Fight From The Heart: a small town romance (Heart Collection Book 4) Page 14

  “There’s a payment plan. You can do it in installments if you wish. Even schedule when it works best for you.” Pam laughs again, and it does something to my insides to hear the sound. She needs to laugh more often, and I want to be the cause. “Tips are optional.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Is that a pun somehow?”

  My eyes widen. “You dirty little wood nymph, it wasn’t, but it is now.”

  She shakes her head, softly laughing again.

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready for the Jacob Vincent tour special of New York.”

  “You know, I’m here with my boss. I should probably check with him. See if you’re reputable as a service.”

  A sly smile grows on my lips. “Your boss, you say? I have an in with him, and I’m certain he’ll give me the highest of recommendations.” I pause, suddenly nervous. “Spend the day with me, Lilac. Let’s do New York.”

  She nods once with a hesitant smile, and my goal is to make the curl on those lips more genuine.

  + + +

  We ride in a cab to the Park entrance, and I watch as Pam takes in all the sights. Even though I have been here a million times, it’s fascinating to observe her, seeing this fabulous city through a new perspective, watching someone view this special place for the first time. Arriving at Central Park, Pam pulls up a map on her phone.

  “Put that thing away,” I tease. “You’re embarrassing me. I’m the guide. Let me lead.”

  Pam laughs, cautious of my expertise, but we begin to walk in silence, just taking in the organized woods around us compared to the wild wilderness around my lake home. It’s peaceful here in a different way. Peace on the edge of chaos, which is how my life has felt since I settled in northern Michigan two and a half years ago. It’s been life-altering.

  Change your destiny.

  The tattoo over my chest speaks in more ways than one. My childhood. My writing. My relationships.

  After several twists and turns through the walking paths, we come upon a coffee vendor, and I suggest a cup for Pam. Lifting the liquid heaven for her nose, she wrinkles it.

  “What’s wrong?” I lift my cup for the smell.

  “I don’t know, but I suddenly don’t think I have the stomach for this today.”

  “No worries.” I carry hers while drinking mine and then drink hers as well.

  “Would you like to see the City Zoo?”

  “Can we?” Her face lights up, and I want to see her brightness every day. Not just in my dreams. Not only in my memories. But every damn day, I want the light of her. Maybe I can climb out of the darkness a bit, or she can just lighten the dungeon as she calls it. I shake my head, already giving too much thought to my past today. I want the rest of this day to be about her.

  We walk through the zoo entrance, and I can’t remember the last time I visited here. Passing exhibit after exhibit, we eventually pause at the birdhouse.

  Bali Mynah. I read the name of a white bird with black-tipped wings and eyes outlined in blue feathers. It’s a striking thing, although I’m not much of an ornithologist. I watch it fly around the exhibit before landing on a high perch.

  “‘I know why the caged bird sings,’” Pam recites. My sight remains on the bird, following its motion through the cage. Circling, circling, circling before landing once more. I can strangely relate to this caged creature.

  “Maya Angelou’s poem is so sad,” Pam explains. “But I’ve always understood it. The caged bird sings to mask the brutality. It needs something beautiful in life to help it through the pain. Trapped and alone, the bird needs something for herself, something that belongs only to her. Her song is that gift. The cage does not seem so lonely with a song.”

  My heart hammers. Breathing becomes difficult. She’s just described me. Writing is my release. It became my pleasure from the anger, the bitterness, the injustice. In my worlds, in my words, I was no longer so lonely. I couldn’t go a day without expressing myself with the written word because I didn’t have an outlet to verbally express my emotions. The fighting eventually became the physical release I needed for negative energy. Words were for my mind what fights were for my fists.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know where all that came from,” Pam says, but I still can’t pull my gaze from the cage.

  “I’m more of a Raven man, myself, written by the master Edgar Allen Poe. Nevermore, the bird repeats. Nevermore.” The creative word echoes around me like a motto I should keep. The word is powerful and fierce, in my opinion.

  Nevermore will he love. Nevermore will he give up his emotions.

  “Nevermore,” Pam whispers. “It’s one of your tattoos, near your wrist.” Her eyes look down to my arm and lift my sleeve's edge, revealing the word scrolled as a reminder. Nevermore will someone touch me with his fists, but it’s happened again. My thoughts leap to Mandi. It was never the same thing, but still, she’d hit me, and I misguidedly took that touch as affection. It built on our back and forth relationship. I finally look up at Pam. She’d never touch me like that. She’d never use her touch as a weapon but worship of me. She did it the night we were together.

  I’m such a fool. I need to know how to keep her, not break her. I don’t want to destroy what we could be.

  I tug my sleeve back over my wrist, feeling vulnerable at her observing gaze. Next, I reach for her hand, pulling it upward to kiss her knuckles. When I lower our fingers, I don’t release hers.

  Hand holding.

  I like this stage of the process. Whether the day ends in sex or not, I’ll be happy to just hold her hand, fitting my parts to hers, as she explained of dating. I want our parts to fit.

  + + +

  When we return to the condo, Ella and Ethan are out but left a note that they’d meet us later for drinks. They want to go dancing, but when I ask Pam her thoughts, she scrunches her nose

  “I’m not much for publicly shaking my groove thing,” she teases. Pam has a way of slipping in these little self-deprecating comments, and I don’t like it. She’s perfect just as she is.

  “I’d like to see your groove thing shake.” I want to run my hands over her curves—over and over again—but I’m keeping my distance, trying to let the shitstorm of yesterday dissolve. This morning was a start, but I still needed to apologize for my behavior last night. For now, I have my agent meeting.

  “We need to head out in about an hour.”

  “I need to shower, dress, do my hair—” Pam is a frenzy of anxiety.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Simmer girl. It’s not a black-tie affair. It’s just a meeting.”

  “I still want to look nice. I want to make a good impression for you.”

  “Lilac, you’re so fucking beautiful, you could wear a potato sack. You don’t need to make an impression on my behalf because Theresa will love you.”

  How could she not? I love Pam. She’s this burning desire just below the surface of my skin. It’s a strange energy I’ve never felt before. I’m making a big assumption, but this seems like love, and I don’t know what to do with the emotion.

  “Potato sack?” She laughs. “Who says that?”

  “I guess I do.” I chuckle. What’s happening to me? Every time she laughs, it’s like a live wire to my heart, another jolt of electricity livening me up from the inside out. “By the way, tour duty payments. Are we running a tab, or are you ready to make a deposit?”

  She tips her head. “Payment in kisses?”

  I step up to her in my living room and draw a finger along the side of her face. “Payment in kisses.” My eyes focus on her lips, licking my own, desperate for a taste of hers. She watches my tongue sneak out and retreat, and a slow blush fills her face. She is so beautiful—in sweats, in a dress, in a winter coat or without.

  “I’m not certain I’m ready to make a payment yet,” she whispers, and I understand. We’ve had a good morning, but it’s not enough. I still need to apologize, but I don’t want to just toss it out there. I want to do it right with something special. A new plan for our night
forms.

  + + +

  My agent is a cross between Edna ‘E’ Mode and Diane Keaton, and her outstretched hand and genuine smile is the warm reception I expected her to give Pam. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet my Jacob’s muse.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Pam returns. We take a seat in a comfortable conference room where I’m offered a drink and decline. I ignore Pam’s head turn and surprise at my rejection of the midday scotch. The meeting quickly turns to some proposed storylines and upcoming tours before Theresa addresses Pam.

  “I look forward to what you’ll do for him next.” She means my writing, but there’s an undercurrent to her words. Theresa knows Pam is very important to me.

  “The creativity is all his,” Pam states, continuing to sing my praises.

  “Yes, but the perfection of it is all yours,” Theresa adds.

  Pam practically beams with Theresa’s words. The meeting ends quick enough, and as we haven’t had lunch, I suggest a favorite pub of mine for a burger. Emerald Isle is an Irish icon with its folksy music and female string quartet that can rock the small space on a Saturday night. It’s only Thursday, though, but the place will give off a vibe the Carter clan might appreciate outside of their weekly Town Tavern visits.

  Once outside Theresa’s office, down on the busy sidewalk, I’m punching in the order for an Uber when Pam flattens herself against the building.

  “I just need a minute.” Her voice cracks, and I notice her visibly shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping up to her, crowding her against the concrete architecture as the busyness of the sidewalk shuffles onward.

  Pam holds out her trembling hands.

  “Jesus, Lilac. It wasn’t anything special.”

  “It was important to you,” she says. “And me. I wanted her to be proud.”

  I don’t fully understand her reaction. “Theresa is proud. She knows you’re my secret weapon.” I wink at her but grasp her hands in mine, lifting them for my lips and kissing each palm. “You were wonderful in there. You made me sound like a god.”

  “The one who chases after a wood nymph?” Her joke takes me a second to remember Pan and his desire for the mysterious nymph he turned into a flowering bush.

  “I’ll chase you wherever you need to go,” I say, leaning closer to her, and because I can’t help myself, I kiss her. As much as I want to rush her and crush my mouth to hers, I keep it slow and tender, dragging it out as I feel her melting under my lips, relaxing into the kiss. We’re still holding hands between us but her trembling shifts from quakes of anxiety to something else. I want to explore the change, but I’m not taking advantage of her against a public building.

  I pull back, and her lids lazily open. “What was that for?” she whispers.

  “Found a coupon for tour services. I’m applying the discount, deducted from your overall fee.”

  She giggles, shaking her head of short, loose curls. “You’re so ridiculous.”

  It’s better than being an asshole, so I’ll take it.

  “Change of plans for tonight. Up to spending more time alone with me?”

  “What about Ethan and Ella?”

  “I think they can fend for themselves.” My sister and her boyfriend need their own time to make amends with this city. If they want a dance club, and Pam doesn’t, I’m okay with that. I don’t really want to share her anyway.

  “Burger?” I ask, nodding as my phone beeps that the Uber is arriving.

  Pam smiles, and it’s another zap to my heart.

  Chapter 18

  Dancing In The Street

  [Jacob]

  The air is crisp when we return to my building, but I’m not ready to let the night end. We had a great time at the pub, discussing A Game of Thrones, a series we loved, and sharing stories about the characters we loved to hate.

  “Mind if we take a walk?” She’s wearing heels so we can keep it slow. I just don’t want to go up to the condo yet and face my bed alone.

  “Sure.” We’re holding hands again as we walk the dark boulevard. The night holds all the noises of a large city off in the distance. Along this street, various walk-up homes are lit up, and my mind wanders to who lives in them.

  “Do you ever pick a place and write a story?” Pam asks me as if reading my thoughts.

  “All the time.” I exhale. “Sometimes I see something, and my imagination grabs it, then I twist it and warp it to fit what I want.”

  “I can’t write it, but I can see it whenever I read,” she says on a sigh.

  Continuing on our walk, I point. “A cyborg lives there. He has four wives but wants someone different because none of them satisfy him.”

  “Four wives,” she gasps.

  “And a werewolf over there. He’s been pining for a woman for a long time. She thinks he smells funny.” Pam laughs as I wave a hand before my face emphasizing his stink.

  My next work is titled The Beast Within. I wonder how she’ll really feel as she reads the torture inflicted by the main character to get what he wants. He’s also greatly misunderstood, and I’m counting on Pam to discover his truth. He’s in love with a woman he shouldn’t want but can’t give up. It’s all rather autobiographical in a sick fantasy-thriller type of way.

  “Let’s see. Alien invasion there. The woman of his dreams doesn’t know he’s from another planet.”

  Pam shakes her head at my silliness.

  “Your turn.” I squeeze her hand, knowing she has an active imagination as do I.

  “A monster with a good heart. He lives in a condo on the main street.”

  I chuckle until I realize how prophetic her statement is. “Ah, my girl, still loves the gothic.” My heart patters hard at calling her my girl, and I feel like a fucking teenager instead of a forty-year-old man.

  As we near a small park, I draw Pam into the empty space. A singular lamp lights the area, reminding me of foggy nights in London where evil lurks in the shadows and a maiden is always alone in the dark. In our case, Pam isn’t alone. She’s standing with the devil, hidden within his own shadow. I step out from her, guide us to walk a large circle, and then tug her to me. As she stumbles into me, I reposition our hands to clasp between us and wrap my arm around her back. Her hand slips up to my shoulder, and I sway.

  “What are you doing?” she questions, chewing her lip.

  “Shaking your groove thing in a private setting.”

  One side of her lip curls upward

  “So I don’t want to get all heavy, but I need to apologize for last night.”

  “Jacob,” she groans.

  “Look, I was drinking, and it’s no excuse. None. I shouldn’t have shoved Ethan. He shouldn’t have needed to push back. I’m embarrassed that it happened. I don’t want you to think I’d ever act that way with you.”

  She’s quiet for a second. “The thing is, alcohol has a reaction in people. For some, it’s good fun and relaxing, but for others, it can be just like a drug, addictive and harmful to them.”

  I bite my tongue. I don’t want to argue and justify how it won’t happen again—it won’t—but Pam needs more than words from me.

  “For now, I’m hoping you can accept my sincere apology for the way I acted last night.”

  “Forgiven,” she says, her voice hesitant.

  “Even monsters have to prove themselves,” I say. No anti-hero gets the girl immediately. He messes up. He tries again. He might fall a second time, but in the end, he earns true love. Pulling her closer to me, her body molds with mine, and we dance in large circles around the empty park. I hum in her ear a song of teasing and longing.

  “Is that ‘Wicked Game’ by Chris Isaak?”

  “How could you recognize that?” I question my throaty beat.

  “That’s one of my favorite songs.”

  Softly chuckling to myself, I comment. “Lilac, that man was a fucking fool for not marrying you.”

  “Don’t,” she presses, her voice tense.

  “You
’re incredible. You’re beautiful. You’re kind and thoughtful. Your heart is wide open and accepting.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m over it. Bitterness is a drug, too, and it can eat at your soul. I don’t have time for that negative energy. I want to believe in love and second chances.”

  “Do you? Do you really believe love exists? Do you believe people deserve a second chance?”

  “I do,” she states adamantly. “Love doesn’t look the same for everyone. It might not even feel the same. For some, it’s roses, and for others, it’s violets, but it’s still love.”

  Or lilacs in the form of a petite blond with sultry curves and a heart of gold.

  And whoever he is, this man who she’ll love, he’ll be the luckiest man in the world.

  And that pesky emotion of hope weaves its way into my soul because I want it to be me.

  + + +

  When we finally return to the condo, Pam slips from me once inside my place.

  “Thank you for today. For tonight.” Her smile fills her face. Her cheeks are rosy from the chill of the night, and her eyes sparkle like sapphires. “New York feels a little magical.”

  I want it to be special to her as this is a second home to me. She tips up to press her lips to mine, and I can’t let her go, desperate for another minute. My hand cups the back of her neck, holding her to me for a little longer. Taking her mouth deeper, adding my tongue, soaking her in. She breaks first, slowly pulling back from me.

  “And now I’m going to prove kissing doesn’t lead to sex, either,” she says, stepping out from my touch.

  “Lilac,” I groan.

  “Dating 101, Jacob. Dinner. Hand holding. Kissing.” She bites her lips, teasing me with their plump swell.

  “Are we dating?” I ask as she takes another step backward.

  Slowly, she shakes her head. “I don’t think we’re there yet.” However, she’s still smiling at me, and I hang onto the word yet.

  “I could just come upstairs and hold you,” I whisper, feeling like a chump for suggesting such a thing, but I don’t want to stop touching her. We don’t need to have sex. Not yet.