Written on Her Heart (16 page)

Emma bit her lip. The past few days were the longest of her life. She stiffened. Sorry he kissed her? He hadn’t done anything else, other than leave when she screamed at him like a crazy person demanding he get out. It occurred to her she looked less than sane sitting in her foyer with her face on the floor. “I thought you were Heather.”

“Then, I need a haircut.”

She laughed, and something poked her cheek. A finger. “Friends?”

Rising onto her elbows, she saw he offered her a hand. She accepted and shoved a handful of hair behind one ear to better see him. He looked completely at ease sitting on her floor. “You want coffee?” she offered.

Dust motes floated in the space above them, twinkling in the sunlight. When she was small, she made up stories about the motes.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he teased.

“When I was small I thought the dust motes caught in sunlight were fairy dust. They look like magic floating there.” She shut her eyes. Why did she feel compelled to tell him every thought that crossed her mind?

“And you didn’t give me a heart attack. I had a heart attack.” As soon as she spoke the words, a weight lifted. Saying it aloud hadn’t killed her. The words felt empty, devoid of the power she thought they carried all these years. Huh.

Nicholas watched the dust overhead. “Wait.” He frowned. “What?”

He hadn’t heard? Either he didn’t tell anyone about her scars and get the scoop, or no one knew. Emma liked both scenarios equally. If he was as horrified as she thought, why come back? Hope rose up in her chest. Maybe, despite the scars they could be friends. She could use another friend. One who could talk back to her when she spilled her secrets. Someday Heather would get a life, and then who would she have? Being friends sounded better than losing Nicholas from her life. She just got him. The idea of watching him walk away stole her breath.

She inhaled deeply and cursed.

“Emma?”

Her burning face lifted to his. “I slept in your shirt.” Oh, of all the tragedies in her life, she jumped out at him with morning hair and stinky breath, wearing his tee shirt. Dr. Kennedy would make a mint helping her through this episode. “You left it.”

“It looks cute on you. Tell me though, are you wearing anything else?” He gave her a silly lopsided smile.

“You’re such a boy.” Emma swung her legs underneath of her so she could stand up modestly. His shirt hung low enough to cover all that counted, but showed a lot more leg than any dress she owned. Truthfully, it rivaled her college cheer skirt which at least had matching trunks. She didn’t want to think of what atrocity of the granny variety she’d pulled on the night before when she got out of the shower.

“I’m sorry, but did you just call me a boy?” He reached for her hand to steady her as she tugged at the hem of his shirt for added cover. “I’ll allow that since I think you’re still mad at me. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make you breakfast. I want to apologize, and I can’t do it right if all you’ve got on is my shirt.”

“Do you want it back?” Of course he did. He didn’t give it to her. He threw it down, and she flat out stole it. The look on his face deepened her blush. “Not now,” she breathed, clearly embarrassed.

“You’re mean. I guess I’m going to go cook. Come back down so we can talk.”

Without a word, she climbed the steps. His gaze followed her every inch of the way. On the final step he released a slow whistle. The sound reminded her of a bomb falling. She hustled to her room, wondering what the view was like from where he stood in the foyer below. Just in case, she lifted the shirt and peeked with one eye at the simple cotton boy shorts underneath. Thank goodness. One look in her mirror showed the bomb landed somewhere in her hair.

She struggled to fix her face and force a brush through bed head. Nothing worked. Her heart raced in a panic beneath her rib cage. Hopeless, she ran for her bathroom and started the shower. No way would she make a second entrance looking like Frankenstein. Emma stripped out of his shirt and tossed it on her bed, refusing to wash away his scent. In the shower, water soaked out the stress, eased her muscles and slowed her heartbeat to almost normal.

Nicholas Fenton kissed her. She kicked him out, and he came back.

Jumping from the shower, her feet slid across the bathroom floor to the sink. Teeth scrubbed, she looked at her reflection and scrubbed them again. She hadn’t stopped replaying that kiss since it happened. “Ugh.” Her hair was a tangled mess, only a small improvement from before the shower. Back in her room she heard the sound of something frying below her and hastened the pace.

By the time she fixed her face and located a tee shirt to go with the only clean shorts she could find, her nerve waned. Her hunger however, forged ahead. The scent of pancakes pulled her back to the stairs. A man had never cooked in her kitchen. In fact, Nicholas was the only man who’d cooked for her. Ever. Tentatively she took the first step and the next until she arrived barefooted behind him.

With a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, he hummed along with the radio and flipped pancakes from the pan onto a plate already piled high. He looked at home anywhere. She envied him. His jeans were worn and comfortable looking. Everything about him seemed easy.

“I thought you could start by explaining yourself,” he said before she announced her arrival.

“Oh. Okay, but I hope you have all day because I’m a mess.”

“I don’t think so.” He slid a plate in front of her and handed her a fork.

“How’d you know I was standing here?”

“Emma.” He turned to rest his backside against the counter. His blue eyes darkened and narrowed a fraction. “I could feel you there.” He shrugged and turned back. “Now, start with what you meant when you said you had a heart attack.”

She mulled over what he meant by feeling her there. Then spent an equal amount of time considering his question. She moved with purpose, pressing the side of her fork into the pancakes, touching them to the pool of syrup along her plate’s edge and chewing slowly. This was it.

“I went to a party with a group of friends, had too much to drink, started walking home, and some of the guys from the party followed us. They had water balloons, and we were in white sorority tees. It was hell week, and we’d been hazing freshmen for days. When we saw the balloons, we ran. I could outrun anyone back then. I ran track on scholarship.” She took another bite. Could she say it again? Twice in one morning? “One minute I was running, laughing and feeling thankful not to be the heavy hazing girl for a minute. The next thing I knew I had shooting pains in my arm. I slowed down, but the pain didn’t. It got worse. I got pummeled with a dozen water balloons before my chest constricted so painfully I knew I’d die.” She pulled in a breath, looked him in the eye and finished her story. “Then, I did.”

“Die?” His frown scared her, and she looked away.

“Technically, yes.” No turning back. If he wanted to run, this was his chance. “My heart stopped for a bit, but the guys knew CPR. One started with chest compressions while the other breathed for me. My sorority sisters called 9-1-1 and campus security to make sure they found us right away.” Bravery was stupid. Admitting weakness killed her. She didn’t want him to have this information. Why did she offer it?

A tear dropped onto her pancakes, and Nicholas appeared instantly on his knees before her.

“I’m fine.” She blinked and another infuriating tear fell.
Gah
! “Really. I am.”

He rolled back onto the floor and pulled her from the chair and into his lap before she could protest, and then she didn’t want to. One large hand held her head to his shoulder where she sobbed like a baby from complete embarrassment.

“I’m so glad to hear this.” He surprised her with a chuckle. “When I thought someone might’ve hurt you….”

Emma lifted her face to his and wrestled a smile into place. “No one hurt me. I had an undiagnosed heart condition.”

“And now?” Concern deepened his voice.

“Now, I’m diagnosed.” She climbed from his lap and back into his chair. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore. I never do, and now you see why.” She motioned to her complete lack of composure and turned back to her pancakes, though she couldn’t eat. “It happened five years ago this fall and look at me still.”

“Thank you.” When she looked at him in wonder, he added, “For trusting me with something so private.”

And her heart unraveled. Exposed and beating so brazenly unguarded for him, she shivered.

Nicholas brought another plate to the table and sat across from her, looking too serious. They ate in silence until she couldn’t take it. “I’m sorry I threw you out last week. You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault. I hated the way you looked at me when you saw the scars, and I acted like a baby.”

He nodded once.

“You didn’t owe me an apology at all. I owed you.” There she said it. Her crazy temper and irrationality belonged in the Guinness book.

“How about we call it even?”

Emma swallowed hard, thankful he couldn’t read her thoughts. Ideas of kissing and star watching and holding hands in public flitted through her mind. Images of him loving her and everyone knowing stung her eyes. Silly. Impossible. Childish.

“Are we still on for the Strawberry Festival tonight?” He looked unsure.

“Of course.” Her tummy tightened until she couldn’t eat another bite. She bit into her bottom lip. “Your turn. I told you my big life changing secret, but I don’t know anything about you.”

A smirk rose and fell on his lips. What did it mean? “I hoped you’d still come with me on our date. My mom wants to meet you.” He swirled the coffee in his cup and sipped. Peeking at her from over the rim, his long dark lashes cast shadows down his cheeks, making the blue of his eyes irresistible.

“She’s going to hate me, you know.”

“Why?”

“If she’s lived here longer than a few years, trust me. She will. I was a real snot for a long time.”

“The way I hear it you were Honey Queen. That’s quite an honor around here.” His teasing smile drew her eyes back to his. Something new twinkled there. “Last time I talked to Mama I realized something. The gossips in our town are selective about what they share and who they share it with.”

Her face heated to the point of combustion, and she looked away.

“Do you want to tell me about your scars?”

“Yes.” His eyes smoldered and his jaw worked, but he didn’t elaborate.

Nicholas had a secret too. With any luck at all, he wanted to share it with her.

“How about that date first?”

Chapter Fourteen

Main street bustled with festival lights, crowds and vendors. A newly erected stage held a local Alabama cover band, and a sea of people bobbed and weaved before it. Teens and grandparents alike shouted lyrics to
40 Hour Week
. Strawberries and sugar scented the air. Everywhere Emma looked, people talked and laughed and devoured pastries by the pound. She missed too many Strawberry Festivals.
No more
, she vowed. She belonged here. Whatever frightened her into hiding fell away when she confessed to Nicholas and he didn’t care. If someone who meant so much to her didn’t care about her heart attack, why would anyone else? Her heart unfurled in her chest, light enough to fly away.

“Here you go.” Nicholas returned to her side with a cup the size of her head and a paper tray filled with ribs. “Let the fun begin.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Heather bounce and wave her arms in arcs big enough to land a plane.

“Come on.” She grabbed his elbow and towed him through the crowd to the picnic table. Heather had spread out her things and what looked like some trash to save the table for them. “You are a life saver.” Emphasizing every word, she hugged her friend tight.