Wood U (Carved Hearts #4)

by L. G. Pace III

  I’d been in the act of putting the green bean casserole into the oven when he turned up at my place with a wrapped box. My hands went straight to my hips, and I gave him a disapproving frown.

  “Dad…we talked about this.”

  “I know we did.” He looked mildly sheepish. “But I missed a lot of Christmas presents, so you’re just going to have to be mad at me and accept the gift anyway.”

  I placed the package under the tiny tree which I’d strung with multicolored lights, and it was his turn to scold me for his gift that blatantly stuck out like a sore thumb.

  We ate and watched It’s a Wonderful Life, which is something we’d always done when I was little. As always, I got pissed at the character of Uncle Billy when he misplaced the money, and my dad had a laughing fit.

  “Some things never change,” he said with an approving smile.

  I made some hot chocolate while he tore into his present, and the genuine delight he expressed at the seat covers warmed me all over. He insisted I open his gift right away.

  “You remembered!” I exclaimed, seeing the lovely picture frame I knew Mac had fashioned out of the remnants of an old tin ceiling tile. Sadness crept in since seeing it reminded me how it came into existence. All of the other tiles Mac had reclaimed from that tear-down made it through the cleaning process, but this one had a huge gouge in the center.

  “I decided to just cut the middle out and made it into a frame.” Mac had explained with a shrug. “Then I painted it red, since it’s your favorite color.”

  I’d always admired the one of a kind piece when I went to the shop and then one day it was gone. I’d been bummed because I’d been saving up for it.

  “I set it aside after you told me you liked it,” Dad replied. “Now you just need a picture for it.”

  “Let’s take one right now!” I said, and reversing my camera, we posed together for a picture in front of my silly little Christmas tree.

  Winter break came and went, and I tried to keep myself busy. My student’s parents had spoiled me, and though I told Principal Higgins I wasn’t comfortable with the number of gifts I had received nor at the extravagance of some of those gifts, she assured me that my haul was par for the course at Porter Elementary.

  I found out about a marathon/half marathon that was coming up in January, and though it was too little time for me to prepare (even for the half marathon), I decided I’d train for the following one.

  In February, Molly invited me to her baby shower. I had no choice but to go. I’d been dying to see everyone again and to meet more of Molly’s friends. What I hadn’t considered was that Mac’s mom, Betty, and his grandmother, Elizabeth, would be present and that they were not only aware that Mac and I’d gone out once, but that they knew that it hadn’t worked out.

  Since we’d already been introduced at Molly’s on moving day, Molly just reminded them that I was Francis’s daughter. They both eyed me knowingly.

  “Ah, yes. The girl who was too good for Chicken Shit Bingo,” Mac’s grandmother bellowed. All conversations in the room came to a screeching halt. I froze, my hand outstretched, and felt heat all the way up to my hairline.

  “Pay no attention to her, dear.” Betty sympathetic smile was surprisingly warm. She wrapped her arm in mine and led me in the direction of the punch bowl. “Who amongst us isn’t too good for that? I need to apologize for my son. I tried to bring those boys up right, but sometimes I think my womb only had enough oxygen for one baby. That would certainly explain Mason’s hairline.”

  Things got even more awkward when Molly’s gorgeous employee, Stacy, introduced herself as “the girl who dated Mac before Kelly went out with him.” Stealing glances at the ample-chested blonde, I was beginning to see just how off-type I was for Mr. Hildebrandt. I contemplated sneaking out the back door, but things leveled off quickly after that.

  Molly’s friends were a riot, and watching her two gay friends, Dan and Jay, snark at each other was highly entertaining. They both seemed interested in Molly’s employee, Isaac, who was a very pretty young man. He seemed oblivious to them both, having just stopped by to present Molly with her favorite gift of the day, a black baseball cap for her to wear on the food truck that had the words “Mother Trucker” embroidered on it.

  Things had taken a dire turn when Molly had a seizure in the middle of opening Dan’s presents. My heart raced as I grabbed hold of one of Joe’s nieces, who screamed and sobbed hysterically when Molly hit her head on the coffee table and started bleeding. Once the ambulance took Molly away, I was left at the house with Molly’s friends Lisa and Jay. The other adults all left for the hospital when we volunteered to stay behind with the kids. I figured that was the best way I could help, and Lisa and I spent the afternoon trying to talk the kids down from the traumatic experience. Jay silently cleaned up the urine spot on the couch and Molly’s blood off of the coffee the table.

  We’d convinced the kids to play hide and go seek, and soon they were laughing and carrying on in that resilient way only children can. I was searching for a couple of them in the foyer when the front door opened and Mac slipped quietly into the house. Finding myself face to face with him again was unexpected, and my mouth went dry at the site of his tired eyes.

  “I’m here to pick up the kids for Robin,” he explained in a hushed tone.

  “How’s Molly?” I asked, unsure what to do with my hands.

  “She’s good. So are the two rug-rats. The docs did a C-section. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. He seemed fatigued, and though I knew he and Molly had a rocky relationship, I could tell he’d been worried. “They’re cute as hell, Sugar. Tiny, but perfect”

  Suddenly all the children surrounded us, and they collectively flipped out when they found out Molly had delivered her babies.

  Mac had handled them well, and I backed his play. We had a moment afterward, but I told myself it was just a physical reaction to the stress of the day. I hadn’t been able to move on from Mac, and I still refused every offer Jerry made to set me up with someone. Now that she and the cowboy (whom I discovered actually had a first name, which was Chuck), were engaged, she was pulling an Annette, trying to fix me up every five seconds. I’d brushed her off every time, informing her I could find my own cowboy, thank you very much.

  Reflecting back on all the months between our botched date and my colossally embarrassing collision with the ditch plunged me into a dark place. Two days after I’d nearly killed myself crashing my bike outside the school, I came to the decision that I should just let well enough alone. If Mac didn’t already dislike me for my rude exit at Chicken Shit Bingo, my display with the bike had surely sealed the deal. I tossed and turned all night on Sunday, replaying the look on his face, and when I rolled into work Monday morning, I went straight for the coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge.

  “Too many margaritas this weekend?” Paula, the secretary asked, taking in my sunglasses and messy ponytail with obvious delight. That woman just loved seeing other people miserable.

  “I wish,” I murmured.

  “Hey!” Jerry appeared, all peppy and perfect. Her red hair looked like it had been professionally blown out for the school day. Her voice was rich and musical, like a long-lost Disney princess. Being engaged suited her, and I tried to brush the little green devil of jealousy off of my shoulder. At that particular moment, though, her perkiness made me want to pour my coffee over her head. “There’s something pretty in your mailbox.”

  “Huh?” I asked, dumping a third of a bottle of creamer into my cup.

  “Come look,” she insisted, and as I followed her in the direction of the teacher’s mailboxes, I noticed Paula was trailing along behind us like the paparazzi.

  “See?” Jerry pointed to the bright red petals of a long-stemmed rose sticking out of my mailbox. I shoved my sunglasses up on top of my head, and my face hurt from scrunching it.

  “What the h—” I started, pulling the rose from the slot and noticing a crisp white envelope th
at had my name scrawled across it. I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but I strongly suspected it was Mac’s. I thrust the rose at Jerry, who took it and immediately stuck it to her nose, inhaling deeply.

  “Secret admirer?” Jerry asked, as I ripped open the envelope.

  I felt all of my blood rush to my face, and my head pounded like a bass drum.

  Shit.

  “No.” I took the rose back from Jerry. “It’s no secret who it is.”

  “Don’t be stingy!” Paula demanded, snatching the card and scanning it. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned to me. “Mac? As in Mac Hildebrandt?”

  “Mind your own business,” Jerry scoffed, ripping the card out of Paula’s hands and leading me away.

  When I got home, I stuck the half dead rose into a crystal vase that Mom had bought me as a housewarming present. It seemed fitting that the flower was in its death throws, kind of like Mac and I. After gazing at its wilting leaves and drooping petals, I decided to grade some papers and turn in for the night.

  I tossed and turned, the idea of not seeing Mac again unbearable. I’d been in a terrible mood going into that unfortunate date, and I’d taken it out on him. I was amazed that he was interested in a second date, and what paralyzed me was that I wanted a do-over as badly as he did. I needed to summon up the courage to contact him, but the prospect was daunting.

  I busied myself with errands and prolonged workouts, trying to think of some smooth way to call him. After my behavior during the bike debacle, it was a hopeless cause. I asked myself if it was worth begging forgiveness, and discovered it just might be. After dragging my heels for nearly a week, I texted him.

  Me: Are you serious about a second date?

  I tossed the phone onto the bed and left the room. I went into the kitchen to make some lunch. The butterflies in my stomach were the size of something from the teasers for Jurassic World, and I somehow scorched my tomato soup. Frustrated, I went back into the bedroom to retrieve my abandoned phone.

  There was a new text from Mac. My heart leapt into my throat and it was cutting off my windpipe.

  Mac: Dead Serious. Name the time and place and I’ll take you there. Or anywhere else, for that matter. ;)

  I was powerless to stop the smile that overtook me at his characteristic double entendre. My fingers flew across the tiny keyboard as I hurried to respond.

  Me: You pick. But don’t bring your bike. I’m wearing a dress, so you’d better make it good.

  I hit send, and I was in my closet, already planning my outfit. Twirling my hair as I searched through the hangers, I yanked out a recent purchase, surveying it with a critical eye. It seemed like just the right dress for the occasion. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up.

  Mac: Yes, ma’am. This Friday at 5:30 work for you?

  Me: Sure does. I’ll see you then.

  I put my phone on the charger with shaky hands. As much as I wanted this to happen, I was terrified that I’d find a way to sabotage it again. I collapsed on my bed and tried to imagine where Mac was and what he was doing. Considering where he had taken me on our previous date, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

  Mac arrived five minutes early, brandishing a bouquet of gerbera daisies. Dressed in dark jeans, a white button-up shirt and a navy suit-coat, he looked exquisite. The way he smiled when his eyes roamed over me left no doubt that he approved of my little dress

  I’d gone with a sleeveless dress in pale yellow. I’d paired it with my cowboy boots and gold necklace and tossed my hair up in a messy top bun. I wanted to show him that I cared about how I looked, but I was leery to go all out after the last time.

  Mac seemed nothing but pleased, and when I accepted the flowers from him, he trailed a finger across my hand.

  “Let me put these in water,” I murmured shyly, but he shook his head.

  “Bring ‘em along.” He replied. “Fresh cut flowers have a short life. Let’s take advantage of their sacrifice.”

  I felt my flush begin, and there was no hiding it in the dress I’d chosen to wear.

  “I missed you, Sugar.” He moved as if to place his hands on my shoulders and then stopped himself. Instead, he shoved them into his pockets and took a deep breath.

  “I owe you an apology.” Frustrated at the situation of my own making, I needed to squelch his hesitation. “I was dealing with new issues with my dad that day, and a lot of it spilled over onto you.”

  He nodded. “I was a bit distracted myself. I’d just picked my kid up from the cop shop the day before.”

  I gaped at him in response, realizing for the millionth time since I’d known him that his universe didn’t revolve solely around me. If I was going to see him, I needed to get used to that concept. Mac stepped a little closer to me, and when he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, I felt my blush intensify.

  “I wasn’t exactly Don Friggin’ Juan that day.” His finger trailed along my cheek. “Let’s put it behind us, okay?”

  I nodded.

  Minutes later, he opened the truck door for me and helped me up onto the side rail. His truck gleamed inside and out. I knew he used it as a work truck, but it looked like he’d had it detailed just for tonight.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said as he started the engine. “Molly recommended a place, and that girl knows her food.”

  “I could eat.” I stole a glance in his direction. His cool confidence made it nearly as sexy to watch him drive as it was to ride on the back of his bike.

  After a short ride to West 5th Street, we entered the restaurant. We didn’t have to wait when Mac gave them his name at the charming establishment. They ushered us to an intimate table in a dark corner. When I saw the restaurant’s name was Fixe, I smiled. Mac noticed.

  “What can I say? I’m a sucker for symbolism,” he mused.

  Fixe had an eclectic beauty, with bare wood and strung lights, crown molding, and empty gold frames on the walls. The light fixtures looked more like sculptures, and they perfectly accentuated the burnt orange modern booths and farm-style tables. Smaller tables, like ours, housed a mix of booth benches and dark wingback chairs. It was what Jerry would have called “Austin upscale,” comfortable, but a bit gussied up.Mac chose to sit next to me on the booth bench, instead of sitting across from me. He turned to face me, and the intimacy of his decision to sit so close to me had me aroused.

  He waited for the waitress to walk away before he spoke. “I need to explain where I was coming from on our last date.”

  “No…” I shook my head, feeling like a complete jerk about it all over again.

  “Yes.” His eyes were insistent, so I shut my mouth and let him continue. “I used to go to Ginny’s when I was really down about things. It’s just so laid back. It always puts me at ease. I figured it would be fun. I wanted to give you a chance to relax, after the talk about your mom and dad. Honestly, I wanted to take some of the pressure off too…back off the physical stuff a little.”

  He must have seen my troubled expression, because he rushed to add, “Don’t take that the wrong way, Sugar. I loved getting’ physical. I just wanted you to feel comfortable. I hoped taking you there would help to get your mind off of things, and we could get to know each other better. I choose poorly. I’ve got no experience doing any of this the right way. Know what I mean?”

  I nodded gravely. “I can relate.”

  “Can we please just pretend like it never happened?” Mac asked. I took a long moment to consider his request.

  “Maybe. But I need you tell me about the woman. The one you were talking to at bingo.” Though I sounded firm, my eyes traveled down to the open button of his collared shirt. He made my mouth water, and I hoped I’d get to loosen the rest of those buttons before the night was through. “The one you told I was ‘just a friend.’”

  “She’s a close friend of my ex-wife’s,” Mac explained without hesitation. “I knew she’d be on the phone with Patty the minute she walked away. Patricia can be a real piece of work, and I don’t like g
iving her any insight into my life. She has a track record for harassing anyone I date.”

  I had time to hate my penchant for snap judgements before focusing on Mac once more.

  “I can handle myself, Mac.” I traced my sugar rimmed glass with my fingertip and placed it in my mouth. Mac’s eyes dropped to my lips, and it was his turn to flush. We locked eyes for a long, glorious beat.

  “That I don’t doubt for a moment,” he replied. “But I’d prefer it if you didn’t have to.”

  When the waitress returned, I handed her my menu.

  “I’d like a salad and an unsweetened tea.” I said with a smile

  Mac scoffed. “No you wouldn’t”

  “Yes, I would,” I laughed. The waitress raised her eyebrows, and my face felt hot. “I’m training for a half marathon. I’ve probably gained a pound drinking this cocktail.”

  “No one likes a salad,” Mac stated seriously. “And I sure as hell know no one likes unsweet tea.”

  I folded my hands. “It’s what I’m ordering.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows, studying me. “You need to live a little, girl.”

  “Fine.” I turned to the waitress. “I’ll have ranch on the side.”

  “Fine,” he mimicked me, leaning back against the booth and handing his menu to the waitress. “I’ll have the same.”

  “No you won’t!” I objected. The people at the nearest table turned in our direction.

  “Why not?” Mac tilted his head, his blue eyes pinning mine.

  “Because…no one wants to eat a salad,” I admitted quietly, and Mac turned to the waitress and gestured to me, as if to say ‘See? I told you so.’

  “Then I guess you’d better pick something else.” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and with a groan, I reclaimed my menu from the smirking waitress. Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes as he raised his glass to his lips. “Unsweetened tea.”