Reckless Hearts

by Melody Grace

  I shuffle to the door. “Whoever you are, please just leave me in peace—”

  I stop. Will’s on my front step with a bag of groceries and a concerned look on his too-damn-perfect face. “What are you doing here?” I ask, torn between being glad to see him and wanting to slam the door in his face. I look like a zombie, spraying germs with every sneeze. The last thing I want is him to see me like this!

  “I thought you might need some TLC,” he says, stepping inside. “And clearly, I was right.”

  He drops a kiss on my forehead, then frowns and presses the back of his hand to my cheek. “You’re burning up. Do you have a fever? Have you drunk enough water today?”

  “Mneugh,” I manage to whimper, feeling pathetic. I know I should send him away, but my whole body is aching now, and all I want is to just curl up on the floor.

  “Poor baby.” Will grins. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Before I can protest, he sets the groceries down, picks me up in his arms, and carries me down the hall to my bedroom.

  “I bet this isn’t what you had in mind, taking me to bed,” I manage to make a feeble joke as he sets me in the middle of the mattress, and plumps up my pillows. “You’re not supposed to be seeing me like this—” I sneeze. “All snotty and gross and sick. It’s not—” I sneeze again. “Sexy,” I finish weakly, sinking back into the pillows.

  “Sure you are.” Will tucks my duvet around me. “You get some rest. I’ll be downstairs, cooking up something to help that head.”

  “Uh huh,” I murmur, already drifting off. My eyes fall shut, and I feel his lips on my cheek, the barest whisper of a kiss. Then his footsteps tap down the hall. I sink into the softness of my sheets, listening to the sound of cabinets opening and closing and pans rattling on the stove. Despite my aching limbs and the pounding in my head, I feel . . . comforted. It’s nice having someone here taking care of me, even if Will is the last person on my list.

  The afternoon breeze slips through the open windows, and I drift in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. I’m not sure how long I’m out of it, only that it’s getting dark when I surface, my throat dry and my stomach rumbling for something to eat. Something smells amazing, so I manage to get out of bed and pad down the hall to the bathroom; rinsing my face with cold water before I venture further, into the living room.

  Will’s sitting with his feet up on the coffee-table, sketching something in a workbook. The radio’s on low, playing some jazz band, and that delicious smell is wafting from the kitchen, filling the room with warmth and fragrant herbs.

  I pause, my chest tightening. Everything about this scene is so relaxed, so homey, I almost wish I could freeze time just like this. Then Will looks up.

  “She rises,” he says, giving a lazy grin. He puts his book aside.

  “No, don’t get up—” I protest, but he’s already coming over.

  “Feeling any better?” Will checks my forehead again.

  I make a face. “Define ‘better.’ What’s that smell?” I ask hopefully. “Did you order in?”

  Will smiles. “Even better. Chicken soup, my mom’s recipe. It’s ready, but didn’t want to wake you, you were pretty out of it,” he adds, leading me to the couch. “I’m surprised you managed to sleep through your snoring, though. Either that, or a bear decided to join you for a nap.”

  “I don’t snore!” I protest weakly, settling on the couch. He laughs.

  “Sure you don’t.”

  Will goes to the kitchen to fix me a bowl, and I glance at the workbook he was sketching in. He’s working on new furniture designs, a cool table made from wood and industrial steel. I can’t help flip through the pages, impressed. There are some beautiful pieces here, and it’s clear from every line and drawing that he’s invested in every idea.

  “OK, I think I’ve got it right, but don’t hold it against me if there’s too much salt.” Will comes back, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread alongside. “I had to call my mom to get the recipe. It’s a family secret, so don’t even ask.”

  “You called your mom?” I sit up as he places the tray in my lap. I blink, not sure how to feel about that. “What did you . . . ? I mean, what did you say?”

  “Just that it was for a deserving cause.” Will sits beside me and hands me a spoon. “I swear, this recipe makes everything better. It even helped when I broke my arm in sixth grade.”

  “Impossible.” I smile, then spoon up a mouthful. “Or, possible,” I correct myself, tasting the miraculous soup. It’s savory and rich and hearty all at once. Will smiles.

  “Now you see what I mean.”

  I eat half the bowl without pausing for breath. When I look up, Will is still watching me. I flush, feeling self-conscious. He must think I’m a sick, pathetic mess right now. “Thank you,” I tell him gratefully. “You’re sweet to have stopped by, but you don’t need to stay now. You’ve probably got things to do, and this is more than enough.”

  “Why, planning to kick me out and party?” Will teases.

  I give a weak laugh. “More like set up camp here on the couch and watch Bravo.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Will kicks his feet up on the coffee table again and reaches for the remote. He catches my eye. “And no, I don’t have anywhere more important to be. Here is just fine with me.”

  He puts the TV on, and I slowly finish the rest of my soup, relaxing. Despite everything, it’s nice having him here. He’s so strong, and stable, and capable. When was the last time a guy came and made me soup?

  How about never.

  I put the tray aside and snuggle deeper into the couch. I feel a little better, but my throat still hurts, and my head is aching. Will pats his lap, so I swing my feet up, laying almost horizontal. I let out another whimper, almost disappearing into my blankets. “I hate being sick.”

  “I’d never have guessed.” Will grins, casually starting to rub my feet.

  Mmm, that feels good.

  “I guess at least I won’t have to go to dinner with my parents,” I sigh, trying to look on the bright side.

  “What’s wrong with that?” he asks.

  I pause, realizing I’ve revealed too much. “Just . . . I hate watching them pretend like everything’s great, that’s all,” I answer at last. Will looks curious, but I shake my head, already regretting mentioning it at all. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you some other time.”

  “Alright,” he says, not pushing. He beckons to me. “Come here.”

  “I’m going to get germs all over you,” I warn, and he laughs.

  “Do your worst.”

  I’m tired now, and his arms look too inviting, so I give up my protests and swivel around, moving so I’m snuggled against him, lying in his arms.

  God, it feels good. I exhale with a sigh, resting my head against his chest, relaxing into the warmth of his soft embrace. Will gently strokes my hair as the TV plays in a blur across the room. I feel sleep taking over me again, and through the lull, I feel a sudden wave of envy for my friend Eva, having this with her fiancé all the time. Is this what it feels like to be taken care of? To be held like this, to fit just right in the crook of his shoulder, his hand smoothing softly over my hair.

  Is this what it would feel like to be loved?

  My heart shivers in my chest. It’s just the cough syrup talking, I tell myself, as I drift off to sleep in his arms.

  Eleven.

  Will’s soup has truly miraculous properties, because I wake up the next morning with a clear head and only a slight sniffle left from my sickbed. There’s a note on the table, too:

  You and the bear get your rest. Call me when you feel better. x

  I’m happy to be feeling human again, but this means I have no excuse to avoid the dreaded anniversary dinner. Mom wants us to spend some “girl time” together before the meal, so she picks me up and we head up the coast to Beachwood Bay, another pretty town on the water, to get our hair done before meeting Dad.

  “I’m so glad we have a chance to catch
up,” Mom beams, settled back in the salon chair. “Remember when we used to have our quality time when you were younger, going shopping and getting our nails done? I feel like it’s been ages since we really talked.”

  “You can come visit me too, you know,” I point out. “You only moved a couple of hours away.”

  “I could say the same.” Mom gives me a look as the stylist comes to hover near me.

  “If you wanted, I’ll just give those bangs a trim,” he says hopefully, but I shake my head.

  “Sorry, my friend would kill me.” Lottie is my stylist, and really possessive of her handiwork; once I got a dye job in the city, and she guilt-tripped me for a week. I go pick out some nail polish instead, and settle in the chair beside Mom as they blow out her neat cap of ash blonde hair.

  “How is Lottie doing?” Mom asks. “That boy of hers, I swear, he gets cuter every day.”

  I smile. “And more rebellious. She’s good, I’m trying to get her to date,” I add, soaking my fingertips in the bowl of warm water. “I was thinking of trying to get her and Sawyer together for a while, but I don’t know . . . . They have more of a big brother-little sister vibe going on.”

  “Sawyer, he’s that nice vet, isn’t he?” Mom shoots me a look. “You could do worse than spending some time with him yourself.”

  I check the clock on the wall. “One hour and twenty-two minutes,” I announce. “That’s how long it’s taken you to bug me about my love life.”

  Mom laughs. “Did I really make it so long? I should get a prize.”

  I can’t help giggling too. It really is a lost cause trying to get her to back off and mind her own business. Still, I must be feeling the effects of that cough medicine, because I find myself telling her, “I’m . . . sort of seeing someone.”

  Mom’s head whips around, and right away, I regret the slip. “It’s only been a couple of dates,” I add quickly. If one dinner and a dip in the creek even count as dates. “It’s nothing serious. Honest.”

  “Does ‘nothing serious’ have a name?”

  “Will,” I answer, trying to ignore the curl in my stomach at the thought of him. “Will Montgomery.”

  A smile plays on the edge of Mom’s lips. “And does this Will have a job at all?”

  I flush. “What are we, in an Austen novel? Next thing you’ll be asking about his income and ‘prospects.’ ”

  “That depends if he has any.” Mom smiles. “Oh hush, I’ll mind my own business. But I thought you were looking peppier than usual.”

  “It’s called under-eye concealer,” I reply, embarrassed. “Like I said, it’s early.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t know,” Mom replies. “I knew right from my first date with your father he would be the one for me.” She gets a faraway smile, telling me about their date for what must be the hundredth time. I feel a pang, watching her, and I wonder if she’s trying to convince herself, or if she still really believes it—that his betrayal was a blip in the grand love story of their lives. She may have moved on, but every time she brings up their happiness, I can’t help remembering—and it’s only going to get worse, once we’re all at dinner together.

  They finish up her hair, and she goes to change out of her robe. My phone buzzes with a text; it’s Will.

  How’s the bear?

  SAVE ME, I text back, about to write more when Mom appears again.

  “Is that him?” She tries to look over my shoulder at my phone. “It is, I can tell from that goofy smile. What’s he doing?”

  “Nothing!” I shove my phone back in my bag. “And it wasn’t him,” I lie, “it was . . . a client. And I don’t have a goofy smile.”

  “Of course you don’t, sweetheart.” Mom pats my arm like she doesn’t believe me. “I just talked to your father, he’s on his way. We’ve got some more time before our reservation,” she adds. “How about we walk around and do a little shopping? There are some cute stores here.”

  I nod, glad to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. “Whatever you want, Mom. It’s your day.”

  We browse around town for a while, then go meet my dad at the restaurant at seven. It’s a rustic, relaxed place with gorgeous views overlooking the water. “Here are my girls,” he greets us, beaming. “Don’t you both look pretty tonight?”

  “Hi, Dad.” I accept his hug. “This place looks great, is it new?”

  “They just opened,” Dad tells us, as we’re led to our table. “The owner has another one in the city. Your mom and I have eaten there before, and it’s always delicious.”

  “Sounds great!” I take my seat, determined to stay upbeat. Just because I’m not comfortable doesn’t mean I’m going to sulk like a teenager for the rest of the night. Let my parents play pretend all they like, I’m going to smile and nod—and drink.

  I catch the waiter’s eye. “A bottle of wine, for the table?” I suggest, and Mom happily agrees.

  “Mmm, everything looks wonderful,” she says, looking at the menu. She reaches across and squeezes Dad’s hand. “Thank you for picking this place.”

  “I wanted something special for my girls.” He smiles back at her. “It’s not every day we get to celebrate twenty-five wonderful years together.”

  The waiter returns with the wine and pours me a glass. “Oh no, keep going,” I tell him when he pauses. “All the way to the top.”

  I take a gulp, reminding myself again: cheery and upbeat, for Mom’s sake at least. “How are things with work?” I ask, steering for safe, neutral ground. He’s been in insurance for thirty years now, and always has funny stories about the things people try to claim.

  Dad gives a wry smile. “The usual. We’ve got a new investigator in, and she’s turning up dodgy claims all over the shop. One guy filed for ten thousand dollars, said his rare comic book collection had been stolen; it turns out, his girlfriend burned the whole lot up in smoke after he broke things off!”

  I laugh. “That’ll teach him.”

  “Luckily for us, he only had them covered for theft, not acts of revenge,” Dad adds, smiling. “I didn’t realize those things could be so valuable.”

  “Oh yeah, I knew a guy in college, he kept them all in the original wrappers, wouldn’t even take them out to read.” I shake my head at the memory. “I took one off the shelf to look once, and he practically had a fit.”

  “Why don’t you tell your father about your new man?” Mom interrupts. “Dee’s seeing someone,” she tells him meaningfully.

  Dad looks surprised. “You are? That’s wonderful. Will we get to meet him?” he asks, and I gulp. How about never?

  “It’s early days,” I say quickly. “Maybe later.”

  Way later.

  “Well, I hope everything works out,” Dad says. “Who knows? If you’re lucky, you might just find yourself out to dinner one day in the future, celebrating like this.”

  He beams at Mom. She beams back. I take another gulp of wine, miserable. This is going to be a long night.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Before I can register the familiar drawl, I feel a reassuring hand on my shoulder, and then, somehow, Will is standing by the table, dressed smartly in a button-down and good pants.

  I blink. I haven’t had that much wine, so how . . . ?

  “William Wyatt Montgomery, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says, already reaching to shake my father’s hand, and kiss my mother on the cheek. “And congratulations on the anniversary. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it in time, I hope you didn’t wait.”

  “No, Dee didn’t even say you were coming.” Mom looks delighted. I manage a smile.

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” I cover quickly, shooting Will a confused look. “Umm, surprise!”

  “It certainly is,” Mom gushes. “Come, sit, let’s get another chair. You’re right on time, we haven’t even ordered yet.”

  “Perfect.” Will takes a seat at the hurriedly-added place beside me. He gives me a questioning smile. “You doing OK?”
he asks, and suddenly, I am. Just like that, I’m not alone in this.

  He’s on my team.

  My tension unknots, and I relax, reaching to take his hand under the table. I don’t know how he wound up here, but I’m glad to see him. I squeeze, and Will squeezes back.

  “Delilah was just about to tell us what you do for work,” Mom starts brightly.

  “Mom,” I start, warning, but Will chuckles.

  “That’s alright. I’m in the middle of a career change. I worked up on Wall Street, but now I’m starting a new business, hand-crafting furniture.”

  “Wall Street,” Mom echoes, looking pleased.

  “Oh look, time to order,” I interrupt, waving the server over before she can quiz him about his 401k. “Better decide what you want.”

  Mom starts deliberating, and I take the chance to lean in closer to Will. “How did you know where we were?” I whisper, catching a breath of his familiar scent.

  “Lottie told me. I figured you could use the back-up.” His eyes are flecked gold in the candlelight, full of reassurance, and right now, I could gladly lose myself in them and never come up for air.

  “Thank you,” I breathe, feeling overwhelmed with relief—and something else, something that tugs and shimmers in my chest. I try to pull it together, covering with a smile. “Seriously. You’re saving my liver some serious damage.”

  Will flashes that heart-stopping smile. “Anytime.”

  We order, and too soon, Mom is back to quizzing Will about his career, family, and everything else under the sun. I try to move the conversation to other things, but the third degree continues even after they bring our food. It’s delicious, but I can’t focus, I’m too busy trying to run interference—and checking anxiously if Will is getting tired of their enthusiastic questions. Maybe this is my fault: if I’d brought other guys to meet them before, maybe they wouldn’t be piling on like this, but to my relief, Will seems perfectly at ease, talking business with my dad and fending off questions from my mom about his family and whether he loves kids.