Where We Left Off Page 2

  She looked up. “Holy crap, you’re cute.”

  Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.

  “Actually, I’m Heath,” I said. And I winked at her. I freaking winked, like the idiot I was. I slipped my hand further into the gap between us and I waited for her to take hold, but maybe she didn’t like to hold hands with idiots. That would be reasonable of her. For a split second, my insides spasmed as I wondered whether she’d take my hand or not. Why I was nervous, I had no clue, but I felt it buzz throughout my body. It was a sensation that I both loved and hated. Like being electrocuted. Maybe not quite like that, because that probably wasn’t enjoyable, but there was definitely a current sweeping and tingling through my body.

  “I’m Mallory. Mallory Alcott.” Her eyes met mine. Each lash was tipped in white snow and it looked like glitter. “And Heath, has anyone ever told you that you’re super adorable?”

  “My mom, but she’s obligated to think so because she shares half my DNA.”

  Apparently that was funny. Mallory laughed, a belly deep one, and sort of tossed her head back. It exposed her long, pale neck, which normally I wouldn’t find to be a particularly hot body part, but considering it was the dead of winter and every other inch of her was covered, I found it completely hot. My stomach took a nosedive.

  “Well, Heath, your mom is correct. Those dimples don’t even look real. They’re like manmade or something.”

  “Manmade dimples?”

  At this point, Mallory finally took my hand. I never really had a favorite season, but I knew it wasn’t winter. Winter had it out for me with its massive coats and gloves and scarves. It was hard to be intimate with so many layers between. Even still, it did feel strangely intimate as I drew her hand toward me. She rose her feet, then bent down to retrieve her pink and white bike from the sidewalk.

  “Yes, manmade dimples. Hey, I figure if every other body part can be manufactured, dimples probably can, too. Yours should be the prototype.”

  Man, this girl was something else. I didn’t know what to make of her, but I knew I wanted her to keep talking. It was freezing out—probably below—and we were the only ones on the streets. Everyone else sought shelter because that’s what you did when it was dark and snowing and a school night in November.

  I wasn’t about to go anywhere.

  “You have nice hair,” I stammered.

  “Ah, Heath.” She slugged me on the shoulder and it was so startling that I had to plant my feet to avoid swiveling. “You don’t owe me anything. I give compliments freely. I learned long ago that you should always say what you’re thinking because you never know when the gift of words will be taken from you.”

  Though she didn’t appear any older than me, I knew with that lone assertion that she’d lived much, much more life in those limited years.

  And suddenly I found myself wanting to know exactly how she’d spent each and every one.

  Mallory

  My heart had a voice, and she’d been yammering on and on all night. Tugging at my thoughts and infiltrating my dreams. She was quite the chatterbox. Twice I’d woken up with a racing pulse, my chest tight, and stomach feeling hollow and weightless like that first dip on a roller coaster. By the third interruption, I decided to get up. Sleep was not going to be had.

  As I tiptoed down the hall, I saw an intermittent light flickering through Nana’s door, which was cracked open a few inches, keeping her very much a part of the home as opposed to the somber room with the door locked shut at the end of the hall downstairs. Murmuring voices and canned laughter trilled in predictable measures from Grandma’s quarters. She’d probably fallen asleep with the television on again. Grandmas did that. But Grandmas were also once mothers, and that mother’s intuition—the one that wakes at the slightest creak, the faintest call—was still strong within her.

  “Mal, sweetheart? Is that you?”

  I stretched my slipper-clad foot across the threshold and slowly entered her room, the door creaking open. It smelled like vanilla in there and I took a deep, full breath. At the same time, Nana reached for the remote and clicked the TV off with one hand while flicking her nightstand lamp on with the other.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “Not even a little bit, huh?” She patted her hand on the downy white comforter that cloaked her. “That’s no good. No good at all.”

  I loved how the conversation could’ve been identical to ones we’d had ten or more years earlier when she had darker hair and I had crooked teeth and a smattering of freckles that now, at the age of sixteen, had started to fade in intensity. We were different people on the outside then, but time didn’t change the inside nearly as much. There was a warm familiarity to our midnight banter. Just like I did years ago, with a running start, I sprinted across the hardwood and vaulted onto her bed. The thud I made upon landing was jarring. I wasn’t quite that slight, petite little girl any longer. I’d grown into my gangly limbs and big, buckteeth.

  “Just narrowly missed them.” Nana smiled.

  I laughed. “Those boogiemen practically had me by the ankles!”

  “How dare they!”

  I adored Nana. She was my favorite person ever. I often wondered had she not been my grandmother, if I’d still have the same affinity for her. I figured I would. Everyone else seemed to love her just as much. She was a favorite among her choir friends. A star at bunko. Her banana nut muffins were to die for and she had fantastic old lady style with her almost lavender hair and matching pastel eye shadow. Age had been predictable with her, turning her into what appeared to be your typical elderly woman upon first cursory glance. But that spirit within her, that was unlike any other.

  A spitfire. A dynamo. Even—admittedly—a cougar.

  Nana was just plain awesome. Simple as that.

  And she was my best friend. Naturally, she’d be the first person I’d tell about Heath. In her all-knowing ways, she beat me to the punch. “Spill the beans.”

  “Beans?”

  “Beans.” Her crinkled blue eyes went wide as she punctuated her words. “Boys. There are only two things that can keep you up at night. Indigestion and infatuation. I’m assuming it’s not the former. So it must be the latter. Boys.” Stretching into the space between us, she took hold of my hands. I could feel the thin texture of her skin, the way it seemed almost like crepe paper, frail and delicate. “Spill.”

  “It is a boy. I’ve seen him at the Blue Duck before.”

  “Ah.” Nana nodded. “A waiter?”

  “Busser, I think.”

  “That’s good. The bussers are the ones who do the real work. Loading dishes and wiping down tables. A man who can clean is a keeper in my book. So is the cook. But a boy who just delivers the food and neither makes it nor cleans it up? He’s only a middleman. Worth nothin’ if you ask me.”

  I’d never thought of it that way, but there was much to life that I hadn’t experienced through the same lens as Nana. At least not yet. She had fifty plus years on me.

  “We ended up at the same stoplight on our way home. And I actually ended up on the ground.”

  “He pushed you, that little dickens—”

  “No, no, Nana.” I chuckled. “Not at all. He just took me by surprise.”

  “It’s no surprise that he’d be interested in you. You’ve grown into quite the beautiful lady with a good head on your shoulders to boot. A real stunner.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, but like Heath’s mom, Nana was obligated to say it. But maybe truth canceled out obligation. Some things were just plain true, whether you were obligated to acknowledge them or not. I smiled at Nana’s compliment, hoping that was the case here.

  “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Well,” Nana began. Her hand gripped a little tighter onto mine. I could feel the thick acrylic on her nails press into my palms. “You’re going to call him.”

  “Call him? Isn’t that his job?”

  “Please, Mal. This is th
e twenty-first century. If you see something you want, you gotta take the bull by the horns. No sense waiting on a man to give you permission to do so. You liked what you saw, I gather?”

  My stomach did that fluttering thing again. Just the thought of those dimples sent my heart into overdrive. “Yes. And his personality wasn’t too terrible, either.”

  “All good things. So make your move. No sense in wasting anyone’s time with the runaround. Much too old for games like that.”

  She always made me laugh with her unfiltered tenacity. “Maybe you are, but I’m not too old for them. Isn’t that exactly what the teenage years are for?”

  With a tsk-tsk, Nana shook her head. Then she lifted a bony finger and waggled it directly in my face, her head still swiveling, eyes now like beads. “The teenage years are about setting and creating patterns for your adult ones. If you wish to play the monotonous and boring game of love for the rest of your life, by all means, please start now.” Nana’s index finger found my nose and bopped it playfully. A slow grin spread onto her face, and it deepened the laugh lines she wore so well. “But if you want to live a genuine life, one filled with truth—true love, true heartache, true emotion—you have to go after what it is that you truly want.”

  I stopped by the diner on Wednesday on my way home from the paint store. Tommy was in need of chartreuse that day, and he was lucky because I’d snagged the last tube of it in his favorite brand, no less. I’d watched him paint later that night, something he occasionally let me do. I was always careful not to interrupt. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if he knew I was there, but that was fine with me. I felt grateful to be a part of his creative process, even if only as an onlooker. It was a role I certainly knew how to fulfill with him.

  Heath wasn’t there when I’d slowed my bike down and passed by the restaurant. I’d craned my neck sideways to gain a better view through the frost-coated windows, but I saw some other young kid with the black tub, clearing the table closest to the entrance. Though Heath was the one I’d hoped to find, I sighed, brimming with relief that I didn’t have to profess my interest today. I knew Nana was wise and that her long life had given her permission to speak into mine, but it still scared me to think of asking Heath out. If that’s even what I’d planned to do. I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I didn’t have a plan, actually.

  And apparently Heath didn’t either, at least not a full one, because when he showed up on my porch Thursday afternoon, that was as far as his plan took him. Just to my doorstep, not a step further. His plan didn’t involve words because there were none to accompany his knock that was just the right mix of hesitant and eager. All he had readied was the drop of his jaw, and his mouth popped open like he was waiting to catch flies with it.

  “Heath!” I was the one doing the shouting this time. “What are you doing here?”

  He wore a navy pea coat and he buried his hands deep into the pockets of it, practically down to his knees. His jeans looked two-toned, water creeping up the bottom third and leaving them darker than their original hue. He had boots on, which was a wise thing considering the snow hadn’t let up much, and it was clear he’d trudged a long way to get here. If he was trying to play the game that Nana warned about, he’d failed. I’d found him out.

  “You walked here?”

  There were those dimples. “Two miles. Uphill, both ways.” He snagged the wool beanie from his head and balled it up in one hand, then sort of flicked it against the other like you would a rolled up newspaper or magazine. I hadn’t seen his hair before, as it had been tucked under a hat in the same way it was today. I don’t know why I was surprised to see the soft blond curls that fell to his jawline. It shouldn’t have surprised me at all. It fit what little I knew of him perfectly.

  “Dimples and golden curls? God, Heath! You’re like a mother’s dream child. Sugar and spice and everything nice, dimples and curls—” I started to sing.

  “Because she’s a girl,” he continued. “You calling me a girl?” His eyes were huge. “And you didn’t even get the lyrics right. It’s ribbons and curls.”

  “My mistake.” I was grateful he’d said it all through a laugh because when put that way, it didn’t have the sounds of a compliment at all. Not even a backhanded one. Why I’d started singing nursery rhymes to this boy was beyond me. “Sometimes I say stupid things.” I still gripped the edge of the door in my hand. I pushed it forward and back as I rocked on my heels. My voice quivered.

  “Sometimes I do stupid things, like show up randomly on a stranger’s doorstep.”

  “Hey, I do that, too!” I smacked my hand solidly to the oak door. The sudden percussion made him jump and I felt bad about it. This was going about as well as I’d expected. “Only I show up at their place of work.”

  Heath had his head angled down, like he was studying his feet or finally realizing how soaked his pant legs were, and when I said that, his head popped right up and his gray gaze slammed into mine. “So much less creepy.”

  “But so much less successful. You weren’t there, and I am here.” My mouth couldn’t stop smiling. With the temperatures the way they were, it felt as if it could freeze this way, this grin permanently adhered to my face. “It’s actually much smarter to show up at my house. The odds are higher that I’d be here. Of the two of us, you are the smarter creep.”

  “I suppose I’ll take it.”

  “How’d you even know where I lived?” I knew things like the Internet existed and addresses weren’t secrets, but I wanted him to say. His turn to spill the beans.

  “Class directory.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands and his poor beanie paid the consequences of that. It twisted back in forth in his grip as a mangled dishrag.

  “Get out!” I slammed a palm on the door again, and the same reaction from Heath ensued. “We go to the same school?”

  “Yep. Same grade even.”

  “No freaking way!” I let go of the door to push Heath square in the shoulders, and this time he was ready. He didn’t budge but braced against my hands. I didn’t know if it accentuated his already broad shoulders, but they felt incredible under my palms, even with that cumbersome jacket between them. “Heath, how on earth are we not a thing already?”

  His eyes had been held open widely before that, but when I said it, they relaxed, smiling almost in that way only eyes could do. The dimples that pricked firmly into reddened cheeks gave me the answer I hoped to hear.

  “Not sure, but give it time. I’m working on it.” Even his chuckle was adorable. I wanted to squeeze him, but for once, I refrained.

  “I’ll work on it, too.” I nodded. “I figure we’ll have a higher success rate if we’re both working on it.”

  “I like that idea.” He stopped strangling his beanie. I could see his Adam’s apple pull up and down in a tight swallow. “Can I take you out for dinner sometime? Any place but the diner?”

  My hands were still on him. They felt comfortable there, and right. “How about you stay here for dinner tonight? You know, since you walked all this way uphill in the snow.”

  He offered a full grin. I wanted to memorize it, it was that good.

  “I’d like that, Mallory.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But hey,” he said. His left eyebrow cocked upward. “From now on, let me do the asking, okay?”

  I slid my hands down from his shoulders. The snow that collected on his jacket sleeves made my palms slick and I swiped them against the front of my jeans.

  “I suppose. It’s just that my grandma gave me some advice to be bold and go for it. I’m learning how to do that, I guess.”

  “But I’m learning how to be a gentleman, and part of that involves you giving me the opportunity to be one.”

  My throat felt constricted. My pulse rammed in my neck, my fingers, my toes. I looked into Heath’s light eyes and could feel my lungs burn with the breath I’d trapped in.

  “Will you let me do that?” he asked. His head dipped down to search out my expression. He wasn’
t a whole lot taller than me. Just the right amount where I imagined my head could fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. Where my cheek would push to the warm skin on his collarbone.

  I nodded my reply.

  “Good.” His full lips spread apart and he beamed. “So then, Mallory, would you like to join me for dinner at your house, with your family, and your food tonight?”

  That breath I’d been holding, it flew out of my mouth, transformed into a burst of laughter. I nodded again. “I’d love to.”

  “Me too,” Heath said. Our gaze held and neither one of us blinked and it was that moment where you felt as though you could fly or soar or jump and never land. I was weightless and giddy and completely mesmerized by this kid in front of me. “By the way, my last name is McBride. Just so you know. Now I’m not a total stranger.”

  Heath McBride. I really, really liked the sound of that.

  Heath

  Mallory was an anomaly.

  There was no rhyme or reason to the way she ate her dinner tonight, which, for most people, wouldn’t be an issue. But I’d fully expected our mealtime to mimic the way she ate her particular order at Blue Duck last Tuesday, and it didn’t. Not even a little bit.

  Tonight left me crazy confused.

  We’d eaten mashed potatoes with turkey and peas, and I kid you not, she’d mashed the entire thing together like a stew. As in, had turkey and potato and peas all on her fork at one time, consumed in one bite. And she drank water with ice. Ice. There went my theory that she was British. I’d heard once that they didn’t put ice in their drinks. But Mallory clearly did tonight, and she clearly hadn’t on Tuesday.

  Tuesdays were different for some reason. A reason I really wanted to uncover.

  We ate at the formal dining table with her grandmother, a woman she introduced only as Nana, and a man she called Tommy. I couldn’t figure out the relationship with Tommy. He looked to be right in the middle between Mallory and Nana age-wise, but the fact that Mallory addressed him by his name made me think he probably wasn’t her father. Or if he was, there was some story there.