Page 47 of Scarred Hearts

My black and tan Doberman Pinscher, Fenway, heard me with a stranger at the garage door. His ferocious barking bounced off the walls as I put the key in the hole and unlocked it. I’d warned her only moments ago to let me walk in first, so he’d know she belonged. She loved animals and couldn’t follow directions whatsoever, so she pushed by me, instantly dropping to her knees in front of him.

Just when I reached out to grab her, she was talking to him with her teeth gritted in a baby voice, calling him a good boy, and introducing herself to him like he was a little human. Fenway loved it. Shocked he’d not ripped her face off, I stood there in astonishment while they formed an instant bond. He hated everyone who wasn’t related, or who he didn’t see often enough. However, if I was okay, he was too. Still, he didn’t like strangers in his face, until now.

“He’s never acted like that before,” I murmured.

She stood tall, beaming with a playful smile and a wink. “Maybe he can smell your scent all over me and knows that I belong to you.” Reaching for my face, she dragged her nail along my jawline.

“Maybe.” I squinted down at my large, once-threatening dog, scratching behind his ears as she made her way to the kitchen.

She examined the room in amazement. The under glow of the see-through cabinets provided just enough light to offer a cozy ambiance in the night. I wanted to ask what was on her mind.

Tracing her fingers along the cool, smooth surface of the grey marble island, she let out a soft sigh of appreciation. “This kitchen is absolutely stunning,” she purred, her eyes scanning every small detail of the room. Her gaze landed on the cozy breakfast nook tucked into the corner. A comfortable L-shaped bench lined one side, with three chairs gathered around a round table in the center. With a curious expression, she strolled over and lightly ran her hand along one of the chairs. Then, turning to me, she asked, “Do you guys eat as a family a lot?”

The question caught me off guard. Since Mila passed away, I’d done everything in my power to keep our home as normal as possible for the kids. It hadn’t occurred to me that they might have wanted to sit and eat as a family. The thought of the empty space at the table and the memories it held might have made them sad. So instead, we ate in the den with TV trays, watching a movie or show together during dinner. I shifted my gaze away from hers, not wanting to reveal my inner turmoil.

“Oh, shit.” She creased her brow, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” I lifted a hand, setting her belongings on the island, striding over to her. “I just never thought they’d want that since there’d be an empty place, but I might have been damaging them more.”

“No,” she took a step toward me, placing her hands on my chest. “When people pass, there’s no manual that comes with the kids that says how to handle it or what they want or don’t. Sometimes they don’t even know.”

I swallowed hard. “How do you know, though? I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just asking.”

“Because when my mom walked out on my family, it was the same way.” She exhaled a shaky breath, and I took her hands in mine, still holding them against my chest. “I didn’t know what I wanted. I just missed her. My dad didn’t know how to act so he kinda just ignored me. I mean, he was there to do the father shit, like scold me when I acted dumb or threaten my teachers when they sent me home with a note. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to know, I acted out a lot,” she snickered.

I chuckled quietly.

“Um,” she glanced around, “is it safe to step outside and smoke? If I don’t smoke, I might cry right now, and I?—”

“Yeah,” I said, taking her hand in mine, “come on.”

“My cigarettes are in my bag.”

With a gentle tug, I pulled open the cluttered junk drawer and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “We smoke the same brand,” I remarked, offering her a faint smile.

She laughed as I took her hand in mine again, leading her out of the back, sliding glass door onto the covered brick porch. “I rarely smoke,” I said, “but lately I seem to be smoking a lot more.”

“Same,” she replied, withdrawing her hand from mine.

I reached into the pack and removed two cigarettes, placing them between my lips before lighting them both. I gave one to her, our hands briefly touching as she took it. Together, we took long drags, the smoke filling our lungs.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Mr. Prescott?” A deep voice came from around the corner. Then one of Ian’s men appeared with a pistol drawn at the bottom of the four brick stairs leading up to the porch.

“Yeah,” I replied, and he lowered the weapon. “It’s just us. Sorry, I didn’t want to turn on a light and cause… exactly that.”

He holstered his gun. “Please warn us before you step out of the house.”

“Fine.” I shook my head as he disappeared around the shrubs and small trees against the house, lining a bigger, uncovered brick patio. We’d used it for entertaining often, a canopy of trees providing ample shade during the hotter summer months. I twisted back to Giovanna. “Continue from where you left off inside.”

Leaning on the half wall framing the patio, she nodded. “Anyway, I didn’t realize until I was older that my dad just didn’t know how to act when that happened.” She inhaled her cigarette again, then exhaled. “So, I can only imagine how much tougher it is in your situation. I’m sure you’ve been busy just trying to keep things as normal as possible.”

“I have,” I admitted with a sheepish grin, “and truthfully, I’m sure I’m not even a good cook.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she tilted her head and said, “I’ll teach ya!” Her tone quickly shifted to seriousness. “Sorry, that’s overstepping into territory that’s more than just friends with benefits.”

I took a step closer to her, the soft glow of the kitchen lights casting a warm and intimate aura around us. My gaze locked onto hers as I replied, “I never said we were friends.”

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