Page 6 of Make My Heart Malt

I nod and rest my hands on the table. I pick at my thumbnail, working up the courage to pry some more. “So, is Dessa…”

“Single?” A knowing smile curves her lips. “The last I heard, yes, and she works at Porter’s.”

Again, I’m not thrilled my mom can read my thoughts. She always has the answers to the questions I didn’t even ask.

“Now go freshen up.” She swats my arm. “You can’t make a good second-chance impression looking like that.”

I laugh, then glance down at my stained hoodie and gray joggers. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You’ll certainly make an impression looking like that, but I assure you it won’t be a good one.” She quirks an eyebrow at me.

“Alright.” I push away from the counter. After collecting my luggage from the car, I carry them up the stairs to the second floor. Once I’m at the top, I stroll down the hallway. The second door on the right is partially closed, so I push it open with my foot. Instantly, I’m transported to ten years ago. All the walls are still the same slate blue, and every single one of my high school trophies, medals, and plaques decorate the shelves scattered around the room. I drop my luggage in the far corner and glance around.

On the nightstand sits a baseball under a glass case. I pull off the top. The white cowhide is smooth under my thumb. This is the ball from my first ever home run my sophomore year, the same year I made the varsity team.We were only two games into the season when I hit the ball over the fence. As I rounded third, I spotted Dessa cheering in the stands. Our eyes locked and it was that moment I knew my feelings for her exceeded the best friend territory. After our crushing thirteen-to-five win, the entire team went to a friend’s house to celebrate. Instead of going out, Dessa and I came back here, sat side-by-side on my bed and binged movies while eating movie theater butter popcorn. She claimed to hate the scary ones, but they were always her first choice when we were together. I’m convinced it was so she could curl into my side at all the scary parts. I wasn’t going to complain.

I place the ball back in the case and set the lid on top. Strolling to the other side of the room, I pull out fresh clothes from my suitcase. It’s now or never.

After I’m showered and changed, I jump into my rental car and drive across town to Porter’s. Along the way, I spot several new businesses mixed in with a few familiar ones. While many things have changed, it’s still oddly refreshing to be back home.

I pull into the parking lot and park my car in the first available spot. With a steady hand, I push the ignition button, cutting the engine. Fuck. With a heavy sigh, my hands fall to my lap—once again, my nerves getting the best of me. Even behind the plate with balls flying toward me at ninety miles an hour, I'm never this nervous. Maybe because I have protective padding. Now, I’m just flesh and bones. A lot more damage can happen. What is she going to say? How’s she going to react? Will she be happy to see me or want to introduce her fist to my face? I should have packed my catcher’s mask. I won’t lie—after the way I left, I kind of deserve a punch to the face. But we’re older and wiser now, so maybe she’ll be understanding. Who am I kidding? She’ll want to punch me in my face. Fuck. Whatif she’s not here and I’m psyching myself up for nothing? More importantly, what the hell am I going to say?

“Sorry for ghosting you.” Blunt, but a little insensitive.

“Sorry, I couldn’t bear to see you with my brother, so I abandoned you.” It’s the truth.

“Sorry, I was a selfish prick. The idea of you with someone else, even though we were just friends, made me want to stab myself in the eye.” Maybe too much truth.

“Sorry. I was in love with you but didn’t have the balls to tell you. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m still in love with you.” Oh yeah. She’ll definitely punch me in the face for the last one.

Inhaling deeply, I release a long, steady breath, hoping a sense of calm will wash over me, but it doesn’t. Here goes nothing then. I exit the car. As soon as I walk through the door of Porter’s, I’m instantly hit with nostalgia from ten years ago. The exterior has remained relatively the same, but the inside got a little facelift with a modernized, industrial atmosphere. Jake’s done a lot of work here.

The buzz of the TV and chattering voices fill the air. Sweet laughter bursts forth, cutting through all the other noise. It’s infectious. A sound I could never forget. I snap my head toward the bar, my heart hammering in my chest, as I spot Dessa. Her smile illuminates the entire room. Her appearance is slightly different. A little older, more mature, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve seen. A smile twitches at the corner of my lips as I pull off my sunglasses. Her smile falters, and her once rosy cheeks turn pale as all the color drains from her face. The whites of her eyes disappear as her body collapses to the floor.

FOUR

HIT A TATER

Dessa

My eyelids flutter open, and I blink, adjusting to the light and bringing everything back into focus. Holy shit, that was some intense dream. It was so real. Garrett casually strolled into Porter’s as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing changed between us. And then he smiled at me. Not a bright, full smile, but his signature sexy half smirk. One that makes your nipples hard just thinking about it.

“Dessa, are you okay?” Lach’s deep voice jolts me back to reality.

Shit, maybe that wasn’t a dream. My gaze dances around the ceiling until Lach’s face comes into view as he bends over me.

“You okay? You fainted. Here’s some water.” He unscrews the plastic cap before passing me a bottle.

Shit. Fuck. Is Garrett really here? The deafening sound of my pounding pulse fills my ears, fueling the half-anger, half-panic surging through my veins. I can’t face him. If I do, I’ll strangle him, and I don’t need first-degree murder on my record. Can they read my thoughts? Would they know it was premeditated? Maybe I can get off with second-degree. Better yet, let’s not murder anyone today, and I won’t have to worry about prison time.

Slowly, I rise to a sitting position and glance at the edge of the bar. Everyone is facing away from me, their attention on the hometown baseball hero—better known as the Home Run Playboy. Now’s my turn to run away, well technically notrun, more like crawl away so I can bury myself in a hole and pretend he isn’t here. Even better, pretend he doesn’t exist because those emotions are best kept under lock and key than out in the open.

I scramble to my hands and knees. Lach lifts his brow but doesn’t say anything. With my eyes wide, I hold my pointer finger over my lips. Garrett can’t see me if I crawl along the back of the bar. All the surrounding noise dissipates as I concentrate on getting to the opening. It’s only a few feet away. Then I can escape down the hallway. One hand in front of the other. With each step toward the opening, the pounding of my heart grows louder in my ears. I continue crawling with my head down until my hand lands on a sand-colored canvas loafer. My heart leaps into my throat, and I struggle to take a breath. My gaze lifts from his dark stone-washed jeans, travels to the hem of his white t-shirt, and then lingers on his muscular chest before finally landing on his familiar face, wearing a smug smile I want to slap away.

“I thought that was you.” Garrett crosses his arms over his chest, causing his shirt to stretch across his pecs and biceps. If he flexes, the fabric is going to give out.

His voice is as smooth as Macallan whisky. It sends my head into a tailspin. Sure, I’ve heard him speak on TV, but it’s been so long since it’s been in the flesh. I’m pretty sure I’m still in a state of paralysis from him being here. In person.

“What are you doing down there?” He tilts his head.

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