phone appeared in her hand, and within seconds, she was beginning an all-caps text to Constance: HAHA, SUCKER. I KNOW SOMETHING YOU D

  Mary took the phone away. “Sarah, please.”

  “Oh, all right.” Her blue-gray eyes flicked to the plastic case in her lap. “Have you seen his show before? I’m guessing not, since you didn’t recognize him.”

  “I haven’t. Although, to be fair, I might not have recognized him anyway. The first time I met him face-to-face, he had a big beard, overgrown hair, and slightly different proportions than he did on his show.”

  To be honest, she kind of liked that hint of pudge. It made him seem more human. Approachable. Not like the apotheosis of fitness and nutrition, a human trigger for memories and behaviors better left in her past.

  “Not to mention a missing limb, which probably drew a good chunk of your attention.” Sarah’s voice softened with sympathy for Miles, and she traced his left arm on the package. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  Mary shook her head. “No idea. And I want to wait until he tells me, instead of trying to pry it out of him.”

  “Whatever it is, he’s done a damn good job keeping it quiet. Con’s his biggest fan. If she knew, she’d have told us long ago.”

  “I get the sense he’s not too comfortable with the loss of his arm. Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t really want to go out in public. There’s a reason we ate at his house tonight, rather than going to a restaurant.”

  “Poor man.” Sarah’s eyes had clouded with tears, evidence of the soft heart hidden beneath her usual bluster. “Did the date go well?”

  “I thought so, at least until the end. We had pizza, watched a movie, and chatted for a bit. I was even feeling a spark, which doesn’t happen often for me. But I only got a peck on the cheek at the end of the night. And that was fine,” Mary hurried to add. “I mean, I don’t even kiss most guys on our first date. Still, I was surprised. Maybe he’s not as attracted to me as I thought.”

  “Or maybe he’s holding back for some other reason.” Sarah appeared thoughtful. “I’ll contemplate the issue while we watch him pound some bolts or whatever.”

  Here’s hoping Chris does most of their home repairs.

  Mary tapped the Blu-ray in her friend’s lap. “You want to see The Naked Carpenter Special Collection: Hammering and Nailing His Way Across America?”

  “Are you kidding?” Wiggling into a corner of the couch, Sarah propped a stray throw pillow behind her head. “Try and stop me.”

  Three hours later, Sarah had munched her way through a defrosted box of Girl Scout cookies, while Mary had inhaled a bowl of popcorn. They’d drained several cans of Diet Coke each. They’d also watched three episodes of The Naked Carpenter and witnessed more than their fair share of Miles’s tanned shoulders, spectacular abs, and broad chest.

  He had a bit of hair on his chest. Not too much. Just enough to glisten in the sun and catch a drop or two of sweat as
he swung his ax and wrestled his saw.

  Mary needed to start watching more HATV, obviously.

  Sarah slurped up her last sip of Diet Coke with a straw. “Do you think his contract required him to remove his shirt at least once an episode?”

  It wasn’t a far-fetched question, given what they’d seen. “Possibly. He said he simply got overheated a lot, but I’m not sure how that could be true during an Alaskan winter.”

  “I liked his sign-off. Punny but cute.”

  At the end of each show, he’d announce, “Time to hit the road. Miles to go!” And at some point during construction, he’d always say, “How much Connor is in this building? Miles O’Connor!” and then chortle afterwards. His glee was so infectious that Mary couldn’t help laughing with him, no matter how many times she heard the joke.

  Truthfully, though, she hadn’t paid as much attention to the actual content of the show as she might have done another time. Instead, she’d watched the way Miles moved. She’d studied how he used his left arm in flawless concert with his right. Holding nails. Positioning wood to make the perfect cut. Carrying tools and supplies. Bracing himself in uncomfortable positions as he built various structures, as promised, across America.

  She’d watched him climb scaffolding with the easy grace of an athlete. He swung and balanced and tripped lightly over obstacles with boyish exuberance and untold faith in his own abilities, a golden god who shone in the sun’s loving rays. Fearless. Gregarious. Curious about people and the communities he visited. Jovial, his face lit in a perennial grin that held unmistakable sweetness and just a hint of deviltry.

  That Miles hadn’t visited the library. She’d seen glimpses of him, but only in private. Only for moments at a time.

  Miles O’Connor—the Naked Carpenter, the man who’d been able to fix any problem he tackled, the man who’d seemed to have absolute faith in both himself and the goodness of the world around him—had virtually disappeared. Somehow, he’d become a pale, cautious recluse who hid behind ball caps and lived in a run-down, austere cabin. A cabin whose door barely opened and shut.