Sacred Hart (8 page)

“Maybe.”

I pulled my ponytail tighter and looked up at him from under my lashes. “That’s not a no… I’ll hold you to it,” I said, and he shook his head with a grin. “Let’s go, Honey.”

“See you next Sunday?” Ryan tugged at the collar of Beth’s jacket.

“Will you have more of that dough stuff?” she asked and grabbed my hand.

“Sure.” He gave her a nod before he brought his eyes to mine.

The air between us was heavy with the weight of his gaze. I didn’t want to break it; I wanted him to look at me like this, with need, with something other than the sadness that seemed to reside under the surface all the time. His jaw pulsed, and he lifted his hand taking a loose piece of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He placed the strand behind my ear, letting his thumb briefly graze the skin on my neck. My eyes closed automatically, and I stood still breathing in his scent.

My eyes reluctantly opened and when I looked into his, I saw the conflict, the panic as it fought against the desire.

He took a step back, and his lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Ryan?”

“I’ll see you next week, Maggie.” He backed up further, and it was then I noticed his hands were balled into fists.

He was closing up. He was shutting down.

He was letting the fear win.

The multi-colored lights reflected off the ceiling creating a warmth in my chest and a pattern of shadows on the wall. The Florida humidity made it too hot to feel like Christmas, but as soon as I walked through my front door, my lips spread into a huge grin. The tree was perfect. The house smelled like apple pie, my favorite, and Birdie was laying under the tree playing with the glass bulb ornaments. Her tiny feet wriggled from underneath the branches, and her light laughter made me chuckle. I snuck closer to her; she should be getting ready for bed, but I was grateful I could say goodnight.

I’d picked up a second job working at the delivery dock of one of the local department stores to earn extra money for the holidays. It was past nine p.m. on Christmas Eve, and I had hoped Sarah kept Belle awake for me. I was pleased she had. I knelt down in my dirty jeans and slowly moved closer to my little girl. I pinched her toe gently, and she squealed.

“Daddy.” She rolled to her side and crawled over to me at record speed. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, and I kissed her on the cheek.

“Hey, Birdie.” I laughed, and she squeezed me tighter.

Sarah came around the corner from the kitchen, her smile small and her hand wringing in a dish towel. “You’re late.” She shook her head and my smile fell. “I made pie for tomorrow, apple.” The right corner of her mouth lifted again as I stood.

Belle sat on my hip as I leaned in and kissed Sarah. “Thanks, baby.” I brought my forehead to hers. “Merry Christmas.”

The memory hit me as I pulled the apple pies from the oven. Four pies. The smell of sweet spice and baked fruit saturated the kitchen bringing me back in time. The tight grip of pain in my chest almost made me drop the hot metal tray to the ground. I set the pies on the counter and rested my hands on the cool surface of the worktop. My head hung down as I caught my breath. I closed my eyes and tried to think of Maggie. I tried to picture her and how sometimes her top lip would tremble when she looked at me with a bright smile. The thought of her cheeks and how they would turn that perfect shade of pink whenever I allowed the tempting space between us to dwindle; it calmed me. Her face, her laugh… just having
her
here — it eased the burden, cooled the sting, and stopped the shit storm in my head even if only for a few hours.

The problem was, the more I thought of Maggie, the more all the memories I tried to repress were dredged up. The chasm of space I’d had around me for all these years was getting smaller with every visit. Every time Maggie came to the diner, the lines blurred. And the other day while we sat and ate lunch, my hand rested on her thigh. It felt good, it was real, and I hated that I wanted more of her, more time with Beth. I liked the idea of belonging to someone again, belonging to her — belonging to a family.

I swallowed and opened my eyes; my breath hitched as a sharp twinge in my chest radiated down my arm. I inhaled deeply staving off my panic attack. I couldn’t leave Belle behind like some sad rundown reel of film, as a faint flicker of what I once had. The truth was, my daughter was dead, and I was playing with ghosts. Once Maggie found out I’d attempted to kill a man, once she saw the truth, the violence in my heart — she’d realize what I was. She’d realize I couldn’t give her what she needed, she’d see through the shell, and I didn’t want to witness the fear, witness the disappointment she would inevitably feel.

I shook my head and tried to focus. My headaches had been getting worse, and the Ibuprofen I’d taken earlier hadn’t helped. I moved the pies carefully to a wire rack to cool. The radio started to play a song that Maggie had mentioned was one of her favorites. It had been on one of our Sundays, she’d turned up the volume on the radio and sang along. She didn’t care that her voice was flat, or that Beth had rolled her eyes, or that I was in the room. She took the moment and made it hers. I placed the last pie down and turned the volume up so I could listen to the lyrics this time.

The song was about suffering a loss of love. The guitars were sad, and the female’s voice was fragile. I leaned against the counter and let the rhythm of the drums run down my spine. I closed my eyes and remembered how I’d once had a fire in my heart. I let the numbness fade, and I let myself really feel what I’d been trying to push down.
Need. Longing.
I was still a man, and the man in me wanted Maggie, wanted the small touches to turn into more. My subconscious fed the blood pumping through my veins. It was confusing. I wanted my peace. I wanted to keep my solitude, but with every tease of her skin, every glance, every shared word, it became harder to keep myself in check. I pushed off the counter and turned the music down. The memories, Maggie… it was too much for one day, and I was ready to clean up and go to bed.

The counters were still covered in flour, and I sighed as I grabbed the rag from the sink. The diner was about to close, and I could hear Tony chatting with a straggling customer. His voice carried through the kitchen door, and his laughter made me smile. He balanced his loss so well with his future. I envied him.

The kitchen door swung open. “There’s someone here to see you.” He smirked and raised his left eyebrow conspiratorially.

“Tony, we’re supposed to be closed.” I exhaled. “What do you need?” I wasn’t in the mood for his games. He always tried to sweet talk me into making something for some “starving” customer after hours. Normally, I would shrug it off, but today, I was just too exhausted.

“No.” He laughed. “I’m serious this time. Maggie. She’s out in the diner. She was hoping you were still around. I told her of course you were. I think she likes you.”

I smiled, and Tony’s eyes lit up. “I’ll leave you two alone then. I’m playing pinochle at Bernard’s tonight. I think his wife is sweet on me.”

“Cheryl?” Cheryl Bernard was a local regular. She came in every morning for coffee and a donut… and apparently Tony.

“Her husband is older than dirt.” Tony grinned, and I laughed openly.

“So are you, old man.” I laughed harder as his eyes narrowed. “Not to mention, I’m sure your God frowns upon infidelity.”

“My God?” He huffed. “I’m dragging you to church one of these Sundays.” He pursed his lips and gave the kitchen a quick glance. “Want me to send her back or have her wait out there?”

“Send her back.” My stomach felt light. I hadn’t seen her since Sunday, and she really hadn’t stopped by on the weekdays as much anymore.

“See you in the morning, kid.” He moved as if he was going to leave, but thought better of it. He paused mid-step and turned his head to face me, his brow creased. “Let Maggie in.”

“I said to send her back.” I cocked my head in question.

“That’s not what I meant.” He exhaled a rough breath and moved toward the kitchen door; his meaning hit me straight in the sternum. “It’s okay to be happy.”

He held open the kitchen door and motioned for Maggie to come back. She stepped passed him with an easy smile, and her light eyes met mine. I couldn’t help the broad grin that stretched across my face. All the doubt I had, once she was near, it was easier to bear.

“Hey, Maggie.” I exhaled a long breath as she moved closer. The tension in my shoulders relaxed, and the steady thrum of my heart increased with each step.

“See you kids later.” Tony left, and the kitchen door swung shut.

“Hope it’s okay I stopped by. I got called off work early, and Beth is staying the night with the babysitter and… I figured… I’d come say hi.” She pulled at a loose string on her scrub top nervously. Her hair was down, and the straight golden strands hung over her shoulders as she peered down at her feet.

“I was just cleaning up. Calling it a night.” I smiled as she met my eyes. “It’s good to see you.”

She smiled too and stood taller. My words gave her confidence and, even if I shouldn’t, I liked that what I’d said affected her.

“I can help if you want.”

“Nah. I got it. Are you hungry? I just made apple pie.” I grabbed a small plate from the drying rack before she answered and walked over to where the pies were cooling.

“That sounds really good actually. Thank you.”

I plated up the pie as she perched on the countertop.

I chuckled. “You’re going to get flour all over you.”

She looked down and grimaced. “Oh well.” She dusted off her hands and took the plate from mine. She took a small bite, and her eyes closed. She quietly moaned, and my jaw clenched. The sound stirring something inside of me that had been hidden for years. She licked her lips, and I had to look away.

“How was your day?” I grabbed the rag off the other counter and began to wipe it down.

“Not too bad. I never get called off, so it was a nice surprise. But I hate going home to an empty house. I’m so used to having Beth around, so when she’s not there it feels… off.”

My hand stilled, and I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. “I can only imagine.” The lie hung in the air; my voice wavered, and my hand balled into a fist.

“What about you? How was your day?” Maggie’s tone was cheerful, oblivious to the way her statement hit too close to home. As I turned to look at her, the creases around her eyes deepened and a smile split across her face.

“Same ole. Just another day at Red’s.” I hadn’t meant to sound so negative, and her smile waned. I had to fix it. “I’ve missed you.”

She locked her eyes on mine, and I felt the charge of my honesty flow through me. It was a relief to say something I felt, out loud, for once. She placed the plate down next to her on the counter and brought her fingers to her lips.

“You have?” Her question held hope, and I wanted her to have it even though it scared me.

I nodded and her mouth pulled up at the corners. It was then I noticed she had a smudge of flour on her lower lip. “You have…” I motioned to my mouth. “A little—”

Her eyes widened, and she quickly rubbed at her lips. “Did I get it?”

I suppressed a laugh. She’d made it worse. Without thinking about it, I moved to where she was sitting on the counter. “Here.” I lifted my hand and brought my thumb to her chin, attempting to wipe away the flour. Her lips parted with a whispered gasp, and my eyes fell to her mouth. Her skin felt too good, and the silence between us was weighted as I took that last, final step. The momentum of the moment couldn’t be stopped. She was pulling me in. The effect I had on her was noticeable in the rise and fall of her chest and, as my gaze followed along the slope of her neck, my heart began to hammer.

I brought my thumb to her lower lip and pulled it slowly across the soft curve, removing the remaining flour. Her head tilted back naturally and her eyes closed. My thumb continued a path along the line of her jaw until her head was cradled in my hand. I inched closer hesitating just a breath away. I shouldn’t want this.

Maggie’s eyes opened. “Ryan?” Her breath smelled sweet, and it was that one final thing that sent me over the edge.

I brushed my lips against hers, and the contact caused me to close my eyes. In this second, I let myself remember who I’d once been, and I found my flashpoint. Our lips met slowly, and the cinnamon and apple flavor of her mouth made me groan. I tasted her lips one at a time and held her heated cheeks with my hands. She opened up for me, and her lips moved smoothly against mine as her arms enclosed around my waist, drawing me closer. I hadn’t forgotten the touch of a woman, but in all of my memories… nothing felt like this… like Maggie. I wanted to take my time — it was all I had — and I wanted to fill it with her. I wanted to fill every hour with her mouth, her hands, and her body pressed against mine.