Page 10 of A Heart On A Sleeve

“Oh good. I’ve been meaning to call you.

I have this old book I found in our attic.

I’d like to have it examined and restored, but it’s too fragile to transport.

I’m afraid I will ruin it if I touch it too much.

Do you make house calls?” She’s peering at me with hopeful eyes, but the truth is, if it’s in that poor of condition I probably can’t help her.

“Oh, um. I’m actually not sure. Beau hasn’t said anything about that. Could you put on some gloves and bring it in that way?”

“Oh, sweet thing, you have to come see it. I can’t do any of the remaining cleaning in the attic until it’s moved, and I’m really on a deadline.

You must come over tomorrow, say around four.

” It’s a statement, she isn’t asking. Ari and Meg shoot me looks that ask what the big deal is as I take my plate from a man who looks so similar to Sam, he’s almost certainly his father.

“Okay, I’ll come by and have a look, but I’m not sure if I can help.

I’m excited to try this too by the way. Ari and Meg have been going on and on about it.

It was nice to meet you.” I exchange phone numbers with Mabel before offering a small smile and walking away.

I couldn’t stand there all day, even if I had too many questions to count about these O’Reilly brothers.

We take our time devouring Mabel’s delicious delicacy.

When Ari and Meg said I had to try it, I was skeptical.

But I’m pleased to report that the tortellini are like soft, buttery pillows that sit weightlessly on your tongue.

When I bit into the first one, an explosion of fall wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

I’d consider dating any of her children for the opportunity to snag this recipe.

“Ready to check out the games?” Ari asks, moving a bit slower now that we are all stuffed to the gills.

“Yes, but maybe we should have done that first. I need a nap.” Groaning, I pull her and Meg toward the trash bin to deposit our empty plates.

We walk toward the carnival section of the festival, stopping only to buy tickets so that we can play.

I spot the balloon darts game first, then there’s a pumpkin toss set up, apple bobbing, and the one and only kissing booth.

Opting to steer clear of any potential lip locking, I lead us to the pumpkin toss.

A few rounds in, it’s safe to say we aren’t any better than the seven-year-olds we are matched against, but I feel free.

For once, I’m having fun, letting my hair down.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll snag a smooch or two. The hockey team is stacked with hotties this year,” Meg chirps.

Apparently the local AHL team hosts the booth every year.

Meg wasn’t joking when she said there’s a few tall drinks of water over there.

Ari and I follow, exchanging glances to communicate that we are absolutely not participating.

That is, until I get about ten feet closer and see Sam laughing with that woman, his arm still draped over her shoulder.

I have no claim to him—heck, I don’t even really like him.

There’s just something soul-shatteringly annoying about seeing the man show up on my doorstep with a meal one day as if he’s hitting on me, and then being on a date with someone else the next.

I have a hard enough time letting anyone in.

It irks me that the one guy who’s been able to overwhelm me even a little is turning out to be a player. This is why I don’t even try anymore.

Deciding not to let him stir me up and to take back a little of my self-respect, I take a leap and step up to the booth, asking, “Who’s the star player?”

“That would be me, beautiful. I always score,” says a six-foot-something sex symbol with shaggy brown hair, stomach-turning dimples, and piercing green eyes.

“How much will these get me?” I hold up a string of tickets as long as my arm.

He winks and my stomach drops, not in a good way.

“I’ll kiss you for free.” He’s too eager, which means it won’t be a great kiss.

Probably all tongue, no subtlety. See, this is the problem.

Even when I want to, I can’t just let go and live a little.

I glance slightly toward the man who’s got me all hot and bothered—not the one in front of me.

He’s still draped over the other woman. Screw it.

“Alright, let’s do it.” I throw caution to the wind despite my internal protest.

He reaches out, gently caressing the side of my face. I close my eyes, leaning ever closer when “I don’t fucking think so, Max” ricochets through my ears. A hard, calloused hand slides between mine and Max’s faces, inadvertently grazing my lips. I don’t have to open my eyes to know that voice.

Anger bubbles just under my skin. Do not make a scene, do not make a scene . . . My eyes snap open to stare down Sam.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, tone terse, jaw locked, sweet Southern charm nowhere to be found.

Mom always said it wasn’t often that I got my feathers ruffled, but when I did, I could get madder than a hornet in two seconds flat.

She also always reminded me how unattractive that quality is.

“Saving you from the biggest mistake of your life, princess.” He’s calm, like it’s every day that he saves strangers from random hockey players' kisses. Meanwhile, the team laughs, heckling Max.

“Hmm . . . last time I checked, who I kiss or don’t kiss is none of your business.” I cock my hip to the side, placing my fist on it to show I mean business.

“Well, last time I checked, I made it clear I wanted it to be.”

“Did you now? How is that exactly? By teasing me, yelling at me for running alone, and trying to pay for my drinks? Or was it the awkward stare downs from across the street and the completely random dinner last night?”

“Actually, yes.”

I roll my eyes, a small huff of laughter breaking free. He’s insane. This isn’t how you win a woman over.

“Well, I don’t buy it.”

“Well, you should.”

“I don’t.”

“One date then.”

I pause, my mouth open. A date? Why do I not hate the sound of that? I’m not sure what I’m more caught off guard from—his response or my feelings about it. I think maybe if I’m honest with myself, he was trying to ask me out last night. But I am not admitting that now.

I must freeze for longer than I think because he lets out a grumpy laugh and says, “I’m telling you now. I want a date. One date to prove myself.”

“No,” I say, emphatically.

“Why not?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” I tap my finger to my jaw as if I’m thinking deeply about this.

“You are literally here on a date. You had your arm draped around her no less than five seconds ago.” My eyes are ready to jump out of my skull as I point at the woman.

Is he seriously doing this? I know I should be poised.

My mother’s voice practically shouts in my head, Don’t make a scene, Olive. But, I can’t.

He laughs. Not like a little chuckle, but a full belly-rolling laugh. “Oh, that? That’s Bridget. She’s my sister.” The anxiety and clear effort to cover up being caught makes me let out an exasperated breath. It did not look brotherly when they were laughing together earlier.

“Mmmk. I think I’m good. No thanks.” I shift on my back foot, turning to walk away and rejoin my friends who are undoubtedly watching this blowup.

“That was so hot!” Meg fans herself for emphasis.

“No, it wasn’t,” I quip back, continuing to walk.

“But actually, why won’t you give him a chance?” Ari asks, linking arms with me as we hit the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” I halt completely, turning to look at her.

“Yeah. I am. We told you he’s a nice guy, and he clearly has an effect on you. Why not take him for a spin?”

“I just . . . There’s something about him.

I can’t. He is literally on a date right now,” I say in mock concern for the girl I don’t even know.

There was something about his denial that I believe.

But the evidence all points to him being committed to someone else, and that’s easier than admitting that I’m afraid of the way I feel around him.

“That’s his sister, Bridget. He was telling the truth, and you’re scared.

You might actually feel something for the first time in .

. . maybe ever, and you’re running. I hate to say it, babe, but there’s a chance those college guys were right.

” Remorse or pity, I can’t be sure which, passes across her face.

Even my best friend sees it. She can tell I’m not capable of taking a leap.

And in my defense, all those “men” I dated in college wanted me for only two things—Daddy’s bank account and my ability to look pretty at a party.

“Let’s just go get some drinks,” I plead, desperate to clear my mind of this whole thing.

“Okay, but we will be circling back to this,” Ari concedes, for now.