Page 39 of The Heartstrings of Harry
Is that whatDeanthought? That I was like an uncle-figure to him?
Oh God, what kind of weirdo was I?
* * *
I dropped Madeline at her home, and before she closed the passenger door of my truck she smiled. “I’m looking forward to Tuesday night.”
“Me too.” I tried to keep my voice even, enthusiastic. I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
Driving from Madeline’s to Andy’s, my heart started to race. It amazed me that the giddy feeling in my head, the flutter in my belly, the tightening in my chest, had never truly diminished since that first day I realized I was utterly smitten with Dean; that day when he seemed to magically transform from my best friend’s kid into a smoldering, sexy-as-hell eighteen-year-old guy with a guitar. The thought of him threatened to turn my self-control into a total fucking trainwreck, the sight of him seemed to torch any shred of decency I had, the smell of him buckled the bars of the cage keeping the animal inside me captive. It literally took everything I had not to let myself slip into a complete disaster of a human being when I was around him.
“Keep it together,” I mumbled to myself as I pulled up in front of Andy’s place. “Just keep it the fuck together, would ya, Harry?”
I grabbed the cologne now wrapped in blue ribbon, as well as the toothbrush I’d bought from Old Man Raven before we left his store earlier.
I took a deep, deep breath, then stepped out of the truck.
As I made my way to the front door, Andy came around the side of the house carrying his paint-splattered A-frame ladder and a bucket full of rags and brushes.
“Harry, how are you doing? You okay?” he asked, plonking the bucket down and loading the ladder into the back of his truck. “You left in a hurry last night.”
“Sorry about that. Guess it was something I ate.”
“Yeah, those leftover pretzels did kinda taste like old boots. But hey, you don’t love me for my catering skills, right?” He gestured to the gift-wrapped cologne in my hand with a tilt of his head. “Say, what’s that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Something for Dean.”
“You bought Dean a gift?”
“Not exactly. It’s a replacement for the bottle of cologne I broke last night.”
“How is your hand today?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You sure? It looks a little shaky.”
Keep it together, Harry.
“I’m fine. I’ll just give this to Dean then I’ll be outta here.”
“He’s not here. Matter of fact, he went looking foryou.”
“He did?” My heart skipped a beat. “Why?”
“You left your birthday gift here, along with the flowers from Madeline. He walked over to your place to give them back, about ten or so minutes ago. I offered to drive him on my way to a paint job at Mrs. Colvin’s house, but he said it was too nice a day not to walk. He’s probably knocking on your door right now.”
“Dean’s at my house?” I asked stupidly.
“Uh-huh.”
Dean’s at my house!was all I could think.
“I gotta go!” I said, and hurried back to my truck.
DEAN
The marigolden-girls quiveredin my hand, rustling nervously. My fist clung to the picture frame so tight that my knuckles had turned white. I stood on his porch and took a deep, deep breath, then slid the picture under one arm and rapped my white knuckles against the door.
