Reckless Hearts (25 page)

“No,”
Lottie says with a wistful expression. “It’s about
following your heart, not your head, sometimes. Making a leap on pure
faith without knowing it’ll ever pay off.”

“Sounds
like a recipe for heartbreak to me.”

She
quirks an eyebrow. “Because being calm and rational has worked
out great for you so far.”

“That’s
not fair,” I say quietly, hit with another wave of regret. “I
made a leap, I put my faith in him, and now look at me.”

“You’re
right, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I would be
hurt if I were you too. I guess all that matters now is if you think
there’s a chance you could forgive him.”

There
it is again, that one little word that’s got my heart tied up
in knots. I
want
to forgive him, but how do I know I’m even capable of moving
on? Will I say the words, but feel that mistrust still eating away at
me for years to come—questioning every time he forgets to tell
me something, wondering if there’s something else I should
know? That kind of thing can be poisonous and doom a relationship no
matter how hard we try.

So
is it better to make a clean break now despite the pain, instead of
falling even deeper in love with him, but always holding back, too
scared to trust again?

My
thoughts are interrupted by the bell above the door. I quickly wipe
powdered sugar from my face in case it’s a client, but instead,
Marcie waltzes back in. She’s tanned and smiling, and instead
of her usual business outfits, she’s in loose pants and a tank
top, her usually blown-straight hair in riotous natural curls.

“You’re
back!” I leap to my feet. “I didn’t know you were
coming so soon. How were the islands?” I ask.

“Oh,
just blissful.” Marcie beams. “Hi Lottie, you look well.
Is that boy of yours behaving himself?”

“Just
about.” Lottie smiles and packs up her things. “I was
just heading out. Nice to see you!”

Good
luck
, she mouths at me
as she heads for the door.

Marcie
bustles through to her office, and I take a deep breath. I didn’t
think I’d see her so soon, so I haven’t prepared any
pitch about taking over the business, but I don’t need to jump
to that right away. If I just update her with how great things have
been running, I’ll see if she says anything about getting back
to Florida anytime soon and leave it there for now.

I
head over to her office and give her a quick update on everything
that’s been happening. “And Liv Sullivan had her offer
accepted too,” I say proudly. “We got it under asking
price, too.”

“Mmm?
That’s great.” Marcie glances at her phone. She seems
distracted when she should be seriously happy right now. She took off
on a two-week cruise, and while she was gone, I delivered a truckload
of happy clients and earned the agency a ton of commissions. That
should get me more than a vague smile, right? But either way, this
next news is sure to knock her socks off.

“And
I brought in a new client,” I say proudly. “The Callahan
Group. Exclusive on all their new developments.”

Marcie
finally looks up. “That’s wonderful, honey. Great job. I
knew you’d take care of things while I was away.”

I
take a seat. “So you had a good time?” I ask.

“The
best.” She smiles. “Sometimes you just need a break, you
know? Time to think about things, get clarity on the future . . .”

“Right.”
I nod, enthusiastic.

“And
that’s what I wanted to talk about.” Marcie finally puts
her phone aside, and gives me a big smile. “We’ve had a
great run here, but Bob and I are ready for a change. We’ve
been talking for a while, and while we were gone, we made the big
decision. We’re going to move down and take the boat out
full-time.”

Yes
!

I
manage to keep from punching the air with delight. “That sounds
great,” I say instead. “You’ll have an amazing
time. You’ve earned it,” I add, and she laughs.

“I
should say.”

“And
you don’t need to worry, the business will be in safe hands,”
I add, feeling something other than heartbroken for the first time
all week. This is it, everything I’ve been working so hard to
achieve. Marcie’s not the only one who’s earned her
change: I put in the hours, hustled hard, and now here it is, my own
business at last.

“Yes,
it will be,” Marcie agrees. “I’ve already talked to
Ron, and he’s excited to expand to include our little office.”

I
stare. “Ron?” I echo, confused.

“Ron
Parsons, you know, from Parsons Realty up in Wilmington. And don’t
worry, I already told him what a great agent you are, and he’s
promised to keep your job open, to start with anyway.”

I’m
stunned. She can’t be serious! Ron freaking Parsons. He with
the lime green polo shirts and hard-sell tactics, all smug and
hair-gelled. She’s selling the business to him?

“But
Marcie, I wanted to talk to you about it,” I start, trying to
keep calm and professional. “I was thinking I could take over.”

Marcie
blinks. “You?”

“I
have savings,” I tell her. “And I could get a business
loan, work out some kind of payment plan.”

She
gives me a patronizing smile. “I applaud your ambition, but
honey, you’re much too young.”

I
bristle. “I closed fifty-three deals in the past year.”

“So
many?” Marcie looks surprised. She would be. She’s done
barely one tenth of that business herself. I can only hope she takes
a beat to reconsider, but then she shakes her head. “You’re
a great saleswoman, but Ron has a whole team behind him, he knows how
the business works.”

“Please,”
I beg, getting desperate. “Give me a chance, just hear me out.
If you’re worried I can’t handle it, I’ll put
together a business plan for you; we can sit down together at the
bank!”

“Oh
sweetie, I wish I could.” Marcie doesn’t seem that
regretful. “But Ron and I already shook hands on it, weeks ago.
The contracts are all drawn up. It’s for the best,” she
adds, comforting. “You’re young, you don’t want the
stress of managing a place like this. You just keep on selling, and
soon you’ll have other things to worry about, like a family.”

Is
she serious? I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something
I’ll regret.

“Why
don’t you take the afternoon off?” Marcie suggests
brightly. “Go treat yourself, have some fun. Whatever you
want!”

I
wander back out into the office, dazed. I can’t believe it,
that I’ve been busting my ass for so long, and it’s all
for nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing. I grab my bag and open
the door—and find Lottie sitting on the steps. She gets up, and
I can tell from the sympathy on her face that she’s heard every
word through the open windows.

“I
need a drink,” I sigh.

“I
know something even better.”

Five
minutes later, we’re sat at Franny’s bakery with a table
full of cake.

“Too
young!” I echo Marcie’s words, angrily waving my fork.
“I’ve been keeping that place afloat for years!”

“Mmmhmm,”
Lottie murmurs supportively.

“Does
she even care about the clients?” I continue, fuming. “She’s
passing them all off on Ron. Ron! His agents don’t know the
area, not like me. They’re all flashy suits and no soul, they
won’t care about anyone at all. Do you think they’d go
help a client break into his new house at three in the morning
because he’s left the keys inside? Or mop the basement on their
hands and knees when a pipe busts and the buyers are due to arrive
any minute?”

“Here,
try the chocolate.” Lottie slides a plate closer, and I take a
big mouthful.

“I’ve
been working for this. I
deserve
this.”

“So
do it yourself.”

I
pause my rant. “What do you mean?”

Lottie
shrugs. “Set up on your own. You said yourself nobody knows
this town like you do. The agency clients are only there because you
take such good care of them,” she adds. “Who do you think
they’d choose between you and this Ron guy? You have the money
saved, you’ve got your real estate license, so why not go into
business for yourself and run the competition out of town?”

I
pause, a forkful of cake halfway to my mouth. I can’t believe I
didn’t think of it sooner, it makes perfect sense. “I
guess I figured I needed the agency for the legal stuff, the
clients . . .”

“Hire
a lawyer, woo the clients,” Lottie replies. “Simple.”

And
it is. I could have everything I wanted, without needing Marcie or
anyone else’s permission. But thinking about going out on my
own, I can’t help feeling sad all over again. Will would want
me to do it. He was my cheerleader, always on my side. I’d
never known a guy like that before: someone who really wanted me to
succeed, and didn’t get jealous or want to cut me down to size.

“You’re
thinking about Will again,” Lottie says, sympathetic. “You
get this look, like someone just stomped on your heart. Eat some more
cake.”

“Cake
won’t help, not when he’s off with
her
.”

“So
what are you going to do about it?” Lottie finally looks
impatient. “You’re Delilah Morgan. You never just sit
around feeling sorry for yourself. You hustle and get it done.”

I
shake my head. “Save the pep talk,” I tell her. “I’m
still trying to figure all this out.”

“Don’t
wait too long,” she warns me. “He may say he’ll
wait, but life gets in the way sometimes. By the time you make a
decision, the chance might be gone.”

“Gee,
thanks.” I give a hollow laugh. “Real supportive.”

Lottie
grins. “You said to cut the pep talk! It’s OK, babe,”
she says, patting my shoulder. “Life may suck right now, but at
least you’ve got carbs.”

We
sit and devour our body weights in cake until Kit gets out of
playgroup, and I walk home. The boat trailer is still parked outside
my place. I need to get it hitched and driven down to the creek
again, but now, I find myself climbing up and hauling myself inside.

I
sit on one of the benches and look around. The old, splintered boards
are nowhere to be seen, but there are new things too: a set of
waterproof pillows, tucked in a case, and a sturdy built-in box that
will be perfect for my fishing gear. I feel a flood of emotion,
seeing what he’s done for me. Will’s work is flawless,
the wood smooth and polished. He must have worked hours on this,
keeping it a secret from me the whole time, putting such care and
attention into every piece.

My
heart twists. God, I miss him so much. How is it that someone can
become a part of your life so fast, it’s like they’ve
always been there? Being with him, it felt so easy, like we’d
always been there, and always would be.

“Permission
to come aboard?”

I
snap out of my thoughts, surprised to find someone on the sidewalk.
“Daddy!” I blink, confused to see him standing there in
his work shirt and tie. “What are you doing here?”

“Your
mom suggested I stop by.” He climbs up onto the trailer and
steps in the boat. “Look at this thing,” he says,
sounding wistful. “I can’t believe he’s still
around.”

“I
thought he was a goner, but Will fixed him,” I explain.

Dad
takes a seat on the bench opposite me and loosens his tie. He must
have driven down straight from the office, but I’m still
confused. I can’t remember the last time we even met without
Mom around. It was back before everything happened; since then, I’ve
kept our visits to family dinners and holidays.

“I
still remember the time you caught your first ten-pounder,” he
says, a nostalgic smile on his tanned, weathered face. “You
can’t have been more than nine years old.”

“Eight,”
I say, softening at the memory.

“We
spent some good times out on the creek in this old thing.” Dad
pats the wood. “We should do it again sometime, if you’d
like,” he adds, a hopeful note in his voice.

I
nod slowly. “Maybe.”

There’s
silence. Dad lets out a sigh. “Your mom told me you and Will
were having some problems—”

“Dad.”
I cut him off quickly. He’s the last person I want to talk to
about forgiveness and betrayal right now.

“No,
you need to hear this,” he insists. His eyes are on me, full of
sadness and regret. “I know things aren’t right between
the two of us, and they haven’t been since . . . what
I did. And I’m sorry about that, sweetheart, you have to know
I’m sorry. But those were
my
mistakes, not his,” he says gently. “I just don’t
want you punishing him because I’m the one who really let you
down.”

Tears
well in my eyes before I can stop them. “You hurt me,” I
whisper.

“I
know.”

“And I’m scared that
if I give him the chance, he’ll hurt me like that, too.”

My
dad looks at me sadly. “Maybe he will. Who can say? But maybe
he’ll turn out to be a better man than I ever was.”

Now
I can’t hold the tears back. “You’re not
bad
,”
I tell him. Dad fishes in his pocket, and passes me a handkerchief. I
blow my nose messily into the cotton. “How do you still have
these?” I ask, sniffling.

“I’ve
learned they come in handy sometimes. It was how I met your mother,
you know,” he adds, with a nostalgic smile. “She was
having trouble with her new contact lenses, just standing in the
street with tears streaming down her face. I thought she was crying
her eyes out; I offered to help beat the man who upset her. She
laughed and laughed. I was dressed in my tennis clothes at the time,
so I guess I didn’t strike the most threatening figure,”
he adds, rueful. “But the offer stands, if you want.”

“What,
you’ll go knock Will out?” I can’t even imagine
that. My father gets squeamish even taking a spider outside. “Thanks,
but I’m not sure that would work out too well, for either of
you.”