Running in Place (Mending Hearts)

by L. B. Simmons

  I glance over at him, and the embarrassed expression on his face makes my heart stop as well as my feet. “It’s okay, Noah. I trust you,” my voice timid with the admission. His steps cease, and he turns back in my direction, his face marked with that of trying to decipher any underlying meaning in my statement. After a couple of seconds of awkward silence as we stare at each other, I look back at the diner. “But seriously, are you sure?”

  Another dimple presents itself just before Noah pivots around, heading again towards the entrance. I follow, surprised when he opens the door and grandly gestures for me to enter ahead of him. After offering him another sheepish smile, I say my thanks and pass by him. Maintaining my grin as he steps behind me, I lead us to the nearest table and start to pull out the chair, but before I reach it, his hand deliberately skims the top of mine before he tugs it out from underneath the table and motions for me to take a seat. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and when I glance up at him to apologize, I’m met with a sexy half-smile.

  A nervous flutter begins in my stomach. I’m not really sure why — maybe it’s because of this completely different side of Noah that I’ve never seen, or maybe the fact that this is starting to feel peculiarly like a date, but the feeling is one I’ve never encountered. It’s…really nice.

  After nodding my thanks, I sit as he pushes the chair underneath me. Unwrapping the napkin from around the silverware, I’m thankful when I find crayons that must have been left on the table from the previous diners. There’s nothing that eases my mind like nervous doodling. I’ve been doing it since I was six years old.

  Grabbing them, I start my masterpiece as Noah takes the seat directly across from me. I don’t bother looking at him. I just doodle.

  By the time I’ve drawn approximately ten hearts, thirteen smiley faces, and five huge flowers — oh, and my name about forty-two times, our food arrives. Not a word has been spoken, with the exception of our placing our orders.

  My stomach growls loudly once again as the chargrilled aroma of the burger floods the air. I look down at my plate, surprised at how mouthwatering the food looks. Picking the burger up, with both hands because it’s huge, I bring it to my mouth only to lock gazes with Noah, who’s almost about to devour his own.

  Pausing briefly, he asks, “Well, do you trust me?”

  With sincerity filling his brown eyes, I don’t really know how to answer his question. Thinking about all the caring, sweet, vulnerable, and gentlemanly Noah’s I’ve been introduced to today, mixed together with the perfectionistic, know-it-all, serious-all-the–time, fun-sucker Noah’s that I’m so familiar with, his question is a very dangerous one for me.

  He holds my eyes with his until I make my decision.

  Once it’s made, I do something I never thought I’d do.

  I take a bite.

  After inhaling my burger, because that shit was good, I move on to the fries while I watch Tatum finish off her own. I can’t believe she cleaned her plate before I did. Impressive. Nothing worse than chicks who don’t eat.

  She must notice my surprise because she looks up at me and giggles, her blue eyes illuminated by humor. The notes of her laughter make lyrics explode in my head like fireworks. I’m half-tempted to grab my journal from the console in my Jeep, but I don’t want to waste a minute of this lunch with her. This is the first time we’ve managed to hang out without wanting to kill each other, so I plan on using it to my advantage in my quest to make some sort of sense out of her.

  To understand her.

  But just before I have the chance to start my mini-interrogation, she stops laughing and clears her throat to speak. “So, I just wanted to let you know that eleven o’clock will not be my normal starting time. I…uh, well — I’ve had a rough couple of nights.” She casts her eyes away from mine, directing them down to her empty plate. Since there’s nothing interesting down there, I’m assuming her lack of eye contact means she’s embarrassed.

  “It’s okay, Tatum. He was there with another girl. While your actions probably weren’t the wisest of choices, I get that you were upset. I probably shouldn’t have been so hard on you this morning,” I say softly, my tone hopefully non-threatening. Anytime Cash comes up in conversation, or is anywhere within a fifty-foot vicinity of me, I tend to get highly irritated. The fact that the girl was his cousin, I decide to keep to myself. She seems to be humiliated enough.

  “No, well, yes — there was that, but I was referring to the fact that I haven’t been sleeping. I never really do when I’m at my house.” She grabs the crayons again and starts drawing on another blank napkin before she continues. “I was actually awake really early this morning, but instead of going straight to the duplexes, I wanted to talk to Cash so I went there first.”

  I palm my knee under the table and squeeze, so tightly my hand begins to shake.

  If he touched her…if he hurt her…

  “It was his cousin,” she takes a break from coloring to look up at me, tears filling those beautiful baby blues. “It was his cousin, Noah.” Her chin begins to quiver, and it takes everything in me to keep from jumping over the damn table to comfort her, but I don’t. I just squeeze my knee even tighter and let her finish. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she shakes her head and then covers her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling as she begins to sob.

  Reaching across the red and white checkered tablecloth, I gently pry her fingers away from her eyes. After placing her hands back on the table, I lift mine slowly away from hers to wipe the tears as they roll slowly down the sides of her face. “Tatum, there’s nothing wrong with you,” I say, running my fingers over her moist cheeks one last time before backing away. “You reacted the way most women would have — well, bashing his truck not included. But the deduction was a natural one.” After getting a very, very slight lift of the corners of her mouth, I continue.

  “Plus…Cash is a fucking loser. I was actually planning on beating the shit out of his truck with that bat anyway, so you saved me the effort. I should be thanking you.” When that gets me an actual smile, the pressure in my chest lessens and I take in a deep breath of relief. Seeing her upset seems to have a direct effect on my cardiac system.

  “Seriously, why are you even with him, Tatum? You never seem happy when you are.”

  Well, that sure turned her smile upside down. It also caused her to glare back at me.

  “Like you have room to talk, Noah. Why are you with Ryder? You sure as hell never look happy when you’re with her, either. You usually look irritated, actually.”

  Touché.

  “You’re right,” I shrug as I lean back in my chair. “We kind of have an agreement, so it is what it is, but it’s nice to know you’ve been watching.” I give her a quick wink and quickly direct my stare down to her gorgeous mouth, something I’ve been guilty of doing several times today, before looking back up at her eyes.

  She tightens her gaze as she sits back in her own seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she reclines. “Well, you might want to explain that to her because I’m pretty sure she thinks otherwise. Like, she probably has the church booked and wedding magazines all over her apartment.”

  Rubbing my chest, I reason to myself that the mention of marriage also seems to have an adverse effect on my cardiovascular. Or maybe that’s just the reference to Ryder?

  We’re getting way off track here, so I scoot my seat underneath the table, closer to Tatum, and shift toward her while crooking my finger for her to lean in as well. Surprisingly, after a slight hesitation, she does. Shielding the side of my mouth with the back of my hand, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Let’s drop the Ryder topic for a second. It’s giving me heartburn. Let’s just concentrate on you for the time being. Her hardened mask breaks and she laughs even though I couldn’t be more serious.

  “I’m going to give you a loser lesson. Let’s call it, Loser 101: Introduction to All Things Loser.” Another small smile crosses her lips, and damn if I don’t find myself once again momentarily dist
racted by her mouth.

  Glancing back up, I look into her eyes and grin. “Okay, so number one. His name isn’t really Cash, you know this right? His name is Herman. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but if he’s not man enough to even stand behind the name his mother gave him, well?”

  Tatum’s stare widens and she covers her mouth. “How did you know that?” she whispers back from behind her fingers. She looks like an adorable little girl with her huge blue eyes gaping back at me. It’s captivating. I burn the image into my memory bank before letting her in on my secret.

  “I’m a bartender. I’ve seen his I.D. In fact, I make him show it to me every time he comes into the bar because it makes me laugh.”

  She drops her hand, huge smile displayed. “You’re evil.”

  “Yes, yes I am.” I hold up my pointer finger. “That’s number one. Number two…he’s what? Twenty- four? You know what I see every time he hands me that I.D. other than his name and age? His goddamn huge-ass senior ring … from high school. He really needs to learn to let go of what were probably the best years of his life and just move on. . If he still feels that his high school years are relevant — loser. Lesson number two.”

  I count it on my fingers as I lean in even closer and whisper my final lesson in her ear. “The third one is the most important, so listen closely.” I take a discreet whiff of her hair before continuing. “You may not believe this but it’s the truth. You deserve to be treasured. You should be with someone who respects you, who makes you a better person, and most of all, who makes you happy. He, however, treats you poorly. I see it every single time I’m around the two of you, and I have to say it takes a lot of restraint on my part not to beat the shit out of him when I see it happen.” Leaning away from her, I hold up three fingers in front of her shocked-as-shit facial expression. “If he doesn’t respect you and treat you how you should be treated — loser. Lesson three.”

  I clear my face of its smartass smirk so she understands that I’m completely serious. “Never settle for less than you’re worth. You don’t give yourself enough credit. Hopefully one day, you’ll see what everyone else sees.”

  She graciously accepts my compliment with a half-smile and after sliding herself back into her chair, she studies me intently.

  “Interesting lessons there, Noah. Thank you for the wise words. But as I clearly displayed last night, I have issues. Not everyone would take me back after what I did last night, but he did because he loves me. We all have our faults, and not everyone can be perfect like you. I hope you know that’s not meant to be an insult, so please, don’t take it that way. I just mean, some of us are flawed and have to deal with what we’re given.” She watches the waitress pick up the empty plates from our table. Once they’re cleared, she begins again, still gazing off in the distance.

  “Broken hopes and expectations can leave very, very broken people. So after a while, you learn not to aim so high because when people fail you, you land hard and there’s only so many times a person can be shattered before they’re beyond repair.”

  She brings her eyes back to mine. “What you’re so quick to label as settling, I simply call survival,” she finishes with a defeated shrug of her shoulders.

  After her statement, she casts her glance away to smile at the person passing by. Although as usual, it’s not genuine. It’s the same smile she plasters on her face to appease everyone around her.

  What the hell happened to her?

  The waitress conveniently drops the check off at our table, providing Tatum the perfect way out of this conversation, and therefore, any further interrogation. Standing, she pushes the chair out from underneath her with the backs of her knees. “Ready?” she asks, purse already in hand, stepping towards the direction of the register.

  Well, I guess that’s all I’m getting from her for now. I know it’s not much, but I’ll take it.

  It’s not like I can actually concentrate on asking her any more questions, because there’s one gigantic conclusion I’ve just drawn that’s currently delaying any other thoughts from entering my mind.

  A person who judges someone without really knowing them, without walking in their shoes, or without at least attempting to understand what they’ve gone through or experienced during their lifetime — loser.

  Lesson number four.

  Head throbbing as I roll over, I catch a glimpse of Cash’s slow rising chest. God, I drank a lot last night. I don’t even remember the second half of the evening. I remember drinking here before we headed out downtown. I remember taking those damn Jagerbomb shots, all four of them, but then — nothing. Glancing down, I take note of my naked body just under the sheets. Definitely don’t remember that.

  Reaching over, I place my fingers lightly on Cash’s chest. Immediately, his arm swings in front of my face as he grabs my hand and hurls it away from his body. “Damn it, Tatum. Leave me alone. I have to get up in,” he lifts his head to check the time on his nightstand, “five minutes. You couldn’t let me sleep for five more goddamn minutes?” In a rage, he throws the sheets off, slides his boxers on and storms out of the room, slamming the bathroom door in the process.

  What the hell is up with him? He’s been really agitated lately. Like, really agitated. And angry. He’s starting to scare me a little.

  I roll onto my back and take in a deep breath. Well, at least I get to see the Morgan kids today. Every Saturday, I head over to Blake and Alex’s house to play with their three gorgeous little girls and their eight month old baby boy. I met the girls last year at Blake and Alex’s wedding reception and have seen them pretty much every weekend that I can. Alex lost her husband almost five years ago, and after raising the girls on her own for years by herself, she ran into Blake and fell immediately in love with him. At least that’s what he tells me.

  I laugh to myself as I get out of the bed and throw on my robe. Those kids are pretty much the center of my universe. And Blake and Alex? They’re such an amazing couple, and even more so, truly phenomenal parents. I feel the corners of my mouth dip downward. They really have no idea how lucky they are to have each other.

  After pouring a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the kitchen table, I hear the back door slam and the loud roar of Cash’s truck, followed by ear-splitting tire screeches, sending me a direct message. I shake my head and roll my eyes while exhaling deeply. I think I might have actually aimed too low with this one.

  As I sip the warm, delicious heaven in my hands, I pull my legs up to place my heels directly on the seat of my chair while reclining backwards. With another deep breath, I reflect on the time I spent with Noah yesterday.

  Even though it started off rocky, it ended nicely. Calmly. Warmly.

  After our conversation at lunch, he distanced himself for a bit. He seemed deep in thought so I just left him alone for a while, but when I finished up the bathroom and approached him about where I needed to go next, he took one look at me and laughed. God, I love his laugh.

  With a smile on his face, he took the tip of his index finger and ran it across my cheek. When he was done, it was completely covered with yellow. I guess I not only painted the bathroom, I took care of my face as well, but honestly, I didn’t really care. After opening up to him a little yesterday, I don’t know, I just feel comfortable with him. Being around him is actually tolerable, now that we’re not on a mission to kill each other. The rest of the day was easy-breezy.

  Lots of laughter, lots of joking, and lots of him looking at my mouth. I would tell him to stop, but I find it entertaining. And sexy. It makes me feel sexy.

  So, I let him stare.

  After about five more minutes of pondering my new-found friendship, I get dressed and head over to the Morgan’s. After pulling into the driveway, I get out of my car and pray that it doesn’t leak oil onto their nice driveway. I really need to look into getting something else. This thing is older than I am and even more unreliable.

  Ducking my head under my car, I clear the hair from my eyes and watch fo
r a couple of seconds. Nope, looks okay. I rise back up, whip my hair back over my head, and then smooth my t-shirt down over my tummy, pulling it past the pockets of my jean shorts. I might not have the nicest clothes, but I try to at least look somewhat presentable when I come over here.

  Walking up to the door, I laugh as I always do at the “Beware, Dog Can’t Hold Its Licker” mat lying on the porch. Placing my hand on the knob, I open the door slowly, because I never really know what or who is sitting in front of it. Poking my head around the side, I make sure it’s clear and then enter. Since they expect me on Saturdays, I rarely bother with knocking.

  Soon after I enter the house, I’m mauled by their Golden Retriever, Cooper-- my face assaulted with doggie sugars. I smile and giggle as he attacks, and after I’m positive my face is licked clean, I set his paws on the ground and pat him gently on the head.

  Hearing laughter from the kitchen, followed by the contagious giggles of the girls, I tiptoe towards the commotion with my hand concealing my grin. As I get closer, I see Alex and Harlow both sitting at the kitchen table, their backs to me, with Rylie, the five-year old hellion, and Kyndall, the sweetest eight-year old I’ve ever known, sitting right across from them. As soon as they see me, I hold my finger over my lips, signaling for them to keep my entrance a secret. Leaning back against the wall, I watch Rylie’s dimples collapse into her cheeks as she tries not to laugh, her long, messy spirals falling over her shoulders. Breaking eye contact with me, she attempts to maintain her semi-straight face as she leans her tiny body all the way across the table to apply eye shadow to Alex’s lids. “There you go, Mommy. You look absolutely beautiful! Purple is your color!” Her huge brown eyes twinkle with joy while she appraises her masterpiece.

  Kyndall’s blue-grey eyes move from her mother’s to mine. She widens them at me, obviously not in agreement with her baby sister, and then looks down to swipe her own applicator across the shadow pallet. “Green is your color, Harlow. It matches your eyes.” She applies the neon green to Harlow’s lids. “There you go, all done. You can look at each other now.” She sits back in her chair, patiently awaiting their reaction.