Speak From The Heart: a small town romance Read online

  Quietly, I climb the stairs and find Emily curled on her side on a double bed. From her position, she can see straight out the back window toward the Mueller’s home. Was it only two weeks ago that I was fixing that roof and staring down at her every few seconds in her backyard? So much has happened so quickly, but then again, I know firsthand how everything can change in the blink of an eye.

  Emily shifts on the bed, looking up at me over her shoulder. She’s wearing a black dress with thin straps and a sweater. The sweater’s old, definitely something a grandmother would wear, and I imagine it’s Elizabeth’s. In the heat of July, she hardly needs the covering, but she wears it out of respect and perhaps longing for her nana.

  “What are you doing in here?” she whispers as her voice cracks before rolling back to her position and continuing to stare out the window.

  “I wanted to see how you are,” I say, still standing next to her bed. My hands slip into the pockets of my black pants. I’m wearing a white dress shirt that’s too tight, as I’ve gained a little weight since moving home. The slim tie around my neck feels out of place. I haven’t worn one in a while. That was another lifetime ago.

  “I don’t need anything today,” she says. Because she’s efficient, she leaves off as her voice trembles, and she swipes at her cheek.

  Could she need me? Sure, we might have started out fighting for no known reason, and that blame is on me. She struck something in me I didn’t want struck. She’s lit something I didn’t want lit, but now that the flicker of a flame is there, I can no longer deny it. Because it’s not just about me. It’s also about Katie.

  I don’t reply to her, and while she remains staring out the window, her back to me, she weakly voices, “Please leave me alone.”

  Fuck. That.

  Kicking off my shoes, I then loosen and remove my tie. I unbutton a few buttons from this damn tight shirt and untuck it. Then I kneel on the edge of the bed. She shifts, peering up at me over her shoulder once again.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice raspy and wet with unshed tears.

  “I’m not leaving,” I tell her, climbing up behind her and curling around her. Without her permission, I bend my knees beneath hers and stroke a hand up her spine and into her hair. The tension in her body radiates into my palm as my hand massages the base of her neck. Eventually she gives in to my fingertips, and my fingers move lower, working at her shoulder.

  “Take this off,” I tell her, my voice low as I tug at the collar of her sweater.

  She spins, staring at me over her shoulder, but then she sits up and removes it. I take the material and drape it over her like a blanket once she lies back on her side. I have better access to her skin now, and I continue my massage, willing her to relax under my touch.

  Finally, I write on her skin with a rough fingertip, tracing the capital letter I along her back between her shoulder blades. Next, I form an L. Another I. Then a K, and an E. I pause after each letter, and Emily remains still. I have no idea if she has read the pressure of the letters, but I finish with Y, O, and U. Flattening my palm against her back, I think she’s asleep when I hear her whisper, “I like you, too.”

  My arm wraps over her waist, and I draw her to me, feeling her shudder, knowing her tears fall. I press a kiss to her shoulder and hold her tighter.

  “Sleep, baby,” I say, and eventually, she does.

  + + +

  I wake to a delicate hand on my belly. I’ve been dozing under Emily’s warmth. She rolled in her sleep and ended up with her head in the crook of my arm. I’m on my back, and she’d eventually wrapped a leg over mine, nestled in closer and slipped her hand under my shirt, rubbing it over my abs and stopping mid-stomach. I’m hoping she finds comfort in me. I don’t mind her touch. I’m just fighting the desire for her to touch me in other places. My dick strains in my dress pants, and there is no disguising I’m freaking turned on like I haven’t been in years.

  Slowly, she rouses, squirming next to me. Hitching her leg a little higher, she rustles her head deeper against my shoulder.

  Then she jolts upright as if she’s had a bad dream, and I slowly follow. The sweater covering her as a blanket shifted to her side when she spun to me earlier, and at some point, she’d kicked off her shoes. I sit behind her, at her side, and press a kiss to her bare shoulder.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Hey.” Her sleep-roughened, tearstained voice does nothing to ease the pressure in my pants. Damn, she’s so sexy, even hurting with a heartache like she is. “I’m sorry about that. I got a little carried away, I guess.”

  I slowly smile, lower my head to her shoulder, and press my grin into her skin. “I didn’t mind it.” And I don’t. Her touch. Her warmth. Feeling like she needs me is doing something to me.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask, knowing she’s still hurting.

  “I’m okay,” she mutters, her voice still rugged and low.

  Because you’re efficient? I want to tease, but I don’t.

  “Tell me what I can do,” I say again because I feel helpless next to her, wanting to give her something. I already feel like I failed by not having that radio in time. I pull back so she can look in my eyes. I’ll do anything she asks of me right now. Or maybe it’s me who wants to ask? “Let me take it away for a little while.”

  There’s a question in her eyes, but it doesn’t take long for her to read what I’m offering. I understand. Take what you need from me. Her head is so full while her heart is so broken, and she just needs to let it all go.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers, and I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. Sweet. Tender. There’s no crash like the other times we’ve kissed. No clashing thunder or lightning strikes, only the delicacy of a summer rain shower, soft and lingering on our lips. However, it quickly turns deeper, darker, and full of yearning as her mouth moves against mine. She shifts her body, and I cup her cheek. The touch sparks and crackles ripple over my skin as they do when we meet like this. My body falls back as she presses against me, and suddenly, she’s on top of me, everywhere at once.

  Damn, she feels so good like this, blanketing me, but I should be comforting her. She straddles my thighs, lines up over my throbbing length, and my hands come to each thigh, bare and absent of the dress now ridden up to her hips. Her skin is on fire against my palms, and I caress upward, pressing at her backside which is hardly contained in something thin and lacy. My hands massage the firmness of her as she releases my lips and slowly sits upward. The move forces more pressure over my straining dick as she sits astride me.

  Her eyes focus on mine in the dim light of early night. Sunlight fades outside her window, meaning it’s sometime after nine on a summer evening, but it could be midnight and I’d see the gleam in those eyes. She rocks over me, and I buck against her. As I watch her, she slowly undulates over me, starting out at a measured pace and then increasing the friction she needs.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I say, witnessing her dance over me. My hands continue to squeeze at the firmness of the two fine globes filling my palms, urging her on. Take what you need from me. I will my thoughts to her, not wanting to break the beauty of her rhythm. Her eyes close, and her hands move to her neck. One coasts against her cheek while the other leaps for her hair, delving in and swiping a section of it upward.

  She’s driving me mad as she rocks back and forth, catching on my tip, which is covered by far too much clothing. I want inside her. I want to feel her come undone around me. But tonight is about her and what she needs. What will make her give in to me.

  I’m getting my own show of her pleasure with her hair lifting and her hand caressing her skin. I want to touch her everywhere, but I don’t want to disturb the daze she’s in. My fingertips dig into her ass while one hand of hers skims lower, down her throat and against her chest. A dress strap falls off one shoulder and then her fingers dip into her dress, covering her own breast.

  “Holy shit, baby,” I hiss, watching her caressing her breast under the mater
ial, jealous of her fingers, but she’s so close. I can feel the tightening of her thighs against my hips and the speed of her movements over my dick increases. I’m ready to blow myself, and then her eyes pop open. Her liquid blue gaze is piercing, and she stills, her mouth falling open as both her hands fall to my chest. She clenches at my shirt while her body gives up, and she comes.

  I sit up, startling her as I take her mouth, capturing her silent scream in my throat. I want to hear her. I want the noise. My world is too quiet as it is.

  Unable to kiss me and complete her orgasm, she pulls back, her voice hitched as she moans my name in a plea. I lose it myself, tugging at her hips to hold her against me as I jolt beneath my zipper. Fuck, I haven’t done something like this since I was a teen, and I’m almost giddy over it. My forehead drops to her shoulder, my release seemingly endless. I close my eyes to the sparks that float before them.

  What the hell was that?

  Emily’s fingers cup my cheeks and then work into my hair, holding it back from my face. I look up, risking a peek at her. I don’t want her to regret what we just did. I offered it all for her, but I couldn’t help myself and gave in to the unending urges as well.

  Her mouth lightly comes to mine, a feather dusting of a kiss before she pulls away.

  “Thank you,” she mouths to me, the word unspoken. I reach up, attempting to capture that silence once again, drawing it into me with a sweep of my tongue in her mouth. I don’t want her silent words. I want her to scream.

  I want to scream. I want to shout through the middle of this town and let the words flow out to the larger lake. I like this woman.

  And I don’t want her to leave.

  Rule 12

  Body language is a language.

  [Emily]

  When Jess left sometime after we did what we did, I fell back on the bed feeling replete at first, and then regret. I regretted the moment hadn’t happened under better circumstances. I didn’t want him to think I was using him because I was in mourning. Then again, I’m not certain I would have done what I did if I wasn’t so distraught. I took from him without thought, taking over after I asked him to kiss me and begging his body with mine to give me release.

  That was certainly living in the moment, Nana.

  Somehow, I don’t think that’s what my grandmother meant, but for just a little while, I didn’t want to think. About Nana. The house. Grace. The impending arrival of her baby. And the will, which would be read in a matter of days by Gabe Carpenter, Nana’s attorney.

  Another Carpenter graces my door rather early the next morning, tipping her head side to side as she looks over my shoulder, inquiring if now is a good time to check on me. I don’t have to ask who she is looking for. Jess’s truck was parked outside my house most of the night. Still, I don’t need the town making something of nothing.

  I like Jess. He said he likes me too, but there isn’t anything permanent here. I need to move forward, to go through Nana’s stuff and learn what my options are from a legal standpoint.

  I wish Grace could be physically present, but at nearly nine months pregnant, a trip to Michigan was out of the question.

  “I thought you might like to go through a few of her things. It’s really best not to let it linger too long,” Sue says, giving me her advice on how to proceed. While I’d like to take weeks to decide on what to do with even the most basic of items like Nana’s clothes, I don’t have the luxury of time. I’d been given bereavement leave in addition to another week off, which leaves me with two weeks to make decisions. Sue suggests clothing first, and it is while going through Nana’s closet and dresser that I find the articles—piles and piles of Nana’s advice on etiquette. Her column was titled “Matters of Manners” and offered guidance on everything from how to set a proper dinner table to how to behave at one. She explained dating rules and mannerisms, like a gentleman should always open a door for a lady. She suggested means of apology, gratitude and condolences, and I am stuck for hours reading through her recommendations. Something niggles at the back of my head, a thought undefined but building, and I carefully set all her articles in a plastic bin to be kept for later investigation.

  It’s a long day, but by the end, with boxes piled near Nana’s front door for a variety of places, I feel accomplished. I don’t see or hear from Jess all day, and I’m okay with that because I’m mentally and physically exhausted. A soft rain dials down the temperature, and I lie on my bed, staring out the dark window, watching the water trickle against the glass as I recall my latest phone call with Grace.

  “Should we sell or rent?” Grace questioned, knowing that most likely we’ll inherit the house fifty-fifty. I wonder why she didn’t consider I could buy out her half, and I don’t know why it even crosses my mind as a possibility. Why would I live here? I have a home. I have a job. In another state.

  “I guess we could rent and make money off the tourism trade in the area.” Elk Lake City is a nice getaway spot with the large lake, the harbor, and the smaller inner lakes all connected to one another. Plus, the winters here attract skiers. Still, it doesn’t feel right to have strangers in Nana’s home. Of course, selling meant strangers would move in and never appreciate the history behind this home—the original origins, the generations of family, and the millions of memories.

  “Let’s just hear what the lawyer says,” I eventually counter, finished with making decisions for a day.

  My phone rings again, and I blindly reach for it, assuming it’s Grace, and am surprised when I hear a masculine voice on the line.

  “Hey.” My voice cracks as I shift on the mattress.

  “How was today?” he asks. I explain what I accomplished and then mention my conversation with Grace about renting or selling. A heavy pause follows the comments, and I can almost hear his unspoken words. You won’t stay. You’d suffocate here.

  He clears his throat. “So I was wondering if I could stop over tomorrow evening. I have something for you.”

  “Oh, yeah? What is it?” I ask. A smile slowly curls my lips and elongates the question.

  “You’ll see. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I tease, biting my lips.

  “Don’t get too excited. I hope this doesn’t disappoint,” he states with a laugh.

  “I don’t think you could disappoint me,” I reply but quickly recover the statement. “With a surprise, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  + + +

  When Jess arrives the next night, the surprise is exactly what I’d hoped it would be.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I whisper, tears clouding my eyes. Jess has completely restored Nana’s radio. He cleaned all the parts and even prettied up the old wood.

  “I really struggled with how to make the sound function. You can’t get any radio stations to connect without the modern developments. Then the next dilemma was whether a local station even existed that would play the kind of music Elizabeth wanted.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat at the mention of her name and give Jess a weak grin. He pulls a remote from his pocket, aims it at the radio and the device comes to life. My eyes widen, and I beam at him like a kid on Christmas morning. He presses a button, and classic big band music fills the room.

  “Oh my gosh.” I cover my lips with both hands, impressed and saddened at the same time. “It’s so wonderful.” I blink back the tears, and Jess’s hand strokes up my back.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have it sooner,” he whispers next to me as I stare at the antique piece.

  “I’m sure they can hear it,” I reply, thinking of both my grandparents. I close my eyes, and just for a moment, I see them as I did when I was a child. They danced in a corner of the living room. My grandfather buried his face in her neck. My grandmother giggled. It’s such a romantic memory.

  “Looks like you got a lot done yesterday,” Jess says, interrupting my thoughts. I follow his gaze to the front door, and he eyes the boxes without saying anything else.

  “How’s Katie?�
�� I ask. I haven’t seen her since my visit to Jess’s mother’s house.

  “She’s doing surprisingly well with the picture program, although I shouldn’t be surprised as kids are so technologically advanced. She used the program the other day to tell me what she wanted to wear—Cinderella dress-up shoes with her shorts.” Jess smiles and shakes his head. She’s a girl who already knows her mind and her fashion.

  “She misses you,” he adds, not even thinking twice about what he said.

  “I miss her.” It’s true. I feel something for his child, something I most likely shouldn’t.

  A song on the radio changes to one with a slower tempo, and Jess walks around the room to turn off two of the lamps I had on. He returns to where I’m standing, stops before me, and holds up a hand.

  “Dance with me?”

  It’s so Grandpa and Nana, and I accept. Jess wraps his hand around mine and pulls me close, nuzzling at my ear, and I shiver with the thought I’m living their happily ever after for the length of a song.

  How I wish this could be a reality for me.

  “How did you come up with this design?” I ask, feeling like I should speak despite the music.

  “I told you, I’m an electrical engineer by trade.”

  “You must have worked hard at this.”

  “I liked the challenge.”

  I pull back to smile up at him. As a stubborn man, I suppose challenges do give him both frustration and entertainment.

  “The idea of restoring sound . . .” His voice trails, and I read into what he isn’t saying. He can’t fix his little girl and her lack of speech, but he could fix this old radio and make it sing.

  “Oh Jess,” I say, melting against him.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but let’s not talk right now.”

  “Okay,” I whisper before tucking my head back against his chest and closing my eyes as the female crooner bellows about love at last.