Page 27 of Icing Hearts

She gives me a small, bashful smile. “Thanks, Tory.”

That night, after much internal debate, my heart wins out, and I follow her on all social media. It’s dangerous. Just as dangerous as everything else I’m doing. She follows me back soon after.

I send her a direct message.

Now, I don’t usually send women paragraphs over DM. But it’s Clara. So, I break the rules, as I can’t seem to stop doing lately—or ever, when it comes to her.

A sigh escapes me and I roll my eyes, despite the fact that a smirk plays at my lips. My feet, crossed at the ankles, bob mercilessly as I quickly respond—another out-of-character move for me. Usually, I let responses sit for hours, or even days. I can’t be bothered. But again, it’s Clara and she has my kicking my feet and giggling.

I want to tell her I can’t wait. I want to give her a smooth line that would truly make her swoon. But I exit my app and plug in my phone instead, counting down the seconds until morning.

Chapter 17

Victory

Clara’s house is small. Humble but well-kept. In the summer, the lawn is always mowed. In the spring, perennials pop up in the front garden bed. In the winter, the driveway is always shoveled. And now, deep into fall, the leaves are raked and neatly piled by the edge of the curb, ready to be vacuumed up by the town’s maintenance department. I don’t know if it’s Clara who does it all, to keep the illusion alive, or if her dad does just enough to keep people from asking questions.

He has a gambling problem. I only know because I started tailing him as soon as I got my license. Something never sat well with me about him. Then, after her mother’s funeral, he went out of his way to confirm at least some of my suspicions. That conversation with him always remained in the back of my mind. Then, when I got my license, I started driving by her house. I’d imagine what she was doing inside, what books she was reading, the tears she was crying. I found it odd that he was almost never home. So one day, I waited by the police station and followed him after his shift, all the way to the off-track betting place a town over.

He went four more times that week. Enough to tell me it was a pattern and a chronic problem. It’s why she never has what she needs. What I can’t figure out, though, is how he’s making ends meet at all. There’s no way he’s winning enough to break even. I’m sure of it.

She bounces out of the house in a parka and pink scarf, tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, Romeo!”

“Miss Capulet. I come bearing gifts.”

I hand Clara the brown paper bag with her breakfast sandwich in it, my home jersey, and a thick, black cardboard box.

She holds up the box. “What is this?”

“You know what it is. I think you’re aiming to ask why I handed you an activated phone along with my jersey and your breakfast.”

“Correct.”

“Atta girl.”

“Spill it.”

“You’re my tutor now. I need to be able to contact you for help with homework or scheduling…without the whims or irresponsibility of your father interfering with our communication.”

“So, you’re…giving me a phone?”

“Precisely.”

“Um, I obviously can’t accept this,” she tells me. Though, she doesn’t hand the box back. She opens it and turns the phone on.

“It was an extra.” I wave my hand flippantly.

“You just have extra phones lying around?”

“My father owns a highly successful IT company. We have many phones lying around for business, not to mention the three I received as favors at my Country Club Cronies’ birthdays. It was no trouble at all. Walking around without a working phone is dangerous. Your father should know that.”

“This is way nicer than my current phone…”

“Cool.”

“If I use two phones, people are going to think I’m a drug dealer…or worse.”

---