Take Heart (15 page)

Once we’re finished using the surface planer, I move along and teach her how to build the frames. I set up the dado blade, and demonstrate how to line up the stalks properly. I use the small table saw to create a groove in the wood for the long pieces and a tongue in the small pieces, so they can fit together like a puzzle. I apply some glue onto the joints and connect them while Mia mimics my every move with her frame. I thoroughly double-check her work, and mine—because I’m a perfectionist—and they both look great. We repeat this process until we have a total of five frames done. She’s a quick learner, and I must say I never thought watching Mia work with a power saw could be so tempting.
Yeah, that does things to me.

Due to the noise of the saw, and our intense concentration on the task at hand, it’s been relatively quiet between us. I’m double-checking the measurements on some of our work when Mia decides to strike up a conversation.

“Can I ask you something?”

I immediately look up to gauge her reaction. She’s not giving anything away. “Of course,” I say, unsure of where this is going.

She begins to distract herself by playing with one of the small stalks. “Who’s Nicole?”

Big, bright, flashing, warning signs are going off in my head. I set the tape measure down and give myself a second to decide the best way to respond. Having a conversation about the ex-girlfriend with the current girlfriend can be tricky, and the last thing I’m looking to do is fuck myself in the ass. I want to be forthcoming and honest, but I also don’t want to piss her off. I’ve seen some of my friends—both men and women—get worked up over the smallest things in relationships. I’m hoping Mia’s not one of those people because she has no reason to be upset.

I stand up straight, cross my arms over my chest, and casually lean into the workbench, giving her my full attention. “She was my high school girlfriend. We started dating our junior year and the relationship continued when she went off to college.”

“Why did you guys break up?”

“She cheated on me during her sophomore year with one of my good friends at the time.” I explain matter-of-factly.

Her lips part slightly in surprise. “Jesus, that had to hurt. I’m sorry she did that to you.”

“Yeah, I was blindsided and heartbroken, to say the least. I never saw that one coming, from either of them, but I’m not sorry she did it. She actually did me a favor in the long run. When you’re that young, relationships seem so much more permanent. Then you grow up, gain some perspective, and look back on it, realizing how trivial it all really was.”

She tilts her head. “I couldn't agree with you more,” she says, smiling.

“What about your past relationships?” I was never going to bring this up, but since she’s the one who broached the subject; I decide to take advantage of the opportunity.

“Honestly, there’s not much to say. I’ve had a few flings here and there, but I’ve never really been in a long-term, committed relationship. I haven’t had the time between school, working two jobs, and taking care of my mom. Plus, I had too much baggage at the time. Hell, I still have too much baggage if I’m being completely upfront. I think my longest standing relationship only lasted a couple months—if you can even call it a relationship.”

“So, you’ve never been in love?”

“Not before you, no,” she assures with a smirk.

I don’t know what it is about that newfound knowledge, but I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of relief. I know she’s not a piece of property, but she’s mine. Her heart and body belong to me now, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as she’ll let me.

“Did you love Nicole?” she asks quietly, interrupting my borderline-proprietary thoughts.       

“At the time, I thought I did. She was my first serious girlfriend. We were together for years. It wasn’t until we broke up and I moved on, that I saw how ordinary our relationship really was. Then when I met you, I felt this strange, exceptional pull that I’ve never experienced before. Now I know the difference.”

“The difference between what?”

“The difference between love and lust. I was comfortable with the relationship, but I was never all in with her, and I think deep down she knew that. Maybe that was one of the things that contributed to her decision to cheat, I don’t know.” I say, shrugging. “We were both young and content with how things were, but we weren’t necessarily happy. She wanted something more, and I wanted more, too. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

She nods. “I know what that feels like to be comfortable in your situation because it’s routine and it’s what you know, but yet you desperately want something more for yourself. You think things like, ‘Is this as good as it gets? Is this really what I want for my life?’ And I always knew that if you’re seriously asking yourself those questions, there’s probably something missing.”

I unexpectedly reach out and fist my hand in her hair, and draw her to me for a loud, hard kiss. I like that she gets me.

She giggles and turns to kiss the inside of my forearm. She checks the time on her phone. “We better get going. I need to run home and get ready so I can be to work on time.”

I let go of her hair and begin to straighten everything up before we leave.

“Are you ever going to tell me what we’re building?” she asks, eyes hopeful.

“Nope.”

“You know that I’m eventually going to figure out what this is, right? The further we get along on this project, the harder it will be for you to keep it a surprise. I already have a couple guesses.”

“You aren’t coming back to finish this,” I inform her.

“What? Why not?”

“Because this is a special order for someone, and I need to finish it as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” she says with disappointment etched on her face. It’s the same look that a kid who was just told “no” by their parents would have. I can’t stand that look, so I stroll over and tilt her chin up so she can meet my gaze.

“Babe, I promise to bring you back here, and next time we’ll build something together that isn’t for an order. You have my word.”

This seems to satisfy her, and she gives me a weak smile as a sign of compromise. She takes her safety glasses off and we spend the next few minutes cleaning up together before I have to drive her back home, not wanting to say goodbye.

a     m     e     l     i     a

I finish putting in an order for one of my tables when I feel my phone vibrate in my apron. It’s been going off all evening, but we’re so busy that I keep forgetting to run to the back and check it. I hope everything is okay, but the more it vibrates, the more I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. No one would be calling me this many times if it weren’t important. I close my server book and shove it back into the pocket of my apron when I hear my boss call my name.

“Mia, can you please pick up table forty-three for me?” Sherry asks.

Sherry is one of the five managers here at the restaurant, and she’s easily my favorite. She’s married with two kids, but relatively young, and laid back. She does a good job praising the staff for our efforts, which is always nice to hear—especially when you’re new.

It took me a couple weeks, but I’m finally starting to get the hang of things. I’m pulling in quite a bit more money to show for it. Even though I’ve waitressed before, I was working in a small café and a Swedish diner. Here, these steakhouses are twice the size, and they bring in a lot more business. That makes me feel even better about being on top of my game.

“Absolutely,” I respond. I reach for a couple napkins and head over to greet them. After taking their drink order, I double-check my other tables to see if they need anything. I run to the back, grab some glasses, and fill them up accordingly. When I arrive with the drinks in hand, they are ready to order their food. I go around the table, write everything down, and power walk to a computer.

Once their order is placed, one of my customers flags me down to tell me he’s ready for his bill, and a table that’s not mine asks me for another side of butter.
Ugh, pet peeve.
I let each of them know I’ll be right back with that, and head back to the computer to print the gentleman’s receipt out. As his bill is printing, Ryan—a fellow server and man whore extraordinaire—comes up and sets his drinking tray down next to me. Seeing that I’m busy—but not caring because he’s Ryan and I have boobs—he decides that now is a good time for some meaningless small talk.

“Hey, Mia, how’s it going?” he asks casually,
too
casually.

“Fine,” I reply curtly. It’s nothing personal, but I don’t like needless distractions when I’m working.

“Good. I was actually coming over to see if you’d be interested in going out for a drink together after we get off work?” He moves in a little closer and rests a hip against the counter. It’s sexy when Chase does that, but with Ryan, it just looks like he’s trying too hard. I tear the receipt from the printer and place it in my serving book. Turning to look him in the eye, I prepare to let him down easy.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but I can’t. I have a boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he says, without batting an eye. “And you shouldn’t let it bother you, either. It’s not like he’ll find out. Besides, I can guarantee you’ll have more fun with me, anyway. I’ll rock your world in ways your man couldn’t even dream of.” He aims to make that sound seductive and enticing, but really, it’s just super fucking creepy.

Great, now he’s having delusions of grandeur
.

He leans in closer—as if that’s even possible—and my skin crawls.

“Is that so?” a deep voice interjects. “Care to make a wager on that?”

Ryan and I both turn our heads to see a very striking Chase standing with his hands in his front pockets, all calm and collected. His gaze finds mine. Instead of anger being there, like I expect, there’s a hint of humor. My heart soars at the fact that he came here to see me, but I’m also wary because I may have a potential pissing contest on my hands.

“Who are you?” Ryan snaps.

“I’m the lucky man who gets to take Mia home every night. Isn’t that right, baby?” He winks at me without missing a beat. “Oh, and for the record—” he looks at the name tag on Ryan’s shirt “—Ryan, I keep her fully satisfied in
every
way. That’s why any attempt you make to steal her from me, will be unsuccessful,” he adds confidently.

Did I mention I’m madly in love with this man? Gotta love a guy who can handle his own and do it using words. Chase is so secure and sure of himself, that he doesn’t feel the need to throw a punch to prove something. That’s the hottest form of masculinity there is in my book. It makes me wet just thinking about it—which only reinforces his point.

I have to bite my lip to contain my smile. Chase’s eyes glitter with amusement when he notices I’m holding back. I look up at Ryan and wait until he takes his eyes off my boyfriend, and brings his attention back to me. It takes longer than it should, but eventually, he’s able to break away.
Hmmm, maybe he should’ve asked Chase out.

“Well, Ryan, that about sums it up, don’t you think?” His eyes storm over as he picks up the drinking tray, muttering something about me not being worth his time. He shoves his way past a smirking Chase. So much for letting him down easy. Their shoulders bump—on purpose, I’m sure—but it doesn’t even phase Chase.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. Just as he’s about to answer, I remember what I have to do. “Hold that thought,” I say, and walk off to grab a side of butter and give my table their bill. I deliver both, and check on my other table. When it’s all good, I swing back around to pick up the serving book with the gentleman’s credit card in the top slit, and walk over to run it through the computer where Chase is still standing. I swipe the card and my phone buzzes again, reminding me of the second thing I wanted to do earlier. I reach into my pocket, pull it out, and hand it over to Chase.

“This has been going off all night. Can you check my missed calls and find out who’s calling me, and why, please? I’m slammed right now.”

“Of course.” He takes the phone from my hand and unlocks the screen as I get back to tending to the customers.

I’m on a constant rotation with my tables, but finally it seems to be slowing down some. I have no idea where Chase went. I can’t find him anywhere so I’m assuming he stepped outside. I grab a to go box from the back and fold it up for one of my tables. When I walk back out, I notice him standing across the restaurant. He beckons me with a casual gesture of his hand. His expression is unreadable.

My heart drops, and I feel myself pale. My throat feels as arid as a desert. I try to swallow to relieve the dryness, but it’s no use. I could drink a gallon of water and I still don’t think it’d help. I force myself to keep walking towards my table to give them the box. The lady looks up and gives me a “thank you,” but all I can manage in return is a tight, artificial smile. I turn back around and make my way towards Chase. I know my limbs are moving, but it feels like there’s miles between us. The more I walk, the longer that distance seems to stretch. The conversations in the restaurant are all clashing together, making it hard to concentrate.

When I reach him, I let out a slow breath, preparing myself for the worst. “What’s wrong?” My throat’s so dry it comes out as a rasp. 

“That was Hadley. Your mom’s in jail and your house got broken into,” he says, completely serious.

“What?!” I shriek. “Is she okay?” Tons of scenarios are playing through my head. Everything from my mother being assaulted or harmed in some way, to her beating the shit out of an intruder and catching a battery charge. I don’t know which one is more likely at this point.
This cannot be my life.
I look around and notice that we’ve caught the attention of some customers. Under normal circumstances, I’d be embarrassed, but I’m too shocked to care. Chase grabs my arm and pulls me into a corner near the front of the restaurant.

“Calm down, baby, it could be worse.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I snap.

“Hey, don’t take this out on me. I’m just here to help,” he warns.

“Yeah, you and your perfect life are just here to swoop in and save the day, aren’t you?” I say venomously. He rears back as if I’ve slapped him.

“Perfect? You think my life is fucking perfect?”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Oh, so is this how it’s going to be now?” he asks angrily, motioning between us.

I continue to glare at him, but choose not to say anything. The last thing I need to do is make a scene and lose my job. All I can focus on is how angry I am. I’m mad at my mom for making another mess and going to jail. I’m mad that my house got broken into. I’m mad that I’m stuck here and can’t do shit about it. Why does Chase get to have it so easy? He has two loving parents who are always there, and a sister that would do anything for him. While he was out whoring around and enjoying his teens, I was thrown into constant, non-stop chaos. I know it’s not fair to take this out on him, but he’s the easy target.

“Chase, you should go home.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Just go,” I say quietly, cutting him off.

He inhales sharply and clenches his jaw. He’s pissed. I don’t blame him, but I don’t have time for coddling. I have to fix yet another one of my mother’s messes.

“Don’t do this to me, Mia. Don’t you dare push me away,” he says, shaking his head. He takes a step back, giving himself some space. This is his way of insulating himself from me. I recognize it instantly because I pull the same move all the time with my mom. This must be what she feels like every time she strikes me with her words. I understand it now, sometimes the people we love the hardest in this world are the ones we end up hurting the most. We feel bad for what we’ve done, so we keep attacking, trying to make ourselves feel better because we’re wounded, too. But when you’re in the wrong, there’s no one left to protect you but yourself.

I take a moment to try and reason with myself. It’s not his fault he had an easier time than I did. That’s how it’s supposed to be for a child. He had the “normal” upbringing, not me, and it would be foolish to hold that against him. Neither of us can control the cards we were dealt, but we can control how we play them. I can own up to my shit and take full responsibility for my actions. After all, Chase has done nothing but prove that he’s here for me through thick and thin.

I keep my gaze fixated on those hard, gorgeous eyes that I adore so much. “I love you, but I need to figure this shit out.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” he breathes, clearly nervous. A shadow of fear flickers in his eyes.

“I’m saying that I need to go home and take care of this once and for all.” I reach out to touch his cheek, hoping he won’t reject me. He looks uncertain, but he doesn’t recoil. I run my fingers down the side of his face and along his jaw. His skin is smooth today, and he smells like spice. I bask in his scent one more time for comfort before I have to leave him. I don’t really know what I’m going to do, or how long I’m going to be gone. All I know, is I need to talk to my manager and ask for the next few days off so I can try to book a flight out of here tomorrow. I don’t want to chance driving in and out of Kansas this time of year.

I take a small step forward and grasp his face in my hands, my thumbs brushing patterns over his cheeks. I lean in to kiss him chastely as an apology, hoping he gets what I’m trying to convey. When I pull back, I notice his eyes have softened, instantly getting the message.

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

He lets out the breath he’d been holding, releasing some of the tension from his body.

“You aren’t going back there to take care of this by yourself. I’m going with you. Accept that and get over it,” he says, making me smile.

“I won’t be dealing with this alone. I’ll have Hadley. Who knows, we may end up in there right next to my mom. Wouldn’t that make for interesting table talk with your family?” I joke.

“You can be my bad girl anytime, but let’s keep you out of jail, please. I’m not sure that would go over too well,” he says, thawing a little bit.

“Deal,” I say. “Now get out of here and go home. I need to talk to my boss and figure out a plan. I’ll call you later.”

“Fine,” he appeases, slipping my phone back into my apron. “But I’m not done having this conversation. If you think I’ve given up on going back home with you, you’re sorely mistaken. I told you once before, I’m persistent.” He turns and strolls out the restaurant. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, checking my feelings and family drama at the door.

Time to get back to work.