Page 15 of Make My Heart Malt

A small smile forms over my lips as I nod. He described Dessa perfectly.

Later that night, I head to Porter’s. As soon as I stroll through the door, the lively chatter and clinking glasses fade into the background when I spot Dessa pouring a beer from the tap. She glances up as if she can sense my presence. She holds my gaze for a brief second, her eyes revealing a mixture of curiosity and hesitation, before she averts her gaze, pretending not to see me. Between two other customers, I find an empty stool at the bar and take aseat. The guy on my right flags her over, and she serves him a beer. She then asks the guy to my left if he needs anything.

Before she can walk away, I ask for a beer. Her only acknowledgment of me is her middle finger. As she continues to stroll along the edge of the bar away from me, I jump off my stool and follow her.

“Dessa. Wait.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Garrett. I said everything I needed to say before.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t shut me out.”

“Watch me,” she spits through gritted teeth.

I continue following her, dodging and weaving between customers. “Did Jake give you the cookies? I made them from my mom’s recipe. I remember them being your favorite,” I say with a hint of desperation. Right now, this is all I have.

“There’s a family of raccoons devouring them by the dumpster,” she says nonchalantly before stopping in front of a customer.

I huff out a laugh. She’s talking to me, so that’s a plus. “At least something is enjoying them,” I mutter. “But this whole situation… it’s not what you think.”

She jerks her head up, jaw clenched, as a furious glare burns a hole through me. “Not what I think? So, you’re telling me you didn’t leave without saying a single word to me?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Well, when you put it that way. Yes. But I had to.”

“No, Garrett. What you had to do was at least say goodbye. We were best friends. It’s the least you could’ve done.” When she’s finished serving the customer, she continues to strut along the bar while I follow until we reach the end and there’s nothing separating us.

“It’s complicated.” I reach out, wanting to touch her, needing to touch her. The warmth of her skin brushes against my fingertips.

She jerks away. “It’s not complicated. You saying ‘it’s complicated’ doesn’t make it complicated. In fact, it’s pretty simple. You ghosted me.”

“Dessa. Please. Give me a couple minutes so we can talk this out?” I plead. At this point, I’m seconds away from dropping to my knees and wrapping my arms around her legs so she’s forced to talk to me.

“Fine. We can talk right now. Why did you leave?” Her hands clutch her hips as her lips form a thin line.

My gaze shifts to her coworkers, who are now staring at us along with most of the bar, who’s in earshot of our conversation. Leaning in, I whisper, “I’d rather do this in private.”

She shoots a sharp glare over her shoulder, and they pivot on their heels, pretending to be preoccupied. Her gaze meets mine again. “Now’s your chance.” She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot on the linoleum floor.

Her brown eyes turn a shade darker as she waits for me to say something. Anything. But words are failing me. How do I sum up ten years of hurt and frustration in a single sentence?

Growing impatient, she drops her arms to her sides. “If you’re not going to talk, fine. You can stand there like a fool, but I’m getting back to work. This is done.” Her hair twirls around her as she storms past me.

Fuck. I jab my fingers through my hair. “This isn’t done,” I say to her retreating frame. I’ll wait here all night if I have to, and I do exactly that.

EIGHT

TEN YEARS’ WORTH OF CHANCES

Dessa

“He’s been sitting over there all night.” Nora props her elbow on the bar, her blonde braid draping over her shoulder. “You’re not going to go talk to him?”

“No. He had his chance. I have absolutely nothing to say to him. He knows how I feel. He can wallow by himself all night if he wants to.” I busy myself with washing a stack of pint glasses.

Since I stormed away from Garrett two hours ago, he’s been sitting at a pub table in the corner of the bar, his eyes fixed on the glass in front of him. All night I’ve been discreetly stealing glances at him while avoiding being caught. I’m torn between wanting to punch him in the face or rip his heart out, since that’s what he did to me. Pirates’ code and all. An eye for an eye. Or in my case, a heart fora heart. The first one seems less messy, but the second would certainly get the point across.

Nora peers at Garrett, then at me. “The man made you cookies. The least you can do is talk to him.”

I slam the door on the glass washer under the counter, the sharp noise reverberating behind the bar. “He’s going to need to do better than cookies after ghosting me for ten years.”

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