Heartbreaker

by Melody Grace

  “Please.” I stand aside. Sawyer gets to his knees, and slowly approaches the old dog, holding out his hand for Chester to sniff. “He’s usually running around with the rest of them. I’m wondering if it’s something he ate.”

  “Could be.” Sawyer carefully runs his hands over Chester’s body, pausing to press and feel. “But with dogs this age, it’s more likely to be something internal.”

  “You mean like cancer?” My voice is stricken. Sawyer looks up at me.

  “I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Can you help me lift him out? Then I can take some blood, run some tests.”

  I quickly clear space on the table, and together we gently lift the old dog. Chester’s usually full of life, but he barely even makes a sound. “Don’t worry,” Sawyer catches my expression. “He’d be whimpering if he was in any pain.”

  “Still.” I stroke him, “I don’t know what we’d do without him. He’s been here for years.”

  “What about you?” Sawyer asks, checking Chester’s temperature, and making a note in a file.

  “Me too, I’ve got a kennel out back.”

  Sawyer laughs.

  “No, I’m just a volunteer,” I say. “I help Edith out around the place.”

  “It’s a lot to manage.”

  “And getting bigger all the time,” I sigh. “But we just can’t turn anyone away. Every time Edith says we’re full, someone will show up with a box of kittens, or a dog they found out by the highway and, well…”

  “Who can say no to that?” Sawyer finishes. He gives me an understanding look. “I’m the same. Somehow the neighborhood cats figured out I’m a soft touch. Now they just show up in my yard mewling for food.”

  “So you’re a cat lady.” I grin.

  “And proud of it.” Sawyer finishes taking blood, so smooth I barely even noticed, and neither did Chester. Sawyer tucks the vial in his bag, and gives the dog another pat. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I walk him out front, where Edith is sat feeding some of the newborn kittens from a bottle. “What’s the verdict?” she asks from the rocker.

  “I’ll put a rush on the blood work, see if I can give you a call tomorrow,” Sawyer says.

  Edith nods approvingly. “I like this guy already.”

  “Did you just move to the area?” I ask. I haven’t seen him around. Sawyer nods.

  “I did my residency training up in Chicago, but I couldn’t stand the cold. Below freezing every other day.” He shudders at the mention.

  “Well, welcome to town.” I smile. “I promise, the weather’s better here. Until it gets to August, and you’ll be dreaming about the cold again.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Say, you wouldn’t happen to know a good place to get a bite?” Sawyer asks. “Nothing fancy, just a burger and beer.”

  “You’ll want Dixie’s.” I suggest. “A few blocks past the harbor. It’s a casual crowd, but they’ve got a great selection on tap, and there’s always Springsteen on the jukebox.”

  “Well in that case, I’ll have to check it out. Want to join me there later?” he asks casually. “I have to go check on some horses out in PLACE, but I could meet you after.”

  “Sure,” I agree, surprised. “I could use some of her chili fries.”

  “Great.” He smiles. “I’ll see you there at eight. It’s a date.”

  Wait, what?

  I don’t have time to react before he shakes hands with Edith and heads back to his truck. As the wheels crunch on gravel, I stare after him. “Date?” I repeat, blinking. Edith snorts with laughter.

  “Girl, you wouldn’t know a pass if he put it in writing first.”

  “He didn’t mean it like that.” I shake my head. “He’s new in town, probably just looking to make friends.”

  Edith smirks. “Whatever you think.”

  I look back at the driveway, feeling a rush of guilt. I shouldn’t have given him the wrong impression, not with memories Finn still whirling in my mind – and my heart.

  Except that Finn is ancient history. He’s spent the past five years doing whatever he wants – with whoever he wants. I’m allowed to go on a date if I want, especially with a handsome, sweet, funny guy like Sawyer. Finn waltzing back shouldn’t change that, so why am I letting it get to me?

  He’s made it clear that he’s moved on. Why shouldn’t I?

  Three.

  I can hear the chaos from the house before I even make it up the front path. I open the door, and right away I’m hit with the noise from music on the radio, a cartoon on TV, a baby crying from the next room, and the sound of a dog barking wildly.

  “Kit got a booboo,” Lottie says, appearing in the doorway with a baby wailing in her arms. She looks frazzled, with paint spilled on her shirt and something sticky in her blond, choppy hair. “Can you take him for a sec? I haven’t had a minute all day. He puked over me this morning, and I can’t get it out.”

  “Come here, you little munchkin!” I happily lift my nephew from her arms and she lets out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Look who’s here,” she coos to him. “Auntie Eva will make everything OK.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Rock star.” Lottie scampers upstairs, and a moment later, I hear the shower sound. I rock Kit gently. He wails, his face red and fists clenched.

  “Bad day, huh? I know how you feel.” I distract him with a toy and take him through to the living room, setting him down in his pen to play. Soon enough, the tears are forgotten, and I can keep one eye on the baby and start tidying up around the room. By the time Lottie comes back down with wet hair and fresh sweatpants, the place looks half-way back to normal again.

  “Finally, I don’t smell like barf!” she declares. “That’s the one thing they don’t tell you about having kids. Sure, they warn you about the poop, and the sore boobs, and never sleeping again, but somehow I never got the part about smelling like a bad hangover twenty-four seven.” I feel a familiar ache, but I ignore it as she collapses on the couch with an exhausted sigh. “Anyway, how are you? What’s life like in the outside world, with people who can hold a decent conversation?”

  “Fine,” I tell her, glossing over the epic, unsettling part of my day. “Work, the shelter, the usual.” I shrug. “I just came by to pick up that blue sweater, you know, the one with the V-neck?”

  Lottie frowns. “I think Kit was using it as a blanket. I’ll go check.” She disappears into the laundry room, then emerges holding it up triumphantly. “Look, not even a stain on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lottie tosses it over. “When are you going to quit living out of a suitcase?”

  “What, you want me to move in back here?” I laugh. Lottie looks around at the clutter of toys and baby gear.

  “Maybe not. But don’t you get sick of moving every few months?”

  I shrug. “I like it. It’s like an adventure, living in a new house every time.”

  “Life on the edge,” Lottie teases. “My big sis, so reckless and wild.”

  Mom and dad left the house for us while they’re in Savannah, but there’s only so much chaos I can take. I worked out a deal to housesit and manage some of the summer houses while the owners are out of town. It means moving around every few months, but it’s worth it to have my own space to come home to, a small corner of the world that’s just mine. But even though Lottie was practically pushing me out the door too, a part of me still feels like I should be here, helping out more.

  Lottie yawns. “Want to stay for pizza and leftover casserole?”

  “Tempting, but I’ll pass. I’m going out,” I say slowly. “I think I have a date.”

  “Think?” Lottie sits up. “With who? How? Where?”

  “It’s no big deal,” I shake my head. “I’m meeting the new vet at Dixie’s later.”

  Lottie’s blue eyes widen. “The hot one! Sawyer, whatshisname.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Please. Word travels fast here, especially when it
comes to sexy single guys. The moms in my baby art class all had their panties in a twist.” Lottie waggles her eyebrows, and I laugh.

  “It’s nothing. Like I said, it’s just a friendly thing.” Lottie whacks me with a cushion. “Hey!”

  “You’re not doing this again,” she says, pointing at me. “Pretending like it’s nothing romantic so hard that even the guy gets the hint and leaves you alone.”

  “Since when?” I protest.

  “Since always.” She rolls her eyes. “You did it with that accountant guy last year, and that hot waiter we met at Target—”

  “He was staring at your maternity cleavage,” I point out, but Lottie doesn’t quit.

  “I’m serious, you’re like an old maid already!” she argues. “I don’t get it. You’re young, and hot, and your boobs aren’t leaking milk every two hours. At least one of us needs to get laid sometime soon, and right now, I’m too tired to even try.”

  I give her a sympathetic smile. I know it can’t be easy. She’s only nineteen, and while all her friends are off at college, partying without a care in the world, she’s here raising a kid on her own. “You’ll get there, soon enough. When Kit’s a little older, and—”

  “We’re not talking about me!” Lottie interrupts. “You’re the one who needs to be out having fun. Lots of fun,” she adds. “With protection.”

  I laugh, but the joke is bittersweet. Lottie was only seventeen when she sat us down and announced she was pregnant. She doesn’t talk about the father, never even told us his name. All she gave was a fierce glare and the information that he was out of the picture. That was the last she’d say about it. I was two years into drama school in New York, and in a whole mess of trouble myself, so it made sense for me to come home. I was able to help her out with the baby, far away from the big city lights, and from all the mistakes I’d been making. It was a wake-up call, a way to find meaning again after searching so desperately – recklessly – in all the wrong places.

  Sometimes, I think she saved my life.

  “So what are you wearing for this hot date?” Lottie demands. “Not that sweater, I hope.”

  I look down at the garment in my hand. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s fine for a tea party with the historical society,” she snorts. “Would it kill you to show a little cleavage? There’s a magic little something called Wonderbra.” Lottie leaps up. “You can borrow mine!”

  “No, thank you!” I quickly get to my feet as well. “I’m playing it casual, OK? This is just a drinks date at Dixie’s. A drink that might not even be a real date. Trust me, when I want to look sexy, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “At least let me do something with your hair,” she pleads. “Some cute bangs… I have my stuff right here!”

  Lottie cuts hair at the local salon, and is actually a genius when it comes to transforming people with just the right style. Still, I’m not about to risk her going wild with the scissors. The last time I let her loose on my hair, she took off five inches because she ‘wanted to see how it looks.’ Luckily, Kit slowly rocks over and lets out a wail of surprise as he tumbles to the carpet. Lottie goes to scoop him up, distracted. “You’re not getting off so easy,” she says, cooing. “I want details. Lots of details.”

  “Will do.” I kiss Kit goodbye, then let myself out. My sister’s voice echoes after me, down the garden path.

  “And wear those tight jeans, so he can see your butt!”

  It’s a warm evening, so I decide to leave my car at home and walk over to the bar. I’m staying in a house in the woods this month, and the road is lined with graceful old cypress trees, casting mysterious shadows in my path. As I walk into town, I try to put Finn McKay out of my mind for good. If I’m lucky, I probably won’t even see him again. He’ll be too busy out at his new place, throwing big parties for all his rock star friends and doing whatever it is he’s been doing for the past five years. Without me.

  I cut past the harbor, and can already hear music and laughter from inside the bar from half a block away. Dixie’s is an institution in town, opened by the lady herself, a pint-sized spitfire with dyed red hair and a shotgun tucked behind the bar. Everyone has a story to tell about this place, from the dads reminiscing about beers with their buddies, to moms remembering all the illicit things that went on in the back booths. For us kids, it was the ultimate rite of passage to go sneak a beer there underage, but Dixie never blinked. She just served us watered-down draft and turned a blind eye – as long as things never got out of hand.

  Tonight, the place is full and noisy, filled with the usual local Friday night crowds. I’m barely through the door when Delilah sweeps me into a hug. “Two hot guys in one day? Either you’re on fire, or I’m seriously off my game.”

  “How do you--?”

  “Lottie called and filled me in with all the scandalous details. Now, where’s this hunky vet?”

  I look around, but I don’t see Sawyer. “I’m early. He’s not here yet.”

  Delilah fusses with my hair. She’s wearing a tight red tank top, and as she looks me up and down, I can tell she’s wishing I had dolled up more. “Well,” she sighs. “At least you wore the jeans.”

  I shake my head. “Since when are the two of you conspiring behind my back?”

  “Since you need a kick up the ass.” Delilah kisses me on the cheek. “Good luck, babe. And if he turns out to be boring, just give me the secret signal and I’ll come rescue you.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “Just throw your drink over him.”

  I laugh. “Real secret.”

  She heads back to her table, and I make my way to the bar and order a beer. I wait for Sawyer to show, and as the minutes tick past I’m surprised to find my stomach fluttering a little with nerves. It should be no big deal, meeting a guy for a drink, but the truth is, my romantic life has been pretty… non-existent. After New York, I wasn’t ready to date for a long while, recently my dating world has consisted of some awkward fix-ups (courtesy of Delilah) and a lot of nights watching Netflix with Lottie and Kit. But Sawyer seems like he could have real potential. In the five minutes I actually spent talking to him, that is.

  I check my phone and find a voicemail from an unfamiliar number. Just as I’m about to listen, my phone rings again.

  “Hello?”

  “Eva, it’s Sawyer—” His voice is hard to hear over the spirited argument next to me, so I slip down from my stool.

  “Hold on, I’m just going somewhere less noisy.” I head outside to the parking lot. “OK, I can hear you now.”

  “I have to apologize,” Sawyer sounds stressed. “I’ve got a mare in breech birth, and I won’t be able to leave. I left you a message earlier, but I guess you didn’t get it.”

  I’m disappointed, but I hide it. “That’s OK. We can do it another time.”

  “I’m out of town this week for a conference, but can I call you when I get back?”

  “Sure, just let me know. Anything interesting?”

  He chuckles. “That depends if you like artificial insemination of livestock.”

  I laugh. “I think I’ll pass. Have fun.”

  “You too. And I’m really sorry,” he adds, sincere. “But I look forward to seeing you when I get back.”

  I hang up, alone for a moment outside. I could go back in and hang out with Delilah – and whatever guys she’s managed to rustle up this week – but I’m not in the mood. I turn, about to head back home, when someone steps out of the shadows.

  “Hot date?” Finn leans against the wall, an unlit cigarette in his hand. With the lights playing off his face, he’s suddenly all chiseled angles and a dark, sexy stare. Mysterious. Dangerous.

  Utterly intoxicating.

  My pulse kicks, and I remember the way those restless hands felt sliding over my body; the slow, hot drag of his mouth on my bare skin.

  “What if it was?” I ask, heart racing.

  He gives me a slow, molten look. “He’s a lucky guy.�
��

  I look away, unsettled by the heat racing through my blood. “He can’t make it,” I admit. “He’s out on an emergency.”

  “His loss.”

  I glance back. “Since when do you smoke? I thought you always said it was toxic for your voice.”

  Finn gives a wry smile. “Just one of my many bad habits. I try not to… except at times of extreme stress.”

  “What’s so stressful?”

  He doesn’t answer, just looks at me again, wreathed in shadows. “Are you hungry?”

  I blink, thrown.

  “Come back inside, get a bite to eat.” Finn smiles at me, a dangerous, seductive grin. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  Lust pulls, low in my stomach. Oh boy. I should leave right now, put as much distance as possible between me and that hungry gaze as I can. But I reason with myself. I haven’t eaten anything in hours, and this is a crowded bar. Delilah’s right there waiting for me, too. It’s perfectly safe.

  Because that’s the thing about Finn. He became my bad influence, the one person who sparked a hint of reckless rebellion. With him, I was suddenly adventurous and brave, always up for a new risk, as long as he was right there with me. And after he left… I chased that reckless feeling all the way to New York; trying my hardest to prove it wasn’t just him, that I could be brave all on my own, no matter how many clubs and bars and come-down morning-afters it took. It took me a long time to realize, those were just fake highs I was chasing.

  Finn McKay was the only genuine rush around.

  Tonight, I feel it all over again, snaking hot through my bloodstream, and making the hairs on my skin stand on end.

  Just one drink, that tempting voice whispers in my mind. What harm will it do?

  God, I’ve missed this feeling. There’s nothing like it in the world. So I forget the tears, and the heartbreak, and the secret I’ve carried for the last five years. “Sure,” I tell him. “Why not?”

  Four.

  As I step back inside, I make a quick, desperate vow to myself. I can play pretend. I’ll chat, and catch up, and betray nothing about the hurt he caused me. If Finn can act like nothing’s wrong, then I can do the same. It was just a high school fling, years ago. No reason for this emotion churning in my stomach, or the dizzy, light-headed feeling I get just looking at his gorgeous face again.