Page 21 of Playing with My Heart

But as I looked over at the bathroom door, remembering the steam that had seeped out earlier, the vision of Parker emerging fresh and somehow even more irresistible in my clothes—“Shit,” I swore softly.

Independent. That was what I was—what I prided myself on being. Yet, the thought of that door opening again, of Parker strolling out with a smile meant just for me, sent a jolt of longing through my veins that was anything but independent.

The night had felt so right, so damn perfect, and now the absence of him was a cold contrast that seeped into my bones. Parker just fit, at work, with my friends, in my home. Like he was a piece I hadn’t known was missing from the puzzle of my life. But there was one problem, and it was a major one. He wasn’t mine. His heart belonged to someone else.

Chapter Eight

PARKER

The subway car jostled rhythmically, a comforting end to the exhaustive bustle of another long week. I leaned against the window, watching the blur of dark tunnels lit intermittently by passing fluorescent bulbs, and let out a sigh that fogged up the glass before me. My fingers danced over my phone screen, initiating a call to a number I knew by heart.

“Hey, Mom,” I said when she answered, the warmth in her voice instantly soothing my frayed nerves.

“Parker! How’s the city treating you?”

“Can’t complain,” I replied. “Work’s good, the people are nice. And I joined a softball team.”

“Look at you! Making friends and staying active,” she cheered.

I smiled. “How’s everything there?”

“Everyone’s doing well,” she continued, launching into a lengthy description of everything she and my dad had been up to, including the dance classes they’d decided to take. “I swear, that man may have two left feet, but he can still make myhead spin. But anyway, enough about us. We miss you terribly, honey.”

“I miss you guys too.” The words were simple but heavy with truth.

“And what about David? How’s he doing with his new job?” Her question, innocent and motherly, scratched at an irritation I’d buried beneath layers of understanding and patience. But my patience was wearing thin, as evidenced by yet another argument that morning.

“David is—always working.” The words slipped out, laced with annoyance I hadn’t intended to reveal.

“Sweetheart, have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?”

“I can’t, Mom. He’s doing important work. Anything I say would just sound selfish.” I pressed my forehead against the cool window, seeking some relief.

“Your happiness is important too, Parker. You both need to find balance. Life isn’t just about work.” Her voice held that gentle firmness that had guided me through countless troubles growing up.

“That’s what I told him, but maybe I need to try again,” I murmured, mulling over the wisdom she’d gifted me without even trying.

“Life’s too short to be anything but honest with your heart. Remember that.” With those parting words, she ended the call, leaving a silence that seemed louder than the rattle of the train.

I pocketed my phone and exhaled slowly, letting her advice sink in. The train pulled into my station, and I stepped off, carrying the weight of the conversation that needed to happen. I just hoped we could manage to have it without it turning into another argument. Either way, I could no longer afford to tiptoe around our issues. It wasn’t fair to either of us.

A strange scent greeted me as I stepped into the apartment, the smell reminding me of my mother’s flower garden back home. I paused, my hand still on the doorknob, as my senses were further assailed by the gentle strains of some acoustic melody floating through the air. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmed lighting, but when they did, the sight before me was as disarming as the unexpected smells and sounds.

“David?”

He emerged from the kitchen, a steaming casserole dish cradled in his mitted hands, a sheepish yet hopeful smile tugging at his lips. There, in the middle of our modest living room, a table for two had been meticulously set—a tablecloth, candles flickering softly, and fresh flowers bursting with color, the source of the scent I’d picked up on.

“Surprise,” David said, with a nervous chuckle, his eyes roaming over the romantic setup. “I know it’s been—a lot, lately. With work and everything.”

The words lingered, heavy with an unspoken apology. My throat constricted at the sight—this effort, this gesture. It was so intrinsically David, yet so foreign after the weeks of distance that had settled between us like an unwelcome guest.

“What’s all this for?” I asked, my voice barely rising above the music coming from the speakers.

David set down the dish with care, as if it bore the weight of his confession. “I’ve been working a lot,” he admitted, meeting my gaze with an intensity that seemed to strip away some of the strain we’d been experiencing. “And I know I’ve been neglecting you, Parker. I’m sorry. I want to make it right. I want to make you happy.”

His words were like a balm, soothing yet jarring against the rawness of my recent thoughts. Before I could sift through the tangle of emotions and form a coherent response, he caughtme off-guard. Bending down on one knee, he produced a small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal a ring that sparkled with promise and pretense. “Parker, will you marry me?”

Sunlight spilled through the blinds, dragging me out of a restless sleep. I reached for David’s side of the bed, finding only the cold rumpled sheets as evidence that I was alone. The empty space where he should have been felt like an echo of last night’s proposal—a question hanging in the air, unanswered.

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