Speak From The Heart: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  He doesn’t answer me but shifts so quickly he startles me. He places one bag on the glass coffee table and withdraws from it a plastic wrap-covered paper plate with a giant piece of cake on it. Next, he withdraws two plastic forks, holding them upright like he’s modeling them. “I want cake.”

  Too bad.

  “I saved my first taste for you,” he adds while looking at my mouth. His voice dips, and my core clenches. He’s rather playful this evening, which is so unlike him. He reaches for the second bag and pulls out a bottle of wine, plus an opener.

  Michigan white zinfandel. “My favorite,” I comment.

  “Somehow, I knew you’d like it sweet.”

  I can do sweet. I can also do fast and hard, and suddenly, my libido is in overdrive. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, and I want this troubled someone sitting beside me. I shift to my side, cross my legs awkwardly to calm the rapid beat between them, and take a proffered fork. I’m wearing a cherry red T-shirt dress which slips up my thigh at my movement and exposes bare skin, which Jess does not miss. His eyes eagerly roam my thigh before he holds the cake plate between us.

  “Happy Birthday,” I whisper before slicing off a bite and slipping it into my mouth. Jess watches my movements, and I might take a moment longer than necessary to savor the creamy frosting melting on my tongue. Finally dragging the fork forward, I lick my lips as if they might have a lingering crumb. Jess continues to watch each motion, and I observe him swallow.

  Rousing himself from his daze, he cuts his own forkful, and shoves it into his mouth. His eyes keep their hold on mine, but his jaw moves in a way that suggests he’d devour me if those lips moved over my skin, if they dipped between my thighs. My fingers curl around the fork as if the small disposable utensil could be any defense against this man.

  He’s dangerous for my heart, but I want his body more than anything.

  Reaching for the wine next, he distracts himself by peeling back the wrap on the neck and popping the cork.

  “Glasses?” I question, noting his bag of treats looks empty.

  “We’ll just share. You first.” He hands me the bottle, and I do something I haven’t done since I was underage. I drink straight from the bottle, taking a long pull as I stare at him over the neck. Holding his gaze. Swallowing deep. This is how I’d take him. My mouth around his tip. My tongue swirling. My chest heaving.

  He holds out a hand for the bottle, and once I hand it to him, he runs his tongue around the circular opening, watching me before his mouth closes over the lip. When he tips it back, I know this is how he’d savor me. He’d guzzle and gulp, lapping up every drop.

  My fingers twitch to fan my face. I’m suddenly too warm.

  “Uh. Too sweet for me,” he says, breaking up my naughty thoughts when he finishes his swig, and I chuckle.

  “Prefer it a little rougher, do you?” Has my voice dropped? Why am I speaking like this? What am I asking him?

  His eyes dance and I learn a playful Jess is a dangerous Jess. He wiggles his brows, something I’ve never seen him do, and I laugh harder. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not enough,” he mutters, and I wonder what he means.

  “Rough day?”

  “Rough year,” he quickly states and then clarifies with an emphasis on the last letter. “Years.”

  My bent elbow rests on the cushion, and I place my temple against my fist so I don’t reach for him to comfort his weary spirit.

  “What happened?” I question, keeping my voice low.

  “Everything.” He sighs. He’s fallen back so his head rests on the cushions, holding the wine in his lap. The cake plate rests between us on the couch. He stares up at the ceiling when he speaks. “My dad. Debbie. Katie.”

  “Your dad died,” I say although I don’t know why I’m clarifying something he’s already told me.

  “Hit and run by a drunk driver as he was walking home from the Tavern.”

  “Oh my God, Jess, I’m so sorry.” My arm drops from the cushion, and I do reach out for him. My thumb strokes over the heat of his forearm. He’s wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops and has his hair back in his signature ponytail but no bandana. The way I’m brushing my thumb against his arm feels like a continuous prickling of my finger. Like I can’t seem to withdraw myself from the shock, so it happens over and over again.

  Jess sits forward, breaking the touch. He pulls the wine bottle to his lips and takes another long pull despite his claims he doesn’t appreciate the flavor. I process what he’s just said, and suddenly, it makes sense why he didn’t want me to walk home alone a week ago.

  “When did it happen?”

  “Just shy of two years ago. My mother was in shock, as we all were. I’d been struggling to keep it together with Katie. The shop was passed to Tom and me, and I decided to come home.” He exhales and hands the bottle to me, but drinking this way seems celebratory, and there’s nothing to celebrate in what he’s just told me. “I never thought I’d be back. Not like this, anyway.”

  There’s a heaviness in his tone as his elbows rest on his thighs. His head hangs forward.

  “Got a dream, Emily?” he questions me, and I’m taken aback at the quick shift in this conversation.

  “I always wanted to be a journalist, and I am. But I wanted to write stories of interest, not just report the facts. It was fine when I started. I needed to get my feet wet, but over time . . .” I shrug. “It just doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did.”

  He nods in understanding. “I always knew I wanted to be an engineer. Be more than my dad working at a repair shop. I was on my way, but I’d been hit one too many times between Debbie, Katie, and then my father’s death.” He half smiles, not wanting my sympathy, and I don’t pity him. I understand. “I love this town. I love my family even more. It just seemed like the right decision to return.”

  I don’t know why he’s sharing these things with me or explaining his history, but I appreciate learning his past.

  “It’s been hard for me. I love this house and Nana, but I need to make decisions for her, about her, and I don’t like feeling helpless.”

  “Because you’re so efficient,” he teases, looking at me over his shoulder, elbows still resting on his knees. He looks lost, and I feel like I understand him on some deeper level. Like there is a bone-deep frustration because he wanted certain things in life, and they just didn’t pan out. His marriage. His career. My frustration is due to the string of endless relationships, and because I’ve constantly been passed over for someone else—both in those relationships and in my work.

  When will I be enough?

  “You won’t stay,” he mutters, his voice low.

  “Why would you say that?” I’m sitting across from him with the same question. Should I stay longer? I can’t just leave Nana. There’s so much still to be done, but on top of that, I don’t feel a rush to go home, to my home.

  What’s there for me? Certainly not a house in need of repair. Nor is there a hominess to my place or even a sense of purpose in my work. Most of all, there isn’t a Katie to teach sign language to and a Jess Carter to fight with.

  God, I wish he’d kiss me. I wish just once I’d be good enough for someone to beg me to stay.

  Only it’s not my birthday. I don’t get the wishes tonight.

  Jess reaches for the cake plate, moves it from the cushion to the glass table, and falls back on the couch again. “You’d suffocate here.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say defensively even though I’m not certain he’s wrong.

  Shifting on my seat, I reach for the wine and take another pull directly from the bottle. My eyes aim forward to Nana’s dining room when tender fingers tickle my cheek, and he brushes back my hair, curling it around my ear, teasing the lobe.

  “What are you really doing here tonight?” If he’s only come to pick a fight with me, I’m not interested. My mind is too full to argue.

  “I came here for birthday kisses,” he mutters, and I
turn my head to face him. My fingers circle the bottle, clutching it for support, but Jess takes it from me and sets it back on the table.

  “Don’t you mean birthday wishes?” What does he wish for?

  “No, I mean kisses.”

  “What about that Sami woman?” He’s probably already shared kisses with her earlier. But if that’s the case, then what’s he doing here?

  “Talked to her tonight and set her straight,” he says, his eyes holding mine. I should ask what he set her straight about. He’s not making any declarations to me, but I’m so caught up in the heat of his eyes that I don’t ask. The tension crackles between us like waves of an electric current, and the energy flows like a living thing.

  I’m not certain who moves first.

  In one second, his hands cup my jaw, and in the next, mine are in his hair, tugging it free of that signature ponytail. Our mouths clash, savoring the wine lingering on each other’s lips—sucking, licking, and tugging.

  I willingly fall when I’m pressed back. This is what I want. This is what I need. I want this man between my thighs, and I shift my legs to allow him to settle against me. My dress rises, the lightweight material no match for the width of his hips.

  “We should probably stop,” he mutters, but he returns to kissing me, lining his body up with mine. My hands move to his shoulder blades, and I pull him close, holding him to me.

  “Probably,” I mumble against his mouth, but I don’t release him. A heavy length meets my core, and he rocks forward. The force makes my head fall back, breaking the connection between our lips only for a second, and then he’s kissing down my neck.

  “You aren’t staying,” he whispers into my skin, taking his time and using open-mouthed suction along my throat to my shoulder.

  “Probably not.” I exhale as his mouth finds my trigger spot—the juncture of my neck at my clavicle. I groan as he nips me, and his hand slides down my side, outlining the swell of my breast, the curve of my waist, and the roundness of my hip. His fingers wrap around my thigh, hitching my leg higher, opening me up to him. He sets a pace of slow thrusting, the thick bulge keeping time with the pulse in my core. Cool air hits my thighs as his fingers make their way over my skin, heading toward my center when I hear a heavy scrape over my head.

  I still.

  “What?” Jess says, continuing to pepper my skin with his warm mouth, but he’s sensed my hesitation.

  “Upstairs. I heard a noise.”

  Jess softly chuckles. “Little old to be worried about being caught making out on a couch.” I’d laugh if I didn’t hear the noise again. Furniture dragging over a wood floor.

  “It’s not that. It’s Nana.”

  Jess stops and pulls back as my hands come to his shoulder, gently pushing him away from me. “I need to check on her. I’m so sorry.” He throws himself back on the cushions, allowing me to disentangle my legs. My knees give as I stand. I was so close to the promised land, but the noise above has unnerved me. The anxiety of what she could be doing causes me to race for the stairs. To my surprise, Nana stands at the top.

  “Nana,” I call out softly. I’m afraid I’ll frighten her, yet I’m frightened myself. I step over to the first stair and watch my grandmother quickly make it down three. She holds the front of her nightgown in her fist, lifting the weight of it like a princess descending the stairs.

  “Nana, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice quivering as I watch her walk down the staircase. A presence at my back warns me Jess has heard the concern in my voice, and he stands near the bottom step.

  “Emily,” he whispers, but I don’t look at him. I can’t take my focus off Nana. What is she doing?

  “I’m going to him,” she says. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Nana, you aren’t going anywhere,” I say, but this dials up the determination in her face. With her silver hair loose and wild, missing its nightly curlers, her expression screams defiance.

  “You will not hold me back.”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about, and I hear the question in my name from Jess at my back. His deep voice draws my grandmother’s attention.

  “You can’t have him.”

  My brows pinch. Does she mean Jess? Does she mean I can’t have him? Dear God, she’s not making sense.

  “Who, Nana? Who can’t I have?”

  “John. He loves me,” Nana hisses as she continues down the steps. I move as if to meet her in the middle until a hand circles my wrist.

  “How does she know my name?”

  I turn my head, only for a second. “Your name is John?”

  “My full name is John James. Jess is a nickname.” I barely start to process this when I look up just as Nana’s foot misses a step. The thump resonates around me, and I cry out as I reach for her. Instantly, I’m tugged backward at the same time, and I helplessly watch as Nana tumbles toward me. I’m pushed to the side at the same time Nana crashes to the bottom of the staircase. Jess reaches out as though he intended to catch her, but her fall was too fast even though it appeared to happen frame by frame.

  I scream, dropping to my knees beside her.

  “Don’t touch her,” Jess warns. “She might have broken something.”

  Nana lays in an awkward position, and I just know it’s bad. Sobs choke me, and tears stream down my face, but I ignore them, continuing to call out her name as if she can hear me.

  I don’t move, but I sense Jess speaking to someone. Then he’s talking to me, but I don’t hear him.

  Birthday wishes?

  Please. Please God, don’t let this be the end.

  Rule 10

  Words of wisdom are never late.

  [Emily]

  The next few hours are a blur. I accompany Nana in the ambulance, and the ride feels like it takes forever because the closest hospital is three towns over. Joe Carpenter arrived on the scene and promised to follow me with Jess. I don’t know why he’s coming, and I don’t think about it again until I find him in the waiting room. They won’t let me stay with Nana while they run the initial tests.

  Possible hip fracture.

  Definitely cracked ribs.

  Broken arm.

  Concern for internal organs.

  I need to call Grace, is my first thought, but it’s the last thing I want to do. She’s pregnant. She doesn’t need this stress.

  As I near the waiting area, Jess stands. His face is wiped of all color. He moves as if to wrap me in his arms, but for some reason, I don’t want his touch. I don’t want his sympathy. I can’t melt into someone like him. Solid. Good. Permanent.

  “You aren’t staying,” he’d said against my mouth, like he wasn’t just confirming my schedule but wanted me to go.

  Yet you still kissed him, Emily.

  My body is so traitorous. The cells of my skin tingle like sparks and flashes of electricity, but I don’t have the energy to connect. I need to hold myself together. It’s what I do best.

  “Because you’re efficient,” he’d say.

  Because if I don’t, I’ll break.

  If I think too much on all that I don’t have, I might fracture. Like a broken vase held together with glue, I try to keep the jagged pieces connected as best I can.

  I might be passed up for the next position at City’s Edge.

  I might not get that story I want so bad.

  I might never find a man who wants me first.

  Jess stares at me, his face pleading with mine, but I don’t know what he wants from me. I have nothing to offer. It’s been the case so many times. I’m good but not good enough.

  “They’re admitting Nana.” It’s all I say.

  “What can I do?” he whispers, and I want to list the many things, none of which I’d ever share with him.

  Love me. Keep me.

  I shake my head. “I need to call my sister.” And my boss. There’s no way I’m leaving now.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. If we hadn’t been—”

  It wasn’t supposed to happen
. That’s where he’s leading. If we hadn’t been making out like hungry teens, I might have heard her earlier. I might have sensed her moving around. I might have caught her at the top of the stairs instead of watching her fall down them.

  “Why did you grab me?” Agitation fills my voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You shoved me to the side. I could have stopped her fall.”

  “She would have crushed you,” Jess hisses with concern.

  “I could have broken her fall.”

  “At what expense? She would have hurt you as well.”

  “Well, I’d prefer that to this.” I wave out a hand, indicating where we stand.

  “Emily,” Joe Carpenter’s authoritative voice interjects. “Jess is right. Elizabeth could have hurt you had you stood in her way. It could have been even worse for her. The EMTs think it’s a solid break at the hip. They don’t see any neck injury, so now it’s only a matter of checking her head.”

  Her head. She’s already not quite right there.

  “Which means she could have a concussion or worse,” I snap.

  “I know you’re upset,” Joe states firmly. With his fire chief voice, he continues, “Let’s take a seat.”

  “I don’t want to sit down,” I stammer, sounding like a petulant child. “I-I need a minute.” Turning on my heels, I head down the hall. I disappear around a corner and quickly realize I’ve come to a dead end. Pressing my back against the wall, I take several deep breaths, spin around, and lay my forehead on the wallpaper. I notice a piece coming unfurled near the handrail.

  My thoughts scatter with nothing specific in my head when I feel hands on my hips. I spin, despite the familiarity of his touch. I know it’s him, yet I’m ready to snap like he’s a stranger, unauthorized to touch me. But once I twist, I can’t help myself. My arms lift and I wrap them around his neck, tugging him to me as I clutch at him.

  I can’t lose him next.

  It’s the strangest thought but not entirely unwarranted. My father left when I was a child. My mother died when I was twelve. Grace moved away. Grandpa passed away ten years ago, and now this. Losing Nana would be the last straw. I don’t want to lose any more people from my life.