Hearts on Fire

by Julia Gabriel

  No, she’d spent way more than one minute thinking about that. Hours, maybe. That tuxedo … how incredibly sexy his undone, bowtie-less shirt had looked at the Burger Bar … the way the breeze on the beach had toyed with the ends of his hair. Not that he didn’t look pretty damn hot right now, wearing just a red polo shirt. He had a chest made for shirts, she thought.

  “Besides chatting up pretty bartenders?” he answered.

  She dropped a maraschino cherry into the tall glass, where it sunk for an instant and then bobbed back up to the surface. She set the drink down on a napkin in front of him. “Besides that.”

  “I’m taking Oliver’s boys out on his boat to watch the fireworks from the bay. Serena’s too queasy to go, and Oliver doesn’t want to leave her home alone.”

  “That’ll be fun. You’ll get to see the Annapolis fireworks, too, if you’re on the water.”

  Jack took a sip of his Yankee Doodle. His eyes widened. “Damn, that’s sweet.”

  Becca laughed. “Hey, it’s Mike’s recipe.”

  “You should stick a toothbrush in here instead of a swizzle stick.”

  She plucked a suggestion card from the stack beneath the bar, and slapped it on the bar in front of him.

  “Got a pen?”

  She rolled her eyes but pulled her pen from the pocket of her skirt. He uncapped it and began to write.

  “Give ... your ... bartender ... the night ... off,” he recited as he wrote. He slid the card back to Becca, then held out the pen.

  She stared at the card, not sure what to make of it.

  “Actually, I came here looking for a pretty bartender to go see the fireworks with me.”

  Becca made a show of looking down toward the far end of the bar. “Mike’ll be back from his break in a few minutes. You can ask him then. He’s pretty handsome. But married, so that could be a problem.”

  “You’ve been talking to Mattie, eh?”

  “No, why?”

  “Apparently he told my parents that I was gay.”

  “Are you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I see my kiss goodnight did not communicate what I had hoped. Well, if you’re not interested in helping to definitively establish my sexual orientation, maybe you can come along to help ensure that I return with both of my nephews intact.”

  “That’s quite the sales pitch there.” She topped off his Yankee Doodle.

  “There might be fried chicken involved. And ice cream afterward. And if the sky stays clear, we might even get to see a little of the Baltimore show, too.”

  Becca pretended to consider his offer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waitress approaching the bar with more drink orders. She had to make up her mind fast—though, really, what was there to decide? Did she want to see Jack again? Her better judgment cautioned that it wasn’t the smartest idea.

  But then again, she’d never been a person swayed by better judgment—or the smarter of two ideas.

  “Well, when you throw all that in, how can a girl say no?”

  The sun slipped below the horizon and the night air was alive with anticipation of that first sizzle and crack ... the flare of light you almost miss because your attention wandered for a moment … then the sudden bloom of sparkling light overhead. Five-year-old Cam, wearing a bright orange PFD, was sprawled on a bunched-up blanket on the deck, sound asleep, lulled into dreamland by the gentle rocking of his father’s boat. His older brother, Mason, was regaling Jack with his surprising knowledge of pyrotechnics.

  “I hope they start with chrysanthemums,” he said. “Those are my favorite. Then I like to see beehives to mix it up.”

  Becca smiled to herself as she gathered up the remains of their dinner—the promised fried chicken, Serena’s quite excellent macaroni salad, an astounding number of juice boxes.

  “The grand finale is usually peonies and comets launched one right after the other.” Mason continued to describe his ideal fireworks show.

  “What are the kind that do …” Becca made an upward fluttering motion with her hands and fingers. “That go off in all different directions?”

  Mason’s face grew thoughtful for a moment. “I think you’re talking about crosettes. They split up when they get to the top.”

  Mason was a smart kid. Articulate, too. Becca remembered Jack being like that when they were in elementary school. He was the kid who always had his hand up to answer a teacher’s question, the kid who knew more about any given topic than was included in the lesson.

  “How do you know all this?” Jack shot Becca a comically worried look.

  “I saw a show on TV.” The pride in Mason’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Well, it’s not safe to play with fireworks. You know that, right?”

  Mason nodded, casually brushing off his uncle’s concern. “Dad won’t even let us have sparklers.”

  “I think your dad is probably an expert about those kinds of things,” Becca chimed in. She carried their dinner trash below deck. When she returned, Mason was still schooling Jack about fireworks.

  “Sometimes they use forty-thousand shells in one show.” Mason nodded his head and lifted his eyebrows to emphasize just how impressive that fact was. Becca didn’t know Oliver all that well but Mason clearly had a lot of his uncle in him, too.

  Becca leaned down into Jack’s ear as she passed behind. “Kind of fitting that there’s a budding firebug in your family,” she whispered. She gracefully sidestepped the elbow Jack playfully poked back at her.

  Just then, a high-pitched whistle split the night as the first shell took flight. Jack grabbed Mason as he leapt into the air in excitement. Cam woke up with a startled shriek, scrabbling to his feet in panic.

  “BOOM!” Mason shouted in perfect synchrony with the firework’s report. His brother wailed with fright.

  “Mason, stay here,” Jack said, then strode over to where Cam was pressing himself back into the boat’s bench seat. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

  “He’s afraid of fireworks,” Mason called over his shoulder. “BOOM!”

  Becca heard Jack’s muttered “Thanks for letting me know,” barely audible beneath the noise of the fireworks bursting overhead. Jack perched his nephew on his knee and tried to talk him through it, but there was no consoling Cam. The boy kept his face hidden in Jack’s red polo shirt, his small hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Each wail and shriek was louder than the last. Jack looked up helplessly at Becca.

  It had been obvious all evening that Mason and Cam were about as different as two people who shared common genetic material—and parents—could be. Becca imagined Mrs. Wolfe looking at Jack and Matt and thinking the exact same thing.

  She sat down on the bench and lifted Cam onto her knee. “Hey there, Cam. You don’t like fireworks?”

  He shook his tear-streaked face.

  “You know what? I don’t really like them much myself. They’re awful noisy, aren’t they?”

  Cam nodded again.

  “I was thinking about going down below. Do you want to come with me?” She leaned into his ear and whispered. “I saw some brownies down there. I don’t think Mason knows about them, so don’t say anything.”

  When she leaned back, the terror in Cam’s eyes had been replaced by a spark of conspiratorial interest. He looked over at his brother, who was engrossed in the fireworks and couldn’t care less about what was happening behind him. Then Cam slid off Becca’s knee. She stood and took his small hand in hers, then led him toward the short but steep set of stairs.

  “Let me go first,” she said and turned around to climb down the stairs backward, which was safer. When she was halfway down the short flight, she reached up for Cam. He turned around also and she grabbed him by the waist. She glanced over the edge of the deck, which was now at eye level, to look at Jack.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed, then went to join his other nephew.

  “BOOM!” came Mason’s voice, again.

  Boom indeed.

  Mason’s head was heavy
on Jack’s shoulder as he carried him into Oliver’s house. With his foot, he held the door open for Becca who was carrying a sleeping Cam. He wished he’d known that she didn’t like fireworks; he wouldn’t have invited her. He could have invited her on a real date instead, and not wasted whatever goodwill he had with her. It surprised him that Becca was afraid of fireworks as a kid. She didn’t strike him as a person who was afraid of much.

  Oliver was waiting inside and Jack handed off Mason to him. “Thanks for the heads-up about Cam,” he said. He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Mason.

  His brother grimaced. “I thought Serena would have told you.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries,” came Becca’s quiet voice beside him. He turned and relieved her of Cam. He followed Oliver up the stairs to the boys’ room. A few minutes later, they were back out in Jack’s SUV.

  “I think you’re headed the wrong way,” she said as he made a left turn at the next cross street.

  “I promised you ice cream.”

  “Yeah, that was a little optimistic. Expecting the boys to last that long.”

  “I never expected they would.” He looked over at Becca, but her expression was neutral, her face turned straight ahead. In addition to being surprised that she didn’t like fireworks, he was surprised at how carefully she protected her thoughts.

  He drove them to Kings Creamery, which sold homemade ice cream on the front side of the white clapboard building and operated a putt-putt golf course on the back. Even now, at ten-thirty, the putt-putt course was busy and the line for ice cream long.

  “I haven’t been here in years,” Jack mused as he scanned the chalkboard list of the day’s flavors. At his height, he could easily see over the entire line of people. Overhead, the white ceiling fans hummed and pushed around the warm air inside. A lock of hair had escaped Becca’s ponytail. He lightly tucked it back behind her ear.

  “Thanks.” She turned and smiled at him.

  The line inched forward and Jack thought about the fact that he was as close to Becca right now as he’d been since they danced at the hospital gala. Her red, white, and blue tie-dyed tank top left her shoulders bare and the nape of her neck exposed beneath her ponytail. He closed his eyes against the sight. The desire to kiss that nape, inhale the scent of her skin, wrap his arms around her was almost more than he could resist. He’d never been the sort of guy to fall hard and fast for a woman. But he was falling hard and fast for Becca Trevor. It made no sense. None whatsoever. He wasn’t in town for good. And despite their agreement to behave as though the graduation party never happened, it had. He had acted abominably that night, and any self-respecting woman would hold it against him.

  Resistance was futile, however. His hands settled on her bare shoulders and he leaned down until his head was next to hers. “So what are you thinking?”

  “Mmm, black raspberry, maybe?” She made no attempt to shrug off his hands. “But the cookies and cream here is always good, too.”

  “We could get one of each and share.” She smelled like sunscreen and salt, smelled like a beautiful summer day spent on the water. He wanted to return to the marina, take Oliver’s boat back out on the water, and make love to her on the deck beneath the stars.

  “We could,” she said.

  For a split second he thought she was replying to his thought of making love to her. But no, she was referring to the ice cream. Of course. Because after they had agreed that the graduation party never happened, they had also agreed to be friends. Friends. You idiot. His brother, Matt, would never make that kind of boneheaded mistake.

  “Let’s do it then,” he said as they stepped up to the head of the line.

  “One large black raspberry and one large cookies and cream,” Becca ordered.

  “Cup or cone?” the girl working behind the counter asked.

  Becca looked toward Jack. “Cup or cone?”

  “Whichever you want.” He was surprised, though, when she turned back to the counter and asked for cones. Not that he minded sharing a cone with her. He was certainly not overly squeamish that way. But it was … intimate.

  And he wanted intimate.

  She pulled out her wallet to pay.

  “No, no. Let me get it.”

  She handed a twenty to the girl behind the register. “You bought dinner.” When the first girl held their filled cones over the counter, Becca nodded toward Jack. He took one cone in each hand as she slipped her change back into her purse. Outside, the tables on the small porch were full so they headed for a spot on the lawn beneath a large old maple tree. He let Becca sit first, then handed her the black raspberry cone and sat down right next to her. He stretched his legs out alongside hers.

  They spent several minutes trading cones back and forth, and watching people come and go. The lights illuminating the putt-putt course gave the area a weird daytime feel despite the late hour. He heard Becca take the first bite into one of the cones.

  “How are things coming along with Quilt Therapy?” he asked. Jack had never worked retail, nor anyone in his family, but even he knew that reopening a store in the middle of the busiest season was a tough task.

  She licked ice cream from her lower lip. Just the sight of that one small action fired every neuron in Jack’s brain. They were all screaming kiss kiss kiss! With the boys around, he hadn’t been able to kiss Becca on the boat. Mason and Cam were sound asleep at home now, though. And damn but he wanted to kiss her.

  “We’re doing a soft open on Friday,” she answered his question, a question he’d practically forgotten he asked. “The grand re-opening is Saturday. Things aren’t entirely ready, but mom and Cassidy don’t want to wait too long. July and August are the big months for summer customers.” She held up crossed fingers. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

  They traded cones again.

  “How’s your mom?” Her question was quiet, wary— the way everyone was around him these days. Unsure of whether they should really bring this up, but not wanting to pretend like they didn’t see the elephant in the middle of the room. Actually, it was more like a bomb than an elephant—ticking louder and louder with each passing day. Jack could barely take his eyes off it.

  He shrugged in answer to her question. “She’s getting weaker. I can see it.”

  “I’m sorry.” A drop of melted ice cream fell onto Becca’s knee. She ignored it. “How are you guys holding up?”

  He stared at the grass, the thousands of blades of grass that lay between his crossed legs and hers. It seemed so simple, grass. It grew easily. Came up every summer. It would sprout up again next summer, and the summer after that. And every summer for the rest of his life.

  But this was the last summer his mother would be here. He fought the urge to curse at God again.

  He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs before letting it out again. Not that it really helped. “We’re okay, I guess. Or not okay, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  Her hand lighted on his bare knee. Just that single touch—soft, gentle, warm—quieted the storming neurons in his brain.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” she added.

  He covered her hand with his, and in that moment he felt safe. Like nothing that lay ahead would destroy him.

  Then a different thought occurred to him. Maybe Becca was God’s way of distracting him this summer. Maybe she was the answer to all his requests for help. That’s using her, dammit. He felt Becca lean into him and dear lord, it felt so good—even as his brain protested the wisdom of his next move. But he was powerless to stop his hand from lifting off hers, powerless to keep his arm from encircling her shoulders and pulling her close against his ribs. Don’t make me fall for her and then rip it all away! Aren’t you torturing me enough already? I’m going to be struck down by lightning for arguing with you, aren’t I? Or hit by a bus. A church bus, right? You know what? Do it. Take
me instead. Leave my mom.

  He felt her small body relax into him, then the gentle pulsing of her breathing as she inhaled and exhaled beneath his arm. “I can’t imagine it myself.”

  Chapter 19

  Becca leaned against one of the long cutting tables and watched as Quilt Therapy filled with customers—some new, many old. The day of Quilt Therapy’s grand re-opening was here, and already the shop was a beehive of activity. Charlotte stood on the sidewalk outside, handing out free fat quarter bundles of fabric to anyone who walked up to the shop. Becca spent four hours yesterday helping Charlotte cut and tie the bundles.

  Behind Becca, the shelves Jack helped put up were filled end to end with hundreds of bolts of fabric. Solids and prints. Reproduction fabrics and more contemporary designs. Natalie had arranged everything by fabric line and color. With the shop open again, she was back in her element and doing what she did best: helping customers find the right fabrics for their quilting projects.

  On the other side of the large front room stood the new quilting frame. Stretched across the frame was a simple strip quilt awaiting the needles and hands of the shop’s volunteers. Natalie and Cassidy had pieced the top. There hadn’t been time to piece a more complex top, but Michelle thought it more important to have something—anything—on the frame for the re-opening.

  Becca pushed herself away from the cutting table, ready to head upstairs to the shop’s new classroom. On her way to the staircase, she peered into the back room, where the notions and thread were displayed. Her mother was waxing poetic about the virtues of some new English quilting needles they were stocking for the first time.

  “Best I’ve ever used,” she said over and over to each person who stopped. Becca had given them a try, too. Her mother was absolutely right. They were heavenly needles.

  At the top of the stairs, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a Facebook notification on the screen. It was a friend request from Sylvia, the child psychologist whom she’d met at the quilter’s retreat. The one with the estranged son and granddaughter she was making a baby quilt for. Becca tapped her finger on “confirm request” and started to slip the phone back into her phone. Then she stopped and pulled it back out. As she headed into the shop’s classroom, she scrolled through her newsfeed, looking for posts she shouldn’t be looking for … posts she’d been looking for way too often lately. This was why she had made a point of staying off social media as much as she could—she knew once she let her guard down, she wouldn’t be able to stop.