Love Starts with Elle(40)

Heath swung Tracey-Love into the booth next to Rio, glancing at Elle. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She hadn’t seen him since the night of their dance, and now suddenly the booth’s atmosphere changed with his presence. Her molecules seemed to be morphing and blipping. Settle down in there.

“You look good.”

“You too.” Elle glanced away when his gaze lasted longer than the ring of his compliment.

“By the way”—Jess offered her hand—“I’m the friend, Jessica Cimowsky.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Hey, girls, where’d Danny go?” Mercy Bea paused at their table with a loaded dish of Frogmore Stew.

“He had to go.” Elle pointed to the twenty. “He said to box it up—or, Heath, you want a plate of Frogmore Stew?”

“The reason I’m here.”

“Well, hallelujah.” Mercy Bea set down Danny’s plate. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Sweet tea sounds good, and for this little beauty”—he touched Tracey-Love’s head with his palm—“a salad and fries with a glass of milk.”

“Can do. Mercy Bea Hart.” She shook Heath’s hand.

“Heath McCord.”

“Pleasure is all mine. Now if these gals get too rowdy, you just let me know.” Mercy winked and wiggled away.

“Jess, look at the time. We’re going to be late for the meeting,” Julianne said, shoving out of the booth, clutching her purse.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, huh? What meeting?” Elle asked. They’d planned to watch movies at Jess’s house.

Julianne kept shoving and sliding until Elle was on her feet and Jess nearly fell off the end of the booth. “We forgot about the downtown commission thingy.”

“You are such a bad liar, Jules,” Elle whispered in her ear.

“Ladies,” Heath started, “was it something I said?”

“No, no, of course not. Really, we need to go.” Julianne linked her arm through Jess’s. “Elle, thanks for watching Rio.”





THIRTEEN

Waterfront Park, nestled next to the Beaufort River, was sleepy with the aftereffects of the setting sun. Elle strolled along the Beaufort River with Heath, her left hand holding on to Rio, her right, Tracey-Love.

She apologized for the tenth time. “I’m sorry about Julianne and Jess. They’re horrible liars.”

“It seems they thought we should be alone.”

Elle caught the tip of his grin. “More like my baby sister wanting to retreat and hide from her own secrets.”

“She has secrets?”

Elle nodded toward Rio. “Several.”

“I suppose we all have secrets.” Heath’s loafer heels scraped the cement in a soft, even gait.

“We have things we don’t want shouted out in the town square, but lately Julianne is very secretive. Hidden.”

Heath rested against a cement pylon, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, his manner matching the drift of a passing sailboat. “When I was twelve, some friends convinced me to steal the bike from a kid down the street. A big dorky guy with Coke-bottle glasses who had never done anything to us but give us someone to pick on.” He shook his head at the memory. “When he discovered the missing bike, he cried. And I don’t mean boo-hoo, but a gut-level wail as if . . . I heard him all the way in our basement while I was watching TV. I ran out to see what had happened, for the first time feeling someone else’s pain. I thought he’d gotten hit by a car or something.”

“Oh, Heath . . . why are kids so mean?” Elle motioned for him to move on toward the bench swings where the girls could sit.

“I hid in the front bushes spying. Freddy’s mom came out to see what was going on. He managed to tell her between sobs that his bike had been stolen. And you know what she did?”

Elle winced. “Do I want to know? If you tell me she boxed his ears . . .”

“She grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him inside. ‘Do you think I have time to worry about your bike? As if we don’t have enough going on without you belly-aching. You probably lost it and made up this story.’”

“Heath, you’re kidding.” Elle’s heart pinged with compassion.

“I sat in the bushes, cold tears and snot running down my face, trying to figure out how to give back Freddy’s bike without my friends finding out—because, you know, those guys were going to be my friends forever and what they thought of me mattered.”

Elle related. “When you’re twelve, you believe your friends are forever and ever. And there’s no opinion but theirs. We can’t imagine being old and decrepit at thirty, having new-old friends.”

“In my mind, I’m still twelve. Well, maybe eighteen. Not this decrepit thirty-eight-year-old widow.” At the cedar wood bench swings, Heath hoisted up Tracey-Love, then Rio.

“In my mind I am a thirty-year-old spinster.”

Heath gave her an exaggerated up and down. “Spinster? Hardly.”

His gaze ignited a heat flash. Elle shoved the swing forward. “Okay, maybe not yet, but thirty turns to thirty-three, which turns to forty really quickly.”

A sixty-something woman jogged by, her arms pumping, her legs moving. “Evening, Elle, sorry to her about your wedding. I was looking forward to attending.”