Written on Her Heart

by Paige Rion

  She hauled the heavy shopping bags from the local Office Express to her car. Sweat beaded her brow and rolled down the back of her hair, which seemed to act as an insulator for the eternal damned.

  She thought of the blessedly cool water of the cove as she placed the supplies in her trunk, then moved around to the front to get in. She opened her door, lifting her gaze, and spotted Ford across the street. She ducked her head inside, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

  Ford hurried toward old Mrs. McGreery, who hobbled along, struggling with her shopping bags as she tried to find a way to use her cane while walking to her car. He reached her as she stumbled and took the bags from her wrinkled, liver spotted hands. She turned to him and smiled, patting her feathery white hair as she spoke. Ford beamed at her, balancing her bags in the crook of his arm while helping her walk with the other. Laughing at something she said, he glanced up to see Andi watching him. His smile fell, and Andi whipped her gaze away from him. Forcing herself not to glance back at him, she started her car and returned to the office.

  In the middle of the week, Ford had Andi doing research, wading through what felt like thousands of old newspaper articles at the library. It was as if he couldn’t stand to be in the office alone with her, but she sucked it up and did what he asked of her. Because a part of her couldn’t stand it, either. Every time she saw him, she thought of the cove and wondered about the kiss.

  She brought her printouts to the reference desk at the library to pay, but the employee had slipped into the little office just behind the counter and was talking with a coworker. Sighing, Andi glanced at her watch and resigned herself to waiting. She really didn’t mind, anyway. If she took long enough, she could return to the office, drop off the paperwork and head for home.

  The muffled voices of the two women leeched out to where she stood, despite their best efforts to talk quietly, and Andi found herself listening, if for no reason other than to occupy herself while she waited.

  “I heard they may need to sell everything,” the woman said. “And I heard it’s Mrs. Beaumont who’s responsible.”

  Andi’s ears perked, hearing the reference to Rachel’s mother. She angled herself closer to the desk, leaning forward so she could hear better.

  The other woman snorted. “Too many lunches at the club?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “Spill!”

  “Gambling,” the woman declared. “From what I’ve heard, it started with trips she and the mayor would take together to the casinos in Cleveland. Well, he wasn’t the mayor then, but once he made office, he became busier and too political to go, so he stopped. And then he hardly had time for her anymore and I heard she wasn’t so quick to put on the brakes.”

  “No,” the other woman breathed. “How scandalous.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Andi’s hand slipped, knocking a stack of books to the ground with a thud. “Oh, I think you have the Callaway girl waiting for you,” the non-employee said.

  Andi gathered the books up and shot to her feet as the employee appeared in front of her. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I just need to pay for these papers I printed.”

  She waited as the woman checked her out, then practically leapt out of the library into the sunshine. She walked swiftly toward the center of town, her legs and arms pumping as quickly as her thoughts.

  She stared at the ground as she tried to make sense of what she had just overheard. Rachel’s mother, a gambler? Andi shook her head. Somehow the image of Mrs. Beaumont with her perfectly coiffed hair, designer clothes and manicured fingers playing blackjack didn’t exactly fit, but…

  What was the first thing they’d said? Andi bit the inside of her cheek, trying to remember. I heard they may need to sell everything. The women had clearly implied that the Beaumonts were in serious financial trouble, and according to them, it was due to Rachel’s mother’s gambling habit.

  If that’s true, could it have anything to do with Rachel’s persistence with Ford?

  Maybe you don’t know my family as well as you think you do. Rachel’s words from the day at her house echoed in Andi’s head.

  She frowned, halting when she came to a crowd, nearly smacking right into a little boy. She glanced up and noted she was just outside Peach’s, the local ice cream shop.

  A huge group of kids were gathered in a giant mass on the sidewalk outside, swarming like bees in a hive. Some held cones, licking them with fervor and abandon only children could, while others were being handed theirs through the takeout window.

  Andi smiled at a little girl with a chocolate mustache and was stepping around the children onto the street to get past when she noticed Ford. Stunned, she watched as he took a round of orders from another group of kids dressed in baseball uniforms, then went to the window and rattled off more orders.

  “Anyone else?” he asked as he turned around. He caught her eye, glanced away, then turned back to the window and paid.

  #

  What is wrong with me?

  Andi stared at the blank computer screen. The cursor pulsated on the stark white page, mocking her.

  She shook her head, knowing exactly what was wrong. Ms. Perry had returned to the office last week, but her new routine with Ford hadn’t changed as she’d thought it would. She had mistakenly assumed Ford had been more distant at least partly due to the absence of a third party as a buffer. But that turned out not to be the case, as the monotonous, time consuming, and menial tasks continued through the following week, with little face-to-face direction from Ford.

  Rachel had showed up, more often than not, since Ms. Perry’s return, to have lunch with Ford, only amplifying Andi’s newly acquired anxiety. It had been two weeks since Ford told her his agent wanted to read her manuscript and yet she couldn’t seem to finish the last chapter. What usually came naturally to her seemed a monumental task. The words just wouldn’t come, and she felt more pressure than ever to get it right.

  When Ford didn’t have her racing around town, he gave her completed chapters of his new book to type. His writing struck her and pulled her in, just as it always had, except now she found herself scrutinizing every word, every page for truth. She questioned whether the main character’s love interest, a blond socialite, was fashioned after Rachel, or if the famous artist, with his raw passion and charisma, was in some way a part of Ford. Then she would set the pages aside, disgusted with herself that she was doing exactly what every other person who now read Ford’s books did. She didn’t want to be like them. Because she knew the real Ford. She saw him that first week. Really saw him, and she noticed things about him when he wasn’t paying attention. As she had last week, when he’d asked Andi to help him with some of the arrangements for a huge charity event dedicated to eradicating illiteracy in adults, or when she’d seen him helping old Mrs. McGreery, or buying half the town’s children ice cream.

  Every time her mind drifted, instead of focusing on her story, she wondered about Ford. Whether he had given any thought about talking to the press. She wondered about his mother and whether he had located her yet. She thought about Rachel every time she came around, wishing she knew what exactly was going on between them. And while she had asked Ford for a professional-only relationship, by Friday of the second week, his silence had become excruciating.

  But worst of all—worse than him not talking to her about anything other than work in a clipped tone, or his going out with Rachel—she couldn’t stop thinking about that morning at the cove … that kiss.

  Had it been real? Had it been a dream? She still had no idea, and despite attempts at reconciling herself to the idea that she’d imagined it, she still wasn’t convinced. Every time she lay down to sleep, the sensation of his mouth—the hint of maple syrup on his breath and the warmth of his touch—struck with the efficiency of a ball-peen hammer.

  She growled and pushed away from her computer. She wasn’t getting anywhere. Besides, it was about time to get ready for her
date with Peter. She’d just have to finish her scene later.

  An hour later, Andi sat across from Peter at The Windy Willow. She picked at her roll, putting tiny pieces into her mouth, one at a time. She wasn’t hungry, and though she should have been completely invested in their date, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. They had gotten along since their last fight and seemed back to normal.

  Then why did a soft blanket and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream sound like a better idea than being on their date?

  “I don’t get it,” she muttered, forgetting herself.

  “What?” Peter frowned. “I actually think a study on the habituation of arousal in humans will prove to be a great contribution to not only the psychological community, but to the population at large. If we can figure out why people get tired in relationships, unaroused, uninterested—”

  Andi forced a smile and put her hand up. “No, sorry. I was just thinking about … I was distracted.”

  She glanced down to the pile of tiny dough balls where her roll used to be, disgusted with herself. “Gah. I’m sorry. Here you are, wanting to talk about your experiment because you’re excited and things are going well for you, and I’m not giving you the attention I should.”

  “It’s okay.” He cleared his throat and laughed, but the tension in his expression remained. “Things still aren’t great with Rachel, are they?”

  Andi shrugged, saying nothing, but when Peter raised a brow, she conceded. “Not really. They’re okay, but we haven’t talked for a couple weeks.” Since I threw her in the pool.

  “I’m sure things will get better. The job is new yet, and you even said things have settled down in the last couple weeks. You just need to work through this thing with her.”

  Her thoughts went to the conversation from the library. “Yeah, I know. We’ve had our stupid fights before where we didn’t talk and then days later, we’d be back to normal. I’m sure this will be no different.” Though even as she said it, she doubted the truth of it. Especially if what she overheard at the library was true and that was why Rachel was so desperate to take Ford and her job.

  He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, his skin warm and smooth as he enveloped it in his own. A flash of Ford, his hands damp and cold from the lake, touching her face and intertwining their fingers ricocheted through her like a bullet, setting all her nerve endings on fire, and all she could do to defend herself from the image was close her eyes.

  When she opened them, Peter read her expression wrong, which only added fuel to the pyre of her guilt. “I want to be there for you. No matter how crazy I think taking this job was. I’m sorry you had a bad day. Please relax, though. Let’s enjoy this dinner. Maybe go back to my place after…” He grinned and squeezed her hand.

  Andi softened, sinking back into her seat. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

  “I was going more for amazing, incredible, mind-blowing. But I guess I’ll take nice.”

  Andi laughed. “It does sound incredible.”

  If only I could relax and stop thinking about Ford.

  Andi picked up her wine glass and took the last sip.

  “More wine?” Peter asked.

  Andi lifted her gaze to answer but she froze. Behind him, Ford and Rachel appeared in the entryway. She ducked her head, hoping neither had seen her, but when she dared a peek, Ford’s heated gaze was staring right at her.

  “Andi? What is it?” Peter’s forehead buckled, and he glanced behind him, searching for the source of her attention.

  “Shit. You have got to be kidding me,” he hissed. “Is there only one restaurant in this town?”

  Ford took a step toward them and Andi cringed. But she forced herself to straighten. She would just have to get used to Ford’s ambivalence toward her and his relationship with Rachel. And the sooner, the better.

  Peter scooted his chair back and stood as Ford came to a stop in front of their table. Andi frowned at Rachel, who greeted her with a smug smile.

  “Well, if it isn’t the infamous Ford Delaney.” One side of Peter’s mouth curled, and Andi stiffened.

  Ford looked Peter up and down, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We meet again.” He put a finger to his lower lip and glanced at the ceiling. “What is it? Piper, Preston, Paul…” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes! Peter.”

  Andi glanced over at Peter from under her lashes, but instead of saying something nasty back, he smirked. “Yes, Andi’s boyfriend,” Peter said. “You know what? There’s room for two more at our table and we haven’t ordered our meals yet. Why don’t you two join us?”

  Ford’s gaze flickered to Andi. “That sounds like a good idea, but maybe we should check with Andi first. The last thing I want to do is be unprofessional.”

  Peter narrowed his eyes at him and the way he accentuated the word. Andi shrunk back in her seat as all three pairs of eyes turned on her. She hadn’t told Peter about her talk with Ford. They were weaving through landmines, as it was. The last thing she needed was another bomb to throw in a field full of them. And the last thing she wanted now was to give either Peter or Ford the impression that she couldn’t handle being around her boss.

  Shrugging, she kept her voice even. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Great,” Ford said, pulling a chair out next to Andi.

  Peter put his hand on the chair and stopped him. “Actually, I’ll trade places and sit next to Andi so you can sit next to your date.”

  Ford chuckled softly and moved across from Andi, leaving Rachel to sit across from Peter.

  The waiter appeared at their table. “Mr. Delaney, I’m assuming you two will be joining them?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Can we get a bottle of wine, please?” Andi nodded toward her empty glass, and Ford smirked at her. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes and stick her tongue out like a child.

  Ford glanced at the waiter and said, “Make that two.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on Andi.

  My God, look away! Please stop staring at me. Why, now, did he seem so willing to acknowledge her?

  She bit her lip and tried to think of something to say, anything to break the ice or relieve some of the tension at the table, but she thought of nothing. Reaching up to her collar, she hooked a finger in it, fanning herself with her shirt and eliciting a chuckle from Ford.

  Her hand stilled and her gaze shot to his. She frowned and turned to Peter. Leaning into him, she half whispered, half hissed into his ear. “What were you thinking, inviting them to sit with us?”

  “I wanted to make amends and show you my support. Besides, I think it’s good he see us together. And maybe I need to know more about the man you’re stuck with in an office by yourself all day.”

  Andi rolled her eyes so Peter couldn’t see. She leaned back into her chair and tried to relax, reasoning with herself that maybe this would somehow benefit them all. What if Peter and Ford hit it off? To have Peter’s full support in her endeavors would certainly help put her at ease. And maybe if Ford saw that Peter was truly a good man, he’d … what? What was she hoping for?

  The waiter returned with the wine, and Andi had to stop herself from jumping up and kissing him. Already she felt the muscles in her back loosen. He poured her a glass, then asked if everyone was ready to order. Someone must have confirmed that they were because everyone started rattling off orders. When it was her turn, she had no idea what she wanted because she had been too preoccupied to read the menu, so she simply pointed to the first thing.

  After the waiter left, Peter’s forehead crinkled and he leaned into her. “Veal? I thought you had a thing against eating baby cows?”

  Crap. “Um, yeah. I do...but, er…”

  “It’s research.”

  Andi glanced up, her eyes widening at the unexpected sound of Ford’s voice.

  “One of her main characters owns a restaurant, so she’s trying different things,” he added.

  “Really?” Peter eyed her.

  “U
h, yeah.” She shrugged, knowing the confirmation was like an admission to Ford that Peter knew nothing about her current manuscript, since Ford had read the entire thing and knew there was no truth to his story.

  Peter seemed to accept the explanation, though, and said nothing else about it as he poured himself a glass of wine. Andi dared a glance at Ford, who winked at her and mouthed, You’re welcome. Glaring at him, she took a huge sip of her wine. Then another.

  Ford toyed with his own glass as he spoke. “You know, Andi, I’m glad we ran into you because I’ve been thinking about something. After I submit your manuscript to my agent, when she takes you on and starts querying publishers, which I know she will—”

  “You gave him your book to read?” Peter turned to her, the betrayal in his tone clear. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  Oops. She swallowed. “Well, I didn’t give it to him, exactly. I had it at work and he stumbled across it. I was going to tell you, but the last couple weeks have been hectic, and I’ve been so stressed about finishing the last chapter, and you were talking about your research, and I just didn’t get the chance…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

  “It’s brilliant,” Ford said, his voice chipper, as if there were no tension at the table. “You should read it sometime.”

  Andi felt Peter stiffen in the booth next to her, and in that moment, she wanted to throttle Ford.

  “Who says I haven’t?” Peter eyes flashed.

  Ford shrugged, his gaze landing on Andi. “Call it a premonition.”

  “I see,” Peter said, toying with a loose thread on the tablecloth.

  Andi turned to him. “I didn’t—” she started to say, but Peter raised his hand.

  “It’s fine,” he said and took a long sip of his wine just as the waiter appeared with their food.

  Grateful for the distraction, Andi took a small bite of her mashed potatoes, praying the men would do the same and conversation would cease.

  “Anyway—” Ford said, cutting into his steak.

  No such luck.

  “—I think we should be seen together. We need to go to various outings and events where the press will be. Because they’re trying to get to me like a pack of hungry dogs right now, they’ll want to know who you are. We’ll tell them, and publishers will be knocking down doors to publish your book. They won’t pass up free press and advertising like that.”