Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3)

by Tracy Krimmer

  “I couldn’t live somewhere like that. Never.” Tiffany shakes her head as she starts her painting. “I want to be where the action is.”

  “Did I mention when I walked out my front door I occasionally got a whiff of the farm field a few miles away?”

  She tosses her brush down and throws her hands in the air. “That seals the deal. I’m never moving.”

  The laughs erupt and I’m loosening up. I like these two. A lot. I regret not carving out time in the past for building relationships. I’ve missed out on so much.

  “Did you move here alone?” Tiffany fishes for more information about me. I’ll compile a questionnaire in my head for her later.

  “Yep. Just me.”

  “She’s not dating anyone,” Gretchen jumps in.

  “You’re not?”

  I stroke the orange paint against the white canvas to start filling in the Madison skyline. Is this the only thing people are interested in asking me? “No. I don’t really date.”

  “Don’t really date?” Tiffany cleans off her brush. “Are you married then? Studying to become a nun?”

  Now my affliction to dating means I’m celibate. Trust me, if the right guy came along to fulfill my needs, I wouldn’t argue. I’m tired of replacing batteries.

  “I just don’t.” I’ll never understand why this is such a big deal to people. Did I miss the instatement of some law requiring me to be attached to a man? Maybe if I wore a wedding ring people would leave me alone. “I ran a business before I moved here and that kept me busy. I think the last boyfriend I had was in college, and that didn’t last long because I was too focused on my classes.” I don’t mention David’s lack of support and talent of only thinking of himself.

  “We’ve got ourselves a nerd here.” Gretchen raises her glass. “To nerds.”

  I grunt at first, but she’s right. And that’s fine. “I own my geekness. To nerds!” The wine is sweet and tickles my throat.

  “No prospects? No one you like?” Tiffany begs for info.

  I run through the file of men currently active in my life. Most of the men I meet are clients or contractors. No one has jumped out at me at someone to pursue. The only male who comes to mind is married. And my brother. “Not really.”

  The two smirk at each other and I’m afraid of what they’re thinking. Everyone always “knows someone” and that normally ends up a disaster. Who they think is right for me is probably far off. I don’t even know what I like. When you’ve been out of the game as long as me, you forget these things. I’ve grown since college and my tastes have changed. I doubt dating is anything like back then, either. Now with all the technology to keep people connected and search for romance, I’m way out of my league.

  “What about Ned?” Tiffany suggests.

  “Like Ned from the bowling alley Ned?” This makes me laugh. I may not know my type, but it’s not him. I’m Kate Hayes: neat, tattoo free, organized, and always on time. “He strikes me as … hard.”

  “Oh, he’s hard I’m sure!” Tiffany giggles and accidentally paints on her face.

  “That’s not what I meant!” I didn’t intend to sound dirty, but I join her and Gretchen in laughter. “He comes across as someone who is interested in much different things than me, and he seems rough around the edges.”

  Gretchen swipes her brush across the canvas. Her painting is turning out better than mine and Tiffany’s. I wonder if she has a touch of artistry in her blood. “That’s part of why he’s so hot.”

  “Gretchen!” She’s married to the nicest guy ever, who is about as clean-cut as they come.

  “Hey, just because I have a husband doesn’t mean I don’t lust after some fine pieces of meat. Besides, I grew up with Ned and Ted.”

  I snort. “Sorry. I can’t get over their names.They’re bad enough separate, but put them together and I can’t contain myself.

  “Yeah, after knowing them so long, it doesn’t faze me anymore.”

  My turn to ask some questions. This is the perfect opportunity to move the conversation off of me. “Have you two been friends long?”

  Tiffany pours herself another glass and takes a long drink before answering. “A few years. Taylor introduced us.”

  “So are you and Taylor … “

  “Together? No.” She shakes her head and kind of smiles. “We’re very good friends … with occasional benefits.”

  “If occasional is multiple times a week!”

  I shush Gretchen for being so loud. “No relationship, though?” If they get together so often, how can they not be a couple?

  “Are you kidding me?” Tiffany pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He’s twenty-three. Too young. There’s no sense in sitting around though while I wait for Mr. Right, right?”

  Wow. He’s at least ten years younger than her. I can barely stand people my age, much less someone so much younger. “How can you even meet a guy if you’re with Taylor all the time?”

  “I’m not with him all the time. We bowl together and sometimes we hook up. That’s it. He dates other people and so do I. No strings.”

  Casual relationships confuse me. I can’t imagine being so intimate with a handful of people. I’m not a prude, really. I just would rather love someone if I’m going to be with that person. I’ve been with two people my entire life. I want the last one to stick.

  “If that’s what works for you, I guess.”

  In all honesty, who am I to judge? Recently the only man I’ve even come close to anything with was my pizza guy.

  Score.

  Chapter

  Seven

  The first game arrives on a humid August night and I’m nervous. I used to do this all the time, but this is a new team, new chemistry, and new lanes. The cotton in my mouth, the shivers through my body — this is something with which I’m unfamiliar. I’m usually in control and running the show. Patrons of the alley zip around with their bags, shoving items into lockers, and repeating superstitious habits. Me, I’m only hoping not to make a fool of myself.

  “Kate!” Gretchen greets me at our lane. “Aren’t you excited? The adrenaline racing through me is crazy right now. I haven’t been this floored since Mona’s delivery!”

  I can’t imagine competing in a recreational bowling league is as exciting as birthing your first child, but I won’t judge. She’s probably exaggerating and doesn’t realize how odd that sounds. “I’m a little nervous, honestly.”

  “Nervous? Why?”

  “Well, my partner is still a mystery to me, for one. Second, a long time has passed since I’ve participated in a competition.” What if I’m great and he sucks? Or worse, what if I stink up the joint with my skills and everyone thinks I’m a buffoon?

  “You’ll do fine. Everyone loves my brother.” She takes my bowling bag from me and sets it down. “There he is now!” I take out my shoes as she flaps her hands in the air to get his attention.

  “Hey, Gretchen!”

  My head jerks back to steal a glimpse of this guy. He’s average height with dark hair brushed back in a way that masks waves that would otherwise be out of control. His eyes are set wide apart, his brows arched and I think his eyes are smiling. When he’s closer I’m drawn to the deep lines forming underneath his cheekbones, only drawing attention to his thin lips. Facial hair isn’t something I particularly like, but this man wears a light beard well, the perfect amount outlining his face and the mustache darting under his nose.

  “Kellan! I’m glad you decided to show.”

  “Stop it. You know I wouldn’t miss a game.” He tosses his bag on an empty chair and I’m immediately captivated by the distinct lines defining his biceps. The burnt orange shirt makes his muscles pop, and the sun agrees with him. I don’t tan. I burn. To a crisp.

  “You only ditch practice.”

  “Anyway, is this my teammate?” Our eyes lock and neither of us back down. My body heats up when he smiles, keeping his mouth closed as his strawberry lips curl at the corners.

  “I�
��m Kate.” I reach my hand out and he takes a moment before shaking it. His hands are warm and cover most of mine.

  “Kate. That’s easy to remember.”

  “She’s pretty damn good, Kellan,” Tiffany jumps in. “She’ll put you to shame.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” I jump in. I don’t want him to think I think I’m better than him. I’ve never seen him play.

  “Well, I’m not too shabby myself.” Kellan breezes past me, picks up a ball, and shoots it down the lane, knocking down every single pin.

  “No. Pure luck. He’s shabby,” Gretchen teases.

  He furrows his brow at his sister, and I already love their connection. My relationship with my brother is similar. We weren’t always close, but over the past few years we bonded. I called him every week when I first moved here. Now we send emails every once in awhile.

  “Let’s start this game. I want to check out your moves.” He taps me on the shoulder and I straighten my body. He’s friendly, and more than easy on the eyes.

  I begin to put our info into the scoring station computer. Tuesday’s practice reenergized me and I’m ready to play.

  “So when you’re not bowling, what do you do?” Kellan asks as I punch in our names.

  “I’m a realtor. I’m either showing a house or trying to convince someone to sell one. My job owns me, night or day.”

  “You sound like you’re a doctor, constantly on call.”

  “I might as well be.” I shrug. “Clients want me available whenever they want.” I’m lucky I don’t receive calls in the middle of the night. A few have called as early as five-thirty in the morning and as late as eleven at night. This happens the most with first-time homebuyers waiting for an accepted offer. They’re anxious, and with reason, but sometimes I can’t even breathe.

  I finish entering our information. I like that he’s chatting with me. He’s only been here five minutes and he doesn’t feel like a stranger. In fact, I’m sure I’ve seen him before.

  Kellan sits down next to me, our arms almost touching. “Well now’s the time to unwind. No checking cell phones or thinking about clients. Although, I am in search of a house, so don’t leave here tonight without giving me your card, okay Miss Kate?”

  “Miss Kate? Am I your Sunday School teacher now?”

  I laugh at him and stare down at the scoreboard. I can sense him still looking at me as he says, “Hardly.”

  Chills are ransacking my body, my heart rate rapidly increasing with this man seated inches from me. No, Kate, I tell myself. He’s unavailable. So why is he flirting with me? This hasn’t happened in quite awhile, but I recognize flirting when it’s happening.

  I need to switch my focus to the game, not Kellan, whose shirt is clinging to him in all the right places. I wish we wore shorts instead of slacks because I want a glimpse at his legs. I imagine muscular thighs and diamond calves.

  “You’re coming off a tad uncertain.” He switches out his shoes.

  “First game in a long time. I’m afraid it will be a little rough.”

  “You’ll do great.” He smiles at me and somehow I believe him, even though he’s never seen me throw a ball.

  We’re signaled to start and I’m the first bowler. I can do this. I pick up my ball and it’s cold against my hand. I slide my fingers in and grip, taking in a few deep breaths. This is it. Everyone will watch me bowl and I’ll either knock some pins over or none at all. Kellan is watching and the last thing I want to do is make a fool of myself.

  The alley is silent as I make my approach. I step lightly toward the line and pull my arm back. As I prepare to toss the ball, I stumble. I must look like one of The Three Stooges as my legs slip out from under me and I paddle them trying to regain my balance. I somehow manage to gain control and the ball drops. Straight into the gutter.

  Shoot.

  If the world’s best bad first impression exists, I just earned the trophy. I don’t want to turn around. I can’t. I have another part of this frame, though. I’m forced to face everyone.

  I keep my head down as I scurry back. My ball comes back through the return, I snatch it like nobody’s business, and don’t waste any time tossing it down the lane. And I knock down every single pin.

  Why the hell didn’t I do that the first time? Not that a spare is horrible. I still knocked them all over, but how humiliating!

  I sit back down where Kellan is waiting for me with a smirk. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

  I would rather crawl under the chair where I don’t have to see him. With my arms crossed, I sink down in my seat. Next time. I better avoid the gutter when I bowl again or they’ll kick me off the team. Here I come in telling them I’m good, and they even witness this at practice, and then I screw up my very first frame. Leave it to me.

  We circle through the first round of bowlers and I’m up again. My time came up too soon in my opinion. I can’t be concerned about my near fall last time. Focus and keep the ball in the lane, all the way to the end. So, I stand up, pick up my ten pounds of confidence, and toss it down. It spins on a perfect line and crashes into the pins.

  Strike!

  Now my momentum is here. I almost forget about my flop when the game started. I bowl almost the entire game without a flaw, and my teammates the same. It’s easy to see they — no, we — are one of the best in the league. And I’m now a member!

  As we approach the final frame, Kellan starts to banter with a man on the opposite team. In between frames they’re eyeing each other up and trading insults. “What’s with this?” I thumb over to the other group while asking Gretchen.

  “Oh, that’s Brian Turdow, the weather guy from Channel 8.”

  I thought he looked oddly familiar.

  “He and Kellan hate one another. For obvious reasons.”

  I want to agree with her, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Those reasons aren’t obvious to me.”

  “Well, Kellan is the meteorologist on Channel 13.”

  “That’s why I recognize him! I watch television sometimes, but I usually just glance out the window to get my weather.” The news is full of such despair. I’d rather live in my bubble of not being informed until I need to be. Election years I pay attention, and then I tend to focus on political shows. Crime is everywhere, and I choose to ignore how close it may be to me.

  “What?” Kellan says as he shoots his head back toward me. “Excuse me, but meteorology is a very important science.”

  “Sure. One that you can be wrong at ninety-percent of the time.”

  “It really isn’t that simple.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t turn on the TV often, and when I do, I prefer Channel 8.”

  It’s as though I punched him in the gut. “That hurts. My partner doesn’t watch my station? Geez, thanks.”

  “Well, up until now I had no idea you were on the news.”

  “Now you have to watch me.”

  “I guess I do.” And I will. At every opportunity.

  Chapter

  Eight

  I can’t believe we won. Okay, I kind of can because after my slip up in the first frame, we kicked ass. After one game, I love this team and this group of people. They’re pretty awesome. Gretchen makes me feel wanted, Clark brings upon laughs I never knew I was capable of, Taylor and Tiffany are a hoot, and Kellan, well, he provides the eye candy.

  “Drinks are on me!” Kellan shouts after we’re officially proclaimed the winners. Everyone cheers, some pounding their fists on the table.

  “A wine for me, please.” In social settings I used to sit back and force myself to drink whatever was offered. I didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful. Now I understand the importance of asking for what you want.

  “Not a beer drinker?”

  “No. I prefer wine or mixed cocktails.” My preference tends to shock people, as though I’m breaking some law. Sue me if I’m from Wisconsin and don’t like beer. It’s not like I said I’m a Chicago Bears fan.

  “Somet
hing red for the lady,” Kellan gives in and heads over to the bar to place an order for me as well as a pitcher of Miller Lite. I sneak a peek at his butt as he walks away.

  “Great game, Kate.” Clark approaches me, rubbing his hands together with a smirk.

  I’m certain he didn’t forget about my comedy routine. “Well, mostly. I can’t believe what I did in my first frame.” Why do I remind him?

  “Don’t worry about that. I guarantee something embarrassing has happened to each and every one of us. Besides, this is for fun. Don’t take yourself so seriously.” Taylor pats me on the back for a little extra support.

  I guess I kind of do. I love bowling, though, and I welcome the order in my life. How else do I measure myself if not by winning in competitions or selling the most homes? What’s the purpose?

  “I’m a tad serious of a bowler. You’ll learn that about me.” I don’t find humor in a lot of things. This is one of my downfalls, and something I should work on improving.

  “Here you go!” Kellan hands me my wine and slams the pitcher on the table. Gretchen follows behind with glasses, water for herself.

  “You don’t drink beer either?” I ask.

  “Breastfeeding.”

  Oh, yeah. That never crossed my mind. I’m not close to being in the same vicinity as someone ready to even consider children, so I don’t think of those things. I’ll have a lot to learn if I get a chance. “What about paint night?”

  “I pumped and dumped.”

  “I don’t want details about my sister’s breasts. Can we change the subject?” Kellan pleads as he pours himself a beer.

  “I’m sorry if my nurturing your niece offends you.”

  “It’s not offensive. It’s just … “

  “Gross.” I cut in. Kellan needs help. Bad. I don’t think he can handle this on his own.

  “Kate! You’re a woman! How can you use such a word to describe something so natural?” Gretchen scolds me as though a code exists between females and I betrayed it.

  “I’m not saying you’re gross or that breastfeeding is. Discussing it in front of your brother kind of is.” I love my brother, but I would never discuss something so intimate with him. I wouldn’t have an issue feeding my child in front of him, but a conversation about my nipples is out of the question.