Heather's Heart Read online

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Epilogue

  Heather's Heart

  Suddenly Single Series

  Renee Lovins

  Bad Ash Publishing

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Copyright © 2017 by Melisa Todd

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Bad Ash Publishing

  Powder Springs, GA 30127

  www.badashpublishing.com

  Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Heather's Heart/ Renee Lovins. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-0000000-0-0

  To all the spouses that were left behind.

  Authors Note

  I lost my husband May of 2016. I know I'll always miss him, even if I am lucky enough someday to fall in love with someone else. When your spouse dies your emotions cover the gambit. I'm not saying I experienced all of these, but they are the craziness a lot of spouses live with. Writing this series was part therapy and part reminding myself I didn't die too. If you are the one left behind, may these stories give you hope. If you've never lost someone I hope these stories provide insight into the lives of those of us

  Suddenly Single.

  Heather's Heart

  When her husband died, the last thing Heather expected was to fall in love again. But one minor fender bender brings Chris into her life and reminds her that love isn't a onetime thing.

  contents

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  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Epilogue

  1

  Grocery shopping existed as the chore I hated more than any other. Every couple walking down the aisle together stabbed me in the heart, and all the single men and women pushing that mini cart around echoed my pain.

  Making it through the checkout line, I fought the tears and desire to scream as I paid for my purchases.

  "Have a good day, Ms. Lewis," the cashier said as she handed back my card.

  I tried to smile, but from the frown on the cashiers face, I think she could tell I faked it.

  "Thanks," my voice stayed light, but I could feel tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.

  I grabbed my groceries and headed to the car at a fast walk, head down as I tried to fight back the tears. Crying sucked, I really didn't want to cry. I had almost succeeded by the time I got in the car.

  I hate grocery shopping. I want my husband back. This was his job. He liked doing this, I shouldn't have to do this.

  The familiar wail of pain in my mind didn’t help my composure. With a deep breath I forced calm and went over facts in my head once again.

  John is dead. You can’t bring him back. You can survive on your own. It’s been over a year. You need to adapt to this new reality. You already know you can handle it.

  Even with my own words saying this I wanted to deny it, I wanted the man back who loved me, made me laugh, and thought I was gorgeous.

  Enough.

  My mental voice slapped me and I buckled my seatbelt, shifting the car into reverse. I needed to get home, finish chores, and get ready to go to work. Same thing I did every night.

  My eyes still burred as I fought back tears. The waves of grief were fewer now, but when they hit I never seemed to be ready. I glanced behind me on autopilot as I backed up, not really seeing the real world. The sudden shrill beeping from my car back up alarm, mixed with the crunch of metal told me I hadn’t seen at all.

  I shifted the car into park as if the gear shift burned my hand.

  Please don’t let me have hurt someone, please.

  Fear drove my actions as I threw open the door and tried to get out, only to find myself restrained. A brief moment of panic and I realized I needed to unbuckle the seat belt. Stumbling over my own feet I rushed to the rear of the car, and car my knees almost buckle. I leaned against my trunk and took in the scene. A young woman, maybe seventeen with long brown hair, leggings, and flip-flops stood looking at the front of her car, a newish model, with a mournful look on her face. Crumpled indentations from where I had hit her marred the pristine lines.

  "You’re okay, right?" I blurted out.

  I tried to keep the panic down, but right now I couldn’t handle anything else.

  Her head jerked up looking at me. "Oh yeah, I’m fine. My dad is going to kill me though. He just got this car. I promised him I wouldn’t get so much as a scratch on it." She sighed and looked at the front. "This is a bit more than a scratch."

  She's fine, I haven't ripped anyone's loved one from their lives.

  The relief rippled across my soul and I breathed through it, trying not to act like a complete idiot. At least not more than I already had.

  "It was completely my fault." I turned and pulled out the insurance cards they gave you. I wrote my cell on it too. "Here, I’ll take full responsibility. It doesn’t look too bad. Is it still drivable?"

  "I think so."

  "Then give your dad this info, tell him to call me if he just wants to deal with me."

  "Oh, yeah. Here’s my info." She scribbled information on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I glanced at the name, Lana Thompson. A few minutes later she left, and I sat in my car, not thinking for long minutes. Then with all emotions buried once again I drove home, triple checking everything. I put away my groceries and poured a glass of wine. Then with no one to talk to, nothing to do, I lost myself in a hunt for space pirates, battles across solar systems, and politics. Falling into a fantasy world proved much safer than thinking about anything.

  The next day, work was work. They had been great, and still were, but mostly it kept me from climbing the walls. The job had been routine for so long it didn’t really occupy my mind. John’s loss was like a sore tooth I played with for so long it had become habit, even after it quit hurting. Incidents like yesterday were rare, but grocery shopping always got to me. Amazon grocery delivery was starting to look better and better.

  The ring tone pulled me out of my rote haze and I glanced at my cell, not recognizing the number.

  I answered with my normal brusqueness. Why waste the effort when it was probably another robo call? "This is Heather."

  A bit of a pause on the other end, and I was about to hang up when a male voice spoke. "Yes, I’m looking for Heather Lewis?"

  "Speaking."

  Come on, what the hell do you want? I’m not buying anything.

  "This is Chris Thompson. I believe you hit my car last night."

  Memory came flooding back and I felt my face heat. Thank the gods for cubicles.

  "Oh, yes. Again, I am so sorry. It was my fault, and I take full responsibility. What do you need me to do?" My babbling took over as I felt my face flush.

  He laughed a bit. "That’s a change, usually people avoid responsibility. I haven’t had it assessed yet, but I wanted to talk to you first. I doubt it will cost much more than a thousand or so. Did you want to do it through your insurance?"

  That was a nice laugh.

  I couldn’t help the smile. I’d missed hearing a man laugh in amusement. An effort of will banished that thought and I refocused on the convers
ation.

  "If it’s only going to be about that much, I’d rather just pay for it. Not worth raising my insurance rates."

  "I hear you. Try having a teenage daughter on your plan. I’m going out on a limb and assume you live near Austell?"

  Huh, how did he? Oh duh. You grocery shop near where you live. Moron.

  "Yes."

  "Great. Day after tomorrow is Saturday, you want to just meet for coffee and we can figure it out? I should have some estimates by then."

  "That sounds fine."

  We made arrangements and I hung up. As long as the cost stayed under two thousand I’d be fine, and it would be cheaper than higher insurance rates. Setting up the reminder in my phone, I had reminders and lists for everything. Grief brain they called it. Without my lists and calendars I’d never get anything done.

  Walking into the coffee shop Saturday morning, I headed straight for the counter. I rarely let myself splurge on coffee, my machine at home worked just fine for mandatory caffeine intake. But since I was here, who was I to resist?

  I received my extra-large white chocolate mocha with cinnamon syrup, if I’m getting it I’m splurging, and turned to survey the room. A man, about my age, which is forty-one - why lie about it, met my eyes and mouthed my name. With a nod I moved over to him, holding on to the coffee as if it was a shield.

  He had brown hair going a bit thin on top, laugh and smile lines, and he looked comfortable. It was an odd word in a world of men with six packs for abs and perfect hair. He looked real. I preferred real.

  As I approached he stood. "Ms. Lewis?"

  "Hi, you must be Chris Thompson? Please call me Heather."

  The other hurts too much still.

  "Yes. And only if you call me Chris. Thank you for meeting me." Chris pulled out my chair, which surprised me, but I smiled and took it, feeling oddly aware of everything going on. He took a seat with a smile.

  "Lana said you looked upset, but not hurt. You weren't hurt were you?" His eyes met mine, dark blue green, and he actually looked concerned.

  Apparently he hasn't been bitten by the litigious bug, not that I'm complaining.

  "No, I just, well.." I paused took a sip of my coffee, letting the sugar and caffeine flood my mouth. "It had just been a bad day, and I'm afraid I wasn't paying any attention."

  Chris chuckled still watching me. "I know how that goes. Well, if you're sure. I got the appraisal's. It isn't too bad." With a sheepish smile he said, "I'm still having problems believing Lana didn't have something to do with it. Not that I don't love or trust her, but she gets distracted so easily."

  I smiled, the tone letting me know he really was worried. "Not in this case. My fault, I just put it in reverse and didn't actually look." I shrugged. "So for this one, the only dumb blond to blame is me." I waved at my short blond hair. Short hair was easier to care for. The only reason I even put on eyeliner anymore was I hated not being able to see my own eyes in the mirror.

  He snorted at that. "Not in my house. My ex-wife was a blond, and smart as hell. I might judge people occasionally, but usually it is over their desire for a koi pond in the middle of their living room, or a room with gold cherubs on every wall."

  The mental image caught me off guard and I laughed. It had taken me a while to get back into laughing, but now it was bitter sweet, both feeling good and missing his matching laughter. Chris's face creased with a smile as he met my eyes.

  "I take it you are into design?"

  "Construction, I own a company that builds tiny houses. We aren't huge yet, but we are growing." He smiled and dug for some papers. "Here you go, take a look and tell me if you have a preference."

  I looked at them, all from local auto body shops, names I recognized. I went for the one in the middle, about two hundred more than the cheapest, but a hundred less than the most expensive.

  "This one. Just let me know and I'll contact them to pay."

  "Great. Probably better for both of us, insurance uses any excuse to raise your rates."

  "That it does." I sat there awkward for a minute, not sure what to do. Part of me really wanted to keep talking to this man, just to talk to someone who wouldn't wonder if I was still grieving, or watch me with those wary eyes, expecting me to break into tears. I'd probably grieve, at least in part, until the day I died. But I wasn't dead. It felt nice to just talk to someone.

  "So, let me know?" I asked, struggling to fill the silence.

  "I will. Thanks again for being so honest and easy to work with." He rose as I did.

  "Life is short, making problems where there aren't any, isn't anything I have the energy for anymore. Have a good weekend."

  "You too."

  I felt his eyes on me as I left the coffee shop, and for a moment I wished I had dressed better. But, clothes that fit were lacking in my wardrobe. Apparently wracking sobs killed your appetite. And while I was almost normal now, I'd made a concerted effort to not put back on the weight. Might as well take the silver linings where you could find them. I headed home for the rounds of chores and other things you had do on the weekends, putting the meeting out of my mind.

  The weekend passed, both too fast and too slow. Too many things to do when you have to do them alone. Monday dawned and I found myself back at work with no real desire to be there. But bills didn't care about wanting to run away, visit strange places, do new things. Granted, the house was paid off, and I had enough money to not work. But then what would I do, sit in my house until I went insane? I focused on building my savings while I tried to figure out what to do. While I waited for that to happen, I worked.

  Monday evening my phone rang, and the number looked vaguely familiar, but it didn't register. With a sigh I answered. "This is Heather."

  "Hi, Heather, this is Chris Thompson. The one with the car?" His voice brought back memories, and I felt stupid. My brain should be tracking better by now. I bit back familiar frustration and forced a smile on my face.

  "Hey, Chris. Need me to pay up?"

  "Not really. I've dropped it off, and they should have it in a few days with a final price. I'll let you know then." He paused and I looked at the phone confused, not sure why he had called. "So, I noticed you weren't wearing a ring, and I was wondering if maybe you might want to get dinner?" There was an odd sound, like he swallowed over a dry throat, as I sat there my mind completely blank. "I mean if you're not involved or anything."

  "I don't have anyone, no." I stammered not, not sure what to say. Dinner, a date? "Are you asking me out on a date?" I didn't even try to keep the astonishment from my voice.

  His laugh was low, warming, and something that had stiffened up in me relaxed.

  "I'm trying to. Is it working? I mean you have my info and insurance card, so you can run a check on me if you want."

  A date? Me? But I'm…

  My mental voice trailed off. And I had to swallow. I missed being touched so much. I missed having a man in my life. My husband wasn't coming back, even if I was a necromancer, a zombie wasn't what I wanted.

  "Sure." My mouth said the words without my conscious decision, and I sat there, frozen, unable to believe I had just said yes to a date.

  "Great." The enthusiasm in his voice sounded read. "Wednesday night? There's a Red Lobster near the coffee shop." I flinched inwardly, John had loved that place.

  No, not there.

  "How about Longhorn? 6:30?"

  "That sounds wonderful. I'll meet there you." His voice had enthusiasm, and cheer in it. I put down the phone and looked at the wall.

  I had a date. What in the world would I wear?

  2

  I sat in the car, trying very hard to convince myself I wasn't the world's biggest idiot. I didn't succeed. Glancing once more at the rear view mirror to verify I looked sane, or as close as I got lately. I finally opened the door and stepped out. The dress clung to me on curves I hadn't exposed to anyone except John for close to a decade. It had been stuffed in the back of my closet and it fit when everything else just looke
d like a shapeless sack. Though I felt like an idiot in the form fitting dress.

  Walking towards the entrance, I kept waiting for people to jump out and yell "Prank!" or something as I looked around.

  "Heather?"

  Chris's voice sounded off to the left, he walked up holding two carnations in his hand. "For you."

  "Flowers?" I looked at the pink and white flowers in his hand, shock making me all but stutter. "For me?"

  He chuckled softly but tilted his head to look at me. "You like them?"

  "Yes!" I almost shouted the word, then closed my eyes. "Yes. It's just been a while." He pressed them into my hand and I lifted them to smell the sweet spicy scent unique to that flower.

  "They have our table ready."

  I let the hostess seat us as my mind whirled, I wasn't ready for this.

  You'll never be ready. He's nice. He obviously likes you. You didn't die too.

  It took me a minute to focus back in on him. He looked at me, eyes serious. It was obvious he had asked me a question and I had no idea what he had said.

  "I'm sorry, I missed that."

  His head tilted to the left as he looked at me, then said "Why did you say yes?"

  "I don't know." I had the cloth napkin in a death grip under the table as I watched him.

  "You don't wear a ring, and you said didn't have anyone?" He leaned in with the question, his whole attention focused on me.

  This at least was familiar territory. I'd said the words so many times they just flowed out.

  "I'm a widow. My husband was killed last year."

  At this point most people flinch and look uncomfortable and start looking for an escape.

  Chris didn't.

  "He must have been something special. You loved him very much."

  That response was not the normal one. I blinked, processing that, before I responded. "I did. I still miss him."

  "So why did you say yes?"