Imperfect Heart

by Tarina Deaton

  “Whatever asshole. Later.”

  “Later.” He ended the call and set the phone back in the charger. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he took his plate into the living room and turned on the television to catch the first round of Jeopardy!

  Maybe a dog wouldn’t be so bad. At least then he’d have someone to listen to him while he answered trivia questions.

  Tim set the wet dish in the drainer and shut off the water. Nine-thirty at night and he was headed to bed. Granted he woke at four a.m., but damn he felt old.

  Leaving the light off, he crossed his bedroom, passing in front of the window. Movement in his peripheral made him stop, back up two steps, and look out the window.

  Zoe was in her bedroom. Directly across from his. With only the sheers drawn. And she was dancing.

  In nothing but a thin, strappy top and her underwear.

  She was unpacking, moving between boxes on the bed and the closet, but she danced instead of walked. He couldn’t hear the music, but the movement of her hips made him think something Latin or with a heavy drum beat.

  He stepped closer to the window, bracing one hand on the frame.

  He should step back. He should close his own curtains and let her know she should close hers. Instead, he watched. His gaze followed as she shimmied around the room. She rolled her hips and his cock tingled as blood rushed to it.

  Fuck. This was wrong. It didn’t stop him from rubbing the smooth fabric of his gym pants against his rock-hard dick.

  She did some kind of spin and her arms rose above her head. He groaned and slipped his hand into his pants, gripping his shaft tightly. Damn, she was sensual. Her hips rolled and swayed. He rubbed his hand up and down in time to the shake of her hips.

  It’d been over a year since he’d been in a serious relationship with anyone other than himself and his imagination ran wild. He wanted to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her outer thighs while she ground down on his cock. Closing his eyes, he pictured her riding him, raising her hands to her mass of curls, throwing her head back as she cried out with pleasure.

  What was he doing? He pulled his hands out of his pants and hung his head. He was a cop. Not only that, but he considered himself to be a pretty decent guy and he didn’t take advantage of women. Even if it was only watching as they moved seductively around their bedroom. Especially when they were in their bedroom and unaware. If she ever wanted to do that while he watched, knowing he watched, that would be one thing, but he wasn’t going to take the choice away from her.

  Her light was still on, but he couldn’t see Zoe. Had she seen him standing in the window, watching her like some creepy Peeping Tom?

  Fuck. He closed his curtains, which he should have done instead of watching her like some horny teenager seeing his first pair of tits.

  Chapter 6

  Zoe stood across the street and stared at her future home. Well, her future bookstore, but she planned on spending most of her time there, so it would effectively be her home. Elba’s cafe was on the left and an eclectic secondhand store was on the right. On the other side of Elba, a hair salon and day spa.

  Located on a side road smack dab in the middle of Market Street and across from one of the most popular parking lots, they would get a lot of traffic on weekends. Even now, in the middle of the day, there were plenty of shoppers. The only way it would have been better was if it had been on Market Street.

  Crossing the street, she pulled open the door and went in. Her heart pounded in her chest and she rested her palm over it. Until then, she’d only seen it in pictures.

  It was chaos. Saws whirred. Hammers pounded. Looking at the mess, it was hard to picture what it would look like in four weeks. That was the deadline for completion she and the contractor had agreed to.

  “Can I help you?” A man approached from the right, skirting a pile of wood.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Linda.”

  He turned and shouted over the noise. “Linda! Someone here to see you!”

  An older blond woman moved away from a large table made of a plywood board and saw horses and headed toward her. Even though she was average height for a woman, Zoe still felt small standing next to her.

  A spark of recognition lit in her eyes as she drew closer. She held out her hand. “Zoe?”

  “Yes.” She shook the woman’s hand, rough with calluses.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’d hug you, but I’m probably covered in sawdust. How was your trip?”

  “That’s okay. Another time.” Zoe smiled. They’d been virtually introduced by Zoe’s Women in Small Business mentor and had never met in person. Even so, she and Linda had connected.

  Linda had understood Zoe’s vision and been able to put to paper what Zoe had only been able to verbalize. “The trip was good. Long. I drove almost non-stop for two and a half days.”

  “You settling in all right? Do you need any help with anything at the house?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve got everything unpacked. I just need to find places for it all.”

  “I don’t miss that part of the military. Glad I was finally able to put down roots in one place and not have to pick up anymore.”

  Zoe inhaled deeply. “That’s the idea.”

  “Do you want to start at the back? The kids’ corner is almost finished.”

  “Really? I thought you said it was going to be at least another week.”

  Linda tilted her head side to side. “I don’t like to tell people I’m ahead of schedule until things are done. That way they don’t have any expectations. Let me get you a cover.” She walked over to the man who’d greeted Zoe and picked up a white hardhat.

  Zoe took the hat and tried to squash it down over her curls. It sat precariously on her head and she wasn’t sure how much protection it would afford if something dropped on her.

  Skirting the edge of the large room, Linda led her to a space in the back free of tools.

  Pointing up, she said, “This is the loft we talked about.”

  Zoe turned in a circle taking in the short, wide bookcases and the arched entry to the stairs up to the loft.

  “Can I…?” She pointed to the steps.

  “Go for it.” Linda swept her arm out, inviting Zoe to explore.

  She took off the hard hat and crouched through the opening, using her hands to help climb the short staircase through the low passage. This would have been so much fun when she was a kid. When she reached the top, the ceiling was still low enough she had to crouch but would be the perfect height for kids. One side of the wall was a silhouette of a castle, complete with a small turret kids could crawl into.

  She looked through the portholes cut into the wall—big enough for a kid to poke their head out of, but small enough they couldn’t fall through. In her mind she pictured them sprawled around the area reading on large bean bags while their parents shopped in the rest of the store. Reading had been her escape growing up. Having somewhere other than her closet to escape to would have been a dream. Giving that to kids, encouraging their imaginations and love of reading, had been a priority when she’d first contemplated opening a bookstore.

  “My daughter is going to paint the details on the castle inside the loft,” Linda called up. “She didn’t want to start painting down here until she’d had a chance to talk to you.”

  Back at the bottom, she hugged Linda, sawdust and all. She’d given life to Zoe’s dream. “Thank you.”

  Linda rubbed her back and patted it a couple of times. “I’m not even done showing you the rest of the store, yet.”

  “I don’t care. It’s perfect.”

  “Hey.” Linda released her and held her at arm’s length. “I have a rule: no crying on the job site unless you’re bleeding.”

  Zoe laughed and rubbed her nose. “I’ll try to not do anything that causes me to bleed.”

  “Good. Let me show you the solution we came up with for the doorway between the bookstore and the cafe.”

  Her stomach flippe
d. No matter how many drawings or schematics Linda had sent, Zoe hadn’t been able to visualize the concept. Eventually she decided to trust Linda’s expertise, but she’d been worried.

  Linda stopped in front of a row of floor to almost-ceiling bookcases along the shared wall between the bookstore and Elba’s cafe. Stepping on a doorstop at the base of the shelf, she released it. She reached into one of the shelves about shoulder height and pulled a lever, then bent and pulled another one. Moving to the bookcase beside it, she did the same, then swung the shelves out like a set of double doors, revealing the cafe on the other side of the wall.

  Zoe covered her mouth with her hands as she spotted Elba behind the counter, then clasped her hands under her chin. “I love it.”

  Linda held the side of a shelf and grinned.

  “Here, look.” She pointed down. “There are door stops on either side and if you look at the top of the bookcase, there are security latches that secure it into the ceiling.”

  “So it has to be unlocked from both sides in order for it to be opened?” Zoe asked.

  “Yes. I know security was a concern for both of you since you’re independent businesses and are going to have different hours.”

  Elba joined them. “I was wondering how that was going to work. I left one day and there was a hole and a tarp and the next day there was a door but no handle.”

  “We’re going to install a locking mechanism on this side as well,” Linda explained. “You guys can figure out how you’ll schedule opening the doors. My daughter volunteered to paint a mural on the cafe side, if that’s all right.”

  Zoe stared at Elba with big eyes.

  She shrugged. “That’s fine with me. Let me know when she needs access.”

  “Great. I’ll get you her number and you can work that out with her directly.”

  A customer peeked through the opening. “Oh wow. Is this going to be a bookstore?”

  “Yes,” Zoe said.

  “That’s so cool. When do you open?” the woman asked.

  “Eight weeks, give or take.”

  “I can’t wait. It’ll be great not to have to go to Fayetteville or Raleigh to go to the bookstore.” She left with a wave to Elba.

  “I’m so excited!” Elba bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. “I need to get back to the counter. One of my waitresses called in sick and my other one can’t get a babysitter on such short notice. Stop by before you leave?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me show you the rest of the work we’ve done and what we have left,” Linda said.

  They left the cafe and Linda closed the bookcase behind them, showing Zoe exactly how the latches worked and how to ensure they were closed.

  An hour later, she was no less nervous about the decision she’d made, but her excitement was on the same level and on track to surpass her worries. She could do this. No. She was doing it.

  Exiting out the front, she walked around to the cafe and entered the normal way. When she got to the counter, Elba was talking on her cell, visibly upset. She hung up and clenched her phone in her fist.

  “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.”

  “Dipshit?” Zoe asked.

  “Yes. It’s his week. The deal is supposed to be that when it’s his week, he deals with everything unless it’s life or death. When it’s my week, I deal with it. April doesn’t feel well and went to the school nurse who said she’s running a low-grade fever and should go home. Except ass-clown is busy and I need to do it. Know what he’s busy with? Paperwork so he can make his pickup basketball game. Because his stupid, out-of-shape, white-guys-can’t-jump basketball game is more important than his daughter. It’s not like I have a business to run or anything or that I’m short staffed. No, that doesn’t matter to him at all. I wish he would keel over and die and I’m such a horrible person for wishing that.”

  Zoe walked around the counter and hugged her. Elba sagged in her arms.

  “Stop. Take a deep breath. How about if I go pick her up?”

  Elba lifted her head. “You can’t. You’re not on the list. Although I was going to ask if I can add you in case anything like this happened again.”

  “Of course. You can’t call the school and let them know I’m picking her up?”

  She shook her head. “I wish. I’ve tried to do that before. They’re adamant that it has to be someone that is prearranged with the school in writing. Too many divorced couples getting their new significant other to pick the kid up and the ex losing their shit at the school for allowing it.”

  “Ah. Yeah. I can see how that might cause issues.” She cocked her head. “I can stay here while you go get her.”

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  “As long as I don’t have to cook.”

  Elba’s laugh was full of relief. “No. Rob does all the cooking. I’ll introduce you. He’s good. A student at the local culinary school. All you have to do is take the orders and keep the coffee fresh. Maybe heat up some pie.”

  “I can heat up some pie,” Zoe said.

  Elba hugged her. “Thank you. Let me show you how to work the register. I’ll bring April back here and she can rest on the couch in my office with a cup of tea.”

  She walked Zoe through the register, which was really a touch screen attached to a money till, not an actual register, and was thankfully user-friendly. The espresso machine was a little more confusing, but was computerized and not one of the fancy manual espresso machines.

  “I don’t have time for that,” was Elba’s response when she asked.

  Almost five hours later, Zoe pulled into her driveway, shut off her car, and rested her head against the steering wheel. How could she have forgotten how exhausting waitressing was? It wasn’t that it had been difficult, although she’d gotten a couple of orders mixed up, it was being on her feet and constantly on the go. How the hell did Elba do that six and a half days a week? By herself with only another waitress?

  Zoe had sucked it up because she owed her big time for all the additional help she’d given her by taking care of the in-person issues with the bookstore.

  The takeout box Rob had given her after they’d shut down and cleaned up smelled delicious and her stomach rumbled. Right. Dinner, shower, bed. Climbing out of her car, her gaze was drawn to Tim’s house almost against her will. Who was she kidding? She’d seen his truck in the drive when she’d pulled up and wondered if he’d stop by again like he had the other night. More than once she’d wondered if he’d only stopped by because Mrs. Wilson had said something about the moving truck or because he wanted to see her again. Did she want to see him again?

  The tiny flutter in her stomach said yes. Her mind might tell her she didn’t have time for a guy right now and she needed to stay focused on her bookstore, but she missed the companionship of having someone in her life. Friends were great, but she wanted someone to cuddle with on the couch at the end of a long day.

  A woman walked out of his front door, then turned back around to face the house.

  Zoe ducked down behind her car. Wait? What was she doing? There was no reason to hide—she was the neighbor.

  “Tolo.” She stood up and checked out the woman.

  Tall, with dark blond hair and a strong physique, she was the physical antithesis of Zoe. The woman waved toward the front door and walked to the older SUV parked on the road in front of Tim’s house.

  She might not be a supermodel, but she was still beautiful. “Of course she is,” Zoe muttered. She might want a cuddle buddy, but it looked like Tim already had one.

  Chapter 7

  Zoe wandered into the antique furniture stall at the weekend market, sipping her iced coffee.

  “What are we looking for exactly?” her sister asked.

  “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “That’s very helpful,” Gabby said. “I’m going to go look at t-shirts.”

  Zoe gazed heavenward and again wondered what made her tell her sister her plans for the day. She�
�d mentioned shopping and weekend market and her sister had not only invited herself along, but drove over two hours to do it. She’d wanted to “see for herself” that Zoe was okay.

  She loved her family but as the youngest, they had a tendency to baby her. Especially now, after the divorce.

  She’d had a successful career in the Air Force and was starting her own business. She’d been to war, for crying out loud. Well, not really. She’d been to Iraq and Afghanistan and even though she hadn’t been shooting at bad guys, it had sucked and completely changed her whole outlook on life.

  But none of that mattered to her family. They viewed her decision to separate from the military and follow her passion to be nothing more than a whim. A lot of people would argue getting out of the service after ten or more years was wasted effort, but she didn’t see it that way. Getting out was the opportunity to do what she wanted for herself. Not because the Air Force told her she had to or because she was following along after someone else’s career aspirations.

  The bookstore was for her. She didn’t have the words to explain why it was so important, she just needed her family to be supportive.

  She squeezed between a large frame and a standing lamp. She didn’t expect to find anything, but she’d thought that before. Her knowledge of antiques was a big, shallow pool of nada. She couldn’t look at something and know when it was made or how much it was worth. It could be two years old or two hundred years old. What she saw was the story. She imagined the people who used it; the kids who scratched their names into the top of an old school desk; the family who sat around a dining room table; the woman who set her bookmarked novel on the small bedside table. When she looked at a battered piece of furniture, she didn’t see the dings or neglect, she saw the finished product—and its new story.

  It was the same with her bookstore. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Muted colors and soft lighting. Comfortable chairs that invited people to sit and read. Dark cherry bookcases filled with books waiting to be picked next. She’d been enthralled with the idea of a private library ever since she’d seen the movie Dangerous Beauty, and while she didn’t need to turn to prostitution to have access to books, there were times the idea seemed as outrageous and she second-guessed herself. Then she looked at her business plan and went over her checklists and everything righted itself.