Page 29 of The Wrong Heart

“Sorry,” she says, coming up beside me until I finally pivot towards her and we’re face-to-face. “I brought you something.”

The fuck?

That frown is back, that frosty scowl that would send most people running in the other direction but doesn’t seem to have the same effect on her. “What?” I say the word like I didn’t hear her. Maybe I didn’t.

“I brought you something,” she repeats, blinking as she looks up at me, her petite frame hardly coming up to my chest. Melody falters briefly, almost as if her eyes are stuck to me, then clears her throat and glances down at a little gift bag in her hand. “Here.”

The offering is just a blur in my peripheral as she holds it up. I don’t look at it. I don’t say anything either, which always makes things nice and awkward.

Melody gnaws on the underside of her bottom lip as the silence envelops us, and the gesture captures my attention for a moment before my eyes slide back up in haste as if they were scolded.

“Here, take it,” she insists, shoving the bag at me.

I release a stoical sigh and snap my wrist up, curling my fingers around the drawstrings. A cupcake sits inside the decorative sack, encased within a plastic container. “What’s this?”

“A cupcake.” Her subsequent frown replies with, “Duh, you moron.”

“A cupcake,” I parrot.

“Yes, a cupcake. It’s lemon-flavored cake with meringue filling and raspberry cream frosting.”

Shit.That sounds kind of fucking delicious.

Luckily, I’ve perfected the art of indifference, so I just stare at her, the little bag dangling from one finger. “Have I mistakenly given you the impression that I like handouts? Or people?”

Melody flinches ever so slightly. “I mean, I brought one for Amelia, too, so you don’t need to feel special or anything. I’m a baker. It’s what I do.”

“A baker? You do this for a living?”

“Yes.” She dips her eyes to my chest, scanning the lettering across my t-shirt, the one I didn’t have time to change out of before coming to this shitshow. “Are you in construction?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Um…” Melody squints her eyes, still focused on theDenison Demos & Designslogo across my dirt-smudged shirt. “I need some work done, actually. My dad was renovating our bathr—” Something steals her words, and she drops her chin to her chest. “Mybathroom. I need someone to finish it.”

It takes a moment for her eyes to trail back up to me, and when they do, there’s a shift. The light dims, and the green dulls. “You’re looking to hire me?”

“I think so. Sure. If you’re available.”

“You’re not going to pay me in cupcakes, are you?” It wasn’t meant to be funny. I’m not a funny person. But Melody fucking smiles again, causing my glower to reappear, an overcast sky to her sunshine, and I shuffle backwards, gaze lowering to my sawdust-speckled work boots. “Fine, okay. I’m pretty busy right now, but I’ll take a look at the schedule.”

And then I turn and walk away, not giving her a chance to respond, although, I think I hear a faint “thank you” filter out the door, and it follows me to my truck.

I feel on edge as I settle into the driver’s side—prickly and unsettled. The gift bag is still laced through my fingers, so I toss it onto the passenger’s seat to join my hoodie and stray tools. That’s where I plan to leave it as I rev the engine, but I falter, glancing to my right and eyeing the treat.

Damn it.

Two seconds later, I’m digging into the bag and pulling out the cupcake, finishing it in just two bites.

And it’s really fucking good.

I’m up early the next morning, chugging down a cup of black coffee and pouring kibble into a metal dog bowl. Walden totters over to the corner of the kitchen, his cloudy eyes shifting between me and his breakfast. The red ball sits dormant in the middle of the floor after another failed attempt at fetch, and I eye it with disdain.

“Eat up,” I tell the dog, but he only stands there and stares at me, causing me to wonder for the millionth time if he’s going deaf, or if he’s just real stubborn. “Or don’t. I don’t like being told what to do either.”

Filling my cheeks with air and blowing out a hard breath, I snag a granola bar for the road and make my way out of the house for a job. The sky is blooming with bright oranges and fuchsias, lighting up the treetops, sunbeams on evergreen. It’s not something I usually notice, but it gives me pause today as I hesitate beside my truck, squinting my eyes up at the first blush of dawn. A peculiar feeling sweeps through me, a quick shot of warmth to my veins, and I find myself thinking about my father and his daylilies.

Fleeting beauty.

---