Written on Her Heart (9 page)

The girls jogged to catch up with their group. Emma and James slid into the booth.

“What’s good here?” James looked at the menu like he didn’t recognize the language.

“Everything. You want pizza or something else?”

“Pizza?” He raised a brow, uncertain.

“Try the pepperoni double cheese, double crust.”

“Double crust?”

Emma dropped her menu onto the table. “Double crust. Are you kidding me right now? They put another thin layer of dough on top and shine it up with butter, then bake it till it cracks.” She waited for it to hit him. Double crust.

“Like a calzone.” He nodded and went back to his menu.

She pulled the menu from his eyes. “No. Not like a calzone. Like a party in your mouth. A spa party where your teeth say
oh
and
ah
.”

“Well, how do I say no to that?” He winked.

Emma sighed. Whoever thought of winking as sexy never saw James do it. The time between ordering and eating dragged along. The conversation lacked anything good. At least he was fun to look at.

When the pizza arrived, scents of salt, cheese and butter intoxicated her. She thought of Fred Flintstone floating through his house on a whiff of brontosaurus in the kitchen. James cut and lifted a slice high above the pizza pan, trailing cheese into the air with it. He wrapped the cheese around a fork 50 times before he gave up and placed the slice onto a place. He cut the stringy threads against the table with his fork and a chuckle. For one fleeting moment things were different and that slice was for her.

“I didn’t forget. I promise.” The waitress appeared, sliding a Greek salad in front of Emma. One small chunk of bread on the side. “Teens stormed the place about an hour ago. I’m still recovering. Anything else I can get for you?”

“We’re all set, thanks.” Emma’s smile faded. She pushed the pizza back to James.

He had a wad of napkins, failing to clean the grease off his shirt. “Salad?”

“I’m a closet health nut. Don’t tell my mother.” She cut a small bite of lettuce and stabbed it with her fork.

“Well, that shouldn’t surprise me. A figure like yours is no accident.” Another wink.

Emma’s eyes watered as the lettuce lodged in her throat. Somehow he didn’t laugh. Instead he looked at her like he expected something. A compliment in return? An explanation of how she kept her figure? A blush at his unwanted ogling. The journal popped into mind. She should be at home in her pajamas, on her porch swing, learning something new about her soldier. Not here, choking on romaine.

The little bell rang over the shop’s front door. Her head snapped up. The next man through the door could be
him
. The
Fallons
walked in laughing and waited for a to-go order. Mitchell had people over all the time. She could be there too. Anywhere sounded better than on her failing date.

“Do you jog?” James didn’t seem to notice they were on the Titanic.

“I hike.”

“I’ve never done that. You should take me sometime.”

“Hiking?” She wiped the corner of her mouth and blinked back the tears from choking.

Mitchell spotted her, and he spoke into his wife’s ear. She turned Emma’s way and opened her mouth to speak when the bell jingled again. Emma took a long pull on the straw in her ice water, preparing to say hello as soon as she could manage.

Five seconds later, Nicholas walked in. Against her better judgment, something inside her soared.

Chapter Eight

Nicholas didn’t sleep after he left Mitchell’s place. Too many unknowns plagued his mind. Where did he put his journal for one thing? He’d retraced his steps, covered every inch of Honey Creek and the lake. The thing didn’t up and walk away. Someone had it. Who? He couldn’t decide if he wanted it to have traveled home with a stranger who visited for the day or to be seated on a local coffee table. The former meant a family treasure gone forever. The latter meant someone close by knew too much.

Then there was the other thing. His hyper-awareness of Emma had him in limbo. A few weeks back she started appearing like an apparition everywhere he went. The more he took notice, the more she appeared. Meeting her made her real, tangible and infinitely frustrating. He knew the shape of her eyes, the curve of her jaw and the sound of her laugh. He picked it out in crowds. He expected to see her everywhere, and the disappointment when he didn’t was brutal.

For a moment when he saw her having pizza the other night, he resolved to invite her over to Mitchell’s with him. The look on Cynthia’s face warned him, but he thought the warning meant Emma was there, not she was there
on a date
. “Ugh.” He had no business caring, but the sudden twinge of jealousy knocked the air out of him. Stupid, but true.

Nicholas poured his coffee into a thermal mug and headed for his truck. Stewing in the house served no one. Plus, he had a solid chance of running into Emma at the lake.

****

After a trip around the lodge, he found Emma seated on the dam swinging her legs and reading a book. Her camera bag lay beside her. Nicholas smiled. She was like a magnet. He’d never have to worry about where she was. He could close his eyes and still find her.

“Anyone ever told you it’s not safe to sit up here?” he called from several yards away.

Emma started and shoved the book into her bag before he got close enough to see what she had. Her hair floated in the wind off the water, streaming into her face. She didn’t seem to mind. Her thin pale legs dangled over the edge like a child. Carefree. Happy.

“This seat taken?”

She patted the cement beside her and smiled up into the sun at him. The look dazzled, confused and intrigued him. Was she always so happy, or was she glad to see him? He took a seat and pretended not to be on a mission. Step one involved reconnaissance.

“Were you reading?” He stole a sideways glance her way. Nonchalant. It didn’t matter. He worried she’d been in the sun too long. Her cheeks looked red.

“Do you read?” She didn’t answer him, but she didn’t tell him to kick stones either. Promising. Emma grabbed a fistful of flyaway hair and hooked it behind one ear.

“Not in years, but I used to read a lot.” He ducked his head, wondering if he should’ve said he still did to impress her. “You do.” The more he saw her, the more things registered. Like the fact she carried a book as often as a camera.

She smiled, and he fought the urge to touch her. Impulsive. Ridiculous. Not smooth.

“I do. Heather teases me. She says I lose a lot of time to reading, but I disagree.”

“How was your date with the new teacher?” Nice transition. He turned his face away long enough to look casual. Just a friendly question. Small towns. She’d understand.

Her lips puckered. A small line formed between her brows. “He winked a lot.”

Nicholas laughed. She did too.

“Oh yeah?”

She shook her head in wonder, but said nothing.

He needed a life raft. Why didn’t she talk? “Did he make you laugh? I always think I’m doing all right on a date if she laughs.”

“At you or with you?” A mischievous look crossed her features. He liked it.

“It’s been my experience they laugh at me after I take them home.”

“Uh huh.”

“Stop me if you’ve heard this.” What was he saying? His mind screamed,
Stop talking right now. Do
not
do a joke.
His mouth ignored. “There’s two guys and a dog. The first guy says to the second guy, ‘Hey man, does your dog bite?’”

Emma’s face went blank. Her mouth parted. Her eyes narrowed.

“The second guy says, ‘No. My dog don’t bite.’ So the first guy takes a seat with them, and the dog clamps onto his leg.”

Emma closed her eyes.

Sweat beaded on Nicholas’s neck.
Shut up.
He begged his mouth to stop. His heart screamed
Retreat! Retreat! Abort! Abort!
“The first guy says ‘Hey! You said your dog don’t bite.’ But the second guy says, ‘That
ain’t
my dog.’”

To his delight, she laughed. Not a polite, he sucked laugh, but a genuine belly laugh. Her head tipped back, and she opened her mouth wide. One hand drifted to her chest and her fingers lingered near her collar. When she looked at him again, there were tears in her eyes. “That was awful,” she complained, wiping a renegade tear. “Terrible bad.”

But she laughed. “You never heard it?”

“No.” She looked at him like he gave her candy. He liked that too.

“So, what’re you doing up here all by yourself anyway?”

“I’m not.” Her red cheeks distracted him. Was she flirting? He felt his brows come together, and she looked away. “I like to people watch. Fishermen interest me. They’re drawn to the water like I am, but for a different purpose. They hope to catch fish. I hope to capture a moment.” She pulled her camera from her bag and shifted through some images. “Look.”

When she passed the camera to him, he thought she looked eager. He pulled his gaze from hers and found an image powerful enough to make a grown man hold his breath. Early morning light drifted across the lake caught in her camera. The light filtered through trees, illuminating the water like a mirror. A muted image of the cloudless blue sky, banks covered in tall brown cattails, and an old man with a child looked back through the mirror. The man and the child stood side by side, old and young, youth and experience, sharing a moment every man in town remembered like it happened yesterday. His grandfather positioned his hands on the tiny reel. The boy’s face twisted in concentration. The old man beamed with pride.

Nicholas swallowed hard.

“You like it,” she whispered.

Before he cried like a baby and humiliated every man in town, he sucked it up and nodded. How could she know that one moment was so defining? How did she tell the whole story in one picture? Did every second of time reveal so much?

“My dad taught me to fish by those cattails.” She looked at the water as she spoke.

“But who taught you to do this?” He lifted the camera but didn’t offer it to her.

“I’m an only child. I like watching people. In time I started taking pictures to help me remember them in moments I wanted to save. I studied photography in college, but it wasn’t until a few years ago I started to see things clearly.”

“What changed?”

“Everything.”

Emma took her camera and stood. What did he say? Her smile disappeared and she packed up. When she walked away, he followed. “You have a gift, you know.”

She kept moving. He kept pace. “Mavis hasn’t had her picture taken in a while.” Ever. “Maybe you’d consider indulging an old girl?”

Emma froze. He almost crashed into her. She raised a hand to her eyes and looked up at him with a crazy face that made him laugh. “You want me to take pictures of your dog? The old hound who nearly gave me a heart attack the other night? The one who hates night fishing?”

He hesitated. After the picture she’d showed him, photographing Mavis probably sounded like an insult, but how else could he secure some more time alone with her? “Yes.”

“Sounds like fun.” She pulled a brilliant purple and red business card from her bag and handed it to him.
Photos from the Heart Photography.
“Call me when she’s ready, and bring her a hat.”

****

The minute he entered Dr. Kennedy’s office he smiled. A bright red frame hung on the wall beside her desk. Big purple flowers and hummingbirds filled the canvas. His mind ran to the red and purple business card in his pocket. The card smelled like her, sunshine and strawberries. He pictured her elbow deep in jam like the rest of the town.