Chapter 3 RACING HEART

CHAPTER 3

GRACE'S POV

RACING HEART

There was a chill in the air as I got into my cottage door. I could still remember the faint lights of the charity ball, gold, soft like how his eyes were on me, Jeremy Meyers. The name is going around in circles in my head, like a secret which I shouldn't have.

Inside the cottage everything smells brand new, new paint, wooden floorboards, and lavender air freshener I put up in my little sitting room. I left this town ten years ago and yet the walls, the creak of the floorboards when I walk on them, the sound of the wind whistling through the garden vines, all seems to remember me.

I tossed my heels aside and pressed my finger to my temple. It's nothing, Grace, he's nothing but a man. Just one who's handsome, I've known a thousand men who smiled like him. But no man has ever made my lungs forget to breathe.

Steam went high in the bathroom, as I turned on the faucet. I was under the hot water until my body scorched, until I could no longer hear the giggles from the fundraiser. The cascading water on my face made me think i could eradicate the hunger which caused me to jump when our eyes met. The flash wasn't created out of sexual attraction, but created out of a recognition even though I couldn't picture from where.

I came out of the shower and the mirror was foggy. My face was blurry, brown locks clung to my shoulders, bright eyes but trembling lips. "Grace, stop it," I murmured. "Don't do it again."

Because beginning a new relationship demands intimacy and it doesn't end well with me.

I wore my satin nightgown and lay under my warm duvet. The garden outside was filled with cricket sounds, and in the distance a door slammed shut probably by a neighbor or the howling wind. My body was very tired but my mind was as active as ever.

Jeremy's face flashed across my eyes and mind, his pointed jaw, manly gaze, and his fair smile appeared as a warning and an invitation. Jeremy's type of man will never give me even a second glance. With that realization, sleep finally caught up to me.

Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, warm but unwanted. I yawned and last night bubbled to the surface, like a badly treated bruise. I could still perceive his cologne, clean, woody, and expensive. And my heart thumped.

Enough, I growled, pushing the cover aside. The floor beneath me was cold as I padded over to the kitchen. The morning coffee ritual is just something to keep these crazy ideas at bay.

But mid stirring of sugar into my cup, my hand started shaking. And then, as something ruins the moment, my past.

The smell of alcohol, banging sounds and the baritone of my stepfather's voice, low, deep and full of promises that nauseated badly.

"You're a smart girl, Gracie. Don't make me tell your junkie mama that you're a slut."

I was thirteen, or probably fourteen. But old enough to be scared, and young not to know how to defend myself. My stepbrother's grin tormented me along the corridors, for many years. He learned very well from his father.

And my mother the way her eyes were foggy, whenever I tried to tell her about my situation. "Don't lie on him," she said, bottles clattering in the sink. "Men get lonely. You're tempting them."

That flashback steals my breath away. I grabbed the counter until the terror passed.

That night I realized that love, was a fucking trick. A punishment in the guise of warmth. All the men who've ever touched my life ended up either broken or cruel.

Maybe that's why everyone thinks I'm cursed.

I washed my mug and stood motionless for a while, watching sunlight play on the wall. I cannot live such again half alive, half afraid.

Later, today I'll be away at the library, stacking books and reading about blank pages. That is all I need.

By half past eight I'm walking along Pine Street, and the air was scented with pine. The library is at the bottom of the street, a red brick place with Ivy climbing over the sides. The gold bell above rang out softly as I opened the door.

"Good morning, Grace," Mrs Harley at the desk informs me, her dark glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She used to teach me English, before everything went wrong.

"Good morning," I said, forcing a smile.

The smell of paper and silence calms me down. Shelves in lines, sunlight along the spines, it's my one haven. Words build a wall high enough to keep the world out.

I spent hours re shelving returns, sorting donations, and lost track of time. But occasionally my brain will wander. I'll put a book now and find myself thinking if Jeremy enjoys reading books. If he noticed the pen stain on my wrist last night.

That's really silly, you just met him once.

When the lock rings at twelve, I stroll over with an armload of books to the front counter and come to a halt.

A small cream envelope on the counter with "Grace Bennett" written in black ink. No address. Just Grace Bennett.

My heart was pounding. Mrs Harley glances up. "A man delivered that some time ago," she says. "Tall, dark hair. Told me it was for you.".

I swallowed hard. "Did he leave a name?"

She shakes her head. "Nay, he smiled like he knew you."

The paper trembled in my hands.

Inside is a single library card, it was old and worn out. In a neat handwriting, with one sentence.

See you soon, Grace.

My heart missed a beat, I was sixteen again for an instant, hanging between curiosity and fear. But this time it is not the same, the fear is electric.

I gazed at the tall windows. Across the streets, sunlight hits the shine of a black truck parked by the curb. For an instant, I would have sworn that I saw him looking behind the wheels.

And when I looked again the car disappeared. And still the sensation still lingers from last night.

"Grace?" Mrs Harley asks softly. "Are you all right?"

I pushed the card back in the envelope and attempted to nod. "Yes. I'm fine."

But my heart knows better. It's already racing to something I vowed I'd never want again.