Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) (4 page)

I wonder if I’ll ever be so lucky as to meet a wonderful man to marry and have children with him. I’m creeping up there in age, and my clock is ticking. I wasted too many years pretending men didn’t exist. I let a past relationship burn me. At the time, though, none of this mattered. My dad needed me. The bed and breakfast needed me. Now that Dad’s passed and I sold my part of the business off, I’m moving on. I’ll admit, it’s a weird feeling, but one that allows me some freedoms I’ve never had before.

Clark takes his turn, knocking down only two pins. He displays a rare frown and Gretchen blows him a kiss. With his head hung low he sits back down.

“Nice one.” Taylor slaps him on the back. “I know you’re confident in your skills, but this is serious. We’re playing on Friday. Get your act together.”

I doubt Clark genuinely missed so many pins, but at the same time, we’re not professionals. I can’t imagine they get multiple strikes every single game. I certainly can’t. I’m positive I’ll bowl a couple games without any at all. Regardless of the number of pins I knock down, I’m just glad to be bowling again. I wish I’d done this sooner. The league is a consistent opportunity for me to keep it up and spend time with people other than clients and coworkers.
 

“Any teams I should fear?” We’re a good team, but I’m sure another is as good or better.
 

“Tim’s Tornado Alleys, no doubt!” Taylor’s hair falls right in his eyes and he pushes it out of the way. “They’re our rivals. You’ll see.”

“Can’t wait.”

And I can’t. I remember the excitement surrounding all my dad’s games. He loved spending time with friends and having a few drinks afterwards, but nothing beat the rush he got during the tournaments.

“Ugh!” Gretchen is standing behind Clark, texting at lightning speed. “I swear to God I can’t stand this woman.” Her eyebrows are darted and her face is turning red.
 

“Who?” Everyone turns their attention to me as Gretchen’s face reddens and she shoves her phone away.

“Macy.” She glances at me. “That’s my brother’s fiancée. He won’t be making it tonight. Some emergency, which I’m sure means she broke a nail or something like that. You’ll meet him at the game Friday. If he misses that, he’s off the team!”

She isn’t kidding. Her cheeks are puffed out and her chest is moving at a rapid pace. I wonder if he ditches practice often. I don’t want to ask though because she’s already upset. Not getting to bowl with my partner is pretty disappointing. I have no idea how good he is and if I’ll be carrying the whole game or not.

I may be doing this all on my own. Like always.

Incredible is the only way to describe my night bowling. I’m so glad to be on the team and with a group of people I can call friends. I can’t even recall the last person I considered a friend who wasn’t family. We didn’t leave the alley until almost ten and I was bursting with giggles as we left. Can you be drunk on happiness? If so, I’m hammered.
 

I stop off at the liquor store tonight and pick up a bottle of wine. Not a box — a bottle. I’m celebrating my newfound friendships and getting out there in the world. The best thing to pair with wine? Pizza, of course. I place an order for a small cheese and start flipping through some “For Sale by Owner” listings. I need to add a few more to my portfolio, and if I’m lucky I’ll find a lead worth pursuing.

There are a ton listed. The problem with people selling their own homes is they’re greedy. Listing on their own is how they avoid paying extra fees to the middle man, but as a result they tend to over price. I’m laughing at what I’m finding. A new buyer will refuse to see past the neon orange walls and country linoleum floors.
I can
, but they can’t. If a random homeowner wants ten thousand over what the average home in the area sells for, that person better put in some work to modernize. I save four in my favorites. I’ll call on those tomorrow — when it’s not almost eleven and I’m sober.
 

I take a sip of my wine and wish I weren’t alone. Alcohol is more enjoyable when shared with someone. Next time I’ll invite Gretchen over. I considered asking her to hang out after, but she wanted to get home to Mona and urged Clark to leave. I would, too. That baby is adorable.

The intercom interrupts my internet browsing. My food is already here! I buzz in the delivery guy and race to my bedroom to grab a ten and a five. He delivered this super fast, so deserves a big tip. One last swig of wine before I answer the door.

“You’re speedy! They said about thirty minutes.” He made it in under twenty. I praise the delivery guy who can’t be more than nineteen or twenty years old. I assume he’s in college and doing this for extra cash. Yeah. He can definitely keep the change. A twenty may be a better choice for him. I’m sure he can use the larger tip. I remember those days of living off ramen noodles. He looks like he could use some real food, too. He’s drowning in his shirt and his pants are sagging. He needs to put some meat on those bones.
 

“A plain cheese pizza? Easy. And you’re right down the road from us.” He hands me the box. “Besides, we stop deliveries at eleven, so I made this one quick.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The pizza place is within walking distance. Next time I’ll walk. Doing that allows me to work off the calories before I eat them. I can’t remember the last time I went to a gym. I should think about a membership.

Delivery boy shrugs. “It’s my job. I get paid to do it.” Greasy strands of black are forcing their way out of his baseball cap and his left ear is pierced. His earring is nicer than any of mine.
 

I want to ask him his name, but I push the urge away. I don’t like not knowing people’s names. I don’t know why. Every face has a name and without one on his shirt or him giving me one, I’m forced to call him Delivery Boy. He looks kind of like a Steve. Yeah. I’ll call him Steve in my mind.
 

“Do you like your job?” A weird question, but I want to keep a conversation going. “I mean, are you
happy?
” I clarify the inquiry, even if I don’t know why I’m asking.

“Um…” He fiddles with his keys. He’s probably waiting for me to invite him in so I can attack him or something. Unless a lot of his customers interrogate him. Maybe they do and I’m being completely normal.

I’ve never been completely normal.
 

“It’s okay.” I lean in and he leans back. “You can tell me,” I whisper. “I won’t tell your boss.”
 

He slides the bills into his pocket and waves his hand in front of his face. “I should go.”

He probably smells the wine on my breath. At this point, it’s safe to say I
may
have had a little too much. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you
really
happy, or just going through the motions? You can’t be more than twenty years old, right?”

He steps back. “Look, lady. I’m just delivering your pizza. Enjoy.”
 

“Hold on.” I put my finger up and leave the door open as I run to my room and grab that extra five dollars. I race back and am shocked he stuck around. If I were him, I would have made a run for it. “Here.” I stick the money out.

He cautiously takes it from my hand. “Thanks?”

“A little something extra.” He’s staring at me. “You make nothing. I’m sure you’re in college. I remember those years. Any little bit helps.” I attended college eons ago, when things were
much
cheaper. I can’t imagine what it’s like now for him.

He folds the bill and slips it into his pocket. “Oh. Well, I’m actually not in college, but thanks.”

“You’re not in college? Why? What are you planning on doing with your life? How can you do anything without an education?” I can’t believe kids these days overlook college. I prepped all four years of high school for college. I couldn’t
wait
to go and be part of that world. I finally paid off my loans, and it was worth every penny. I’m thirty-five and I already ran my own business. Sure, my business degree hasn’t made me some Forbes 500 CEO of a large corporation or anything, but I do okay.
 

“I’ve gotta go.”

He turns to walk away and someone who sounds like me shouts “Wait!”

Delivery guy, Steve, whoever, stops and waits for me to say something. Words are swirling in my head, but I can’t make a sentence because I don’t
really
have anything to say. Why did I want him to stop? To talk maybe? I want to have a long conversation with a human being. Lunch with Gretchen was great, and bowling was a fun night out. I want more of that. I
need
more of that. I’m cooped up in this condo by myself. I talk to clients, but outside of work, who am I?

Then it hits me. “Never mind.”

I know exactly who I am. I’m the lady so desperately in need of friends she tries to hang out with her pizza delivery guy.

I’m pathetic.

My attempted interaction with the pizza guy convinced me to text Gretchen for a night out. She quickly jumped at the chance to spend time with the girls, so she invited Tiffany, too. Tonight we’re enjoying a little painting and
a lot
of wine.

I’ve never attended a paint night before. People post on Facebook all the time about them, and they seem like a ton of fun. I meet Gretchen and Tiffany at the studio. I’m ready for laughs, companionship, and, considering my painting skills, embarrassment.

Our instructor is a petite woman named Amy. She’s lived in Madison her entire life and has been quite the artist since she was twelve years old. She assures us this will be easy, but I’m nervous. Everything I draw can be mistaken for the same thing — a horse — so my confidence is lost. I’m here for fun, though, not to become an artist.

The image is specific to the area — a breathtaking sunset over the Capital. The light shimmers over the lake and a sailboat is passing by. The burnt oranges and bold pinks in the horizon intimidate me, so I take another drink. Drinking two nights in a row is excessive for me, but I’ll lay low next weekend.

The first thing she does is give us a carbon piece of paper. We take that over to a table and trace the pattern onto our canvas.

“Wait? We don’t actually draw this ourselves?” I ask Amy.

“Nope. I told you this would be easy.” She winks at me.
 

“I didn’t expect it to be this simple.” Tiffany and Gretchen each take a turn tracing the template and we meet back at the table.

The setup is intimate, which I love. There are three tables with four chairs, except our table, which is only the three of us. I’m sitting next to Gretchen and Tiffany is on the other side. The studio offers more than paint nights. The shelves surrounding us contain different items, such as plates, mugs, and other trinkets people can decorate.
 

“On your chairs you’ll find a smock. Be sure to put this on because if the acrylic splashes on your clothes, it’s almost impossible to clean.”

I touch the fabric of my blouse. Since this is a girl’s night, I wanted to look my best, which meant putting on my favorite top, my most slimming skirt, and my red hot heels. Now I’m regretting this outfit.

Amy sets a paint tray next to each station and tells us she’ll guide us through step by step how to smear the brush against the picture. “Don’t follow the instructions verbatim, though. This is
your
painting. Make it your own. Even following what I say, everyone’s will turn out different.”

“She has no idea,” Tiffany says from behind her canvas. “Anything that has to do with art is impossible for me.” She peeks her head around. “I just came for the wine.”

“Speaking of … “ Right on cue a bottle of wine is placed on our table along with three glasses.

I pour a glass for each of us as we await instructions from Amy on how to proceed with our painting. Once we receive the directions, we dive into our canvases and drinks.

“Kate.”

Tiffany states my name and I wait for a question to follow. “Yes, Tiffany?”

She strokes the brush across the area that will be the sky. “Have you lived in the area long?”

“About six months. I’m originally from a small suburb north of Milwaukee. This is my first time living in the city.” Even when I attended college I lived off campus. I don’t think I could own my own condo already without doing that. I saved a lot of money, allowing a twenty-five percent down payment, a rare thing in today’s housing market.

“Don’t you love it?”

“I do. I like that everything is so close by. A trip to Target doesn’t require over an hour drive round-trip.”
 

“An hour?” Gretchen nearly spits out her wine. “Um, no. I need to be within a ten-minute radius of a Target at any given time.”

“We have three big things in my hometown: a McDonald’s, a Piggly Wiggly, and a BP. That’s as commercial as we get!” The McDonald’s was the last to come to town, and when I moved it was just being built. “Most of our shops are small, family-owned businesses.”

“I couldn’t live somewhere like that. Never.” Tiffany shakes her head as she starts her painting. “I want to be where the action is.”

“Did I mention when I walked out my front door I occasionally got a whiff of the farm field a few miles away?”

She tosses her brush down and throws her hands in the air. “That seals the deal. I’m never moving.”

The laughs erupt and I’m loosening up. I like these two. A lot. I regret not carving out time in the past for building relationships. I’ve missed out on so much.
 

“Did you move here alone?” Tiffany fishes for more information about me. I’ll compile a questionnaire in my head for her later.

“Yep. Just me.”

“She’s not dating anyone,” Gretchen jumps in.
 

“You’re not?”

I stroke the orange paint against the white canvas to start filling in the Madison skyline. Is this the only thing people are interested in asking me? “No. I don’t really date.”

“Don’t really date?” Tiffany cleans off her brush. “Are you married then? Studying to become a nun?”