Free My Foolish Heart by Susan May Warren Page A

can of beans.
    He blew out too many breaths as he worked his way back up the stairs with his loot, returned for the second bag, full of bruised apples, canned corn, and a package of crushed Oreos.
    He piled it all in the entryway and closed the door behind him, refusing to listen to the small, dark voice inside that told him to quit and drive as fast as he could away from Deep Haven.
    * * *
    â€œI can’t believe Seb Brewster is back.”
    Lucy sat on the back porch swing of Issy’s house, nursing a cup of tea. Above Issy’s head, the porch light had flicked on, drawing moths flirting with death. Cicadas chirruped, backdropped by the sound of “Twist and Shout,” a local band playing the standards for the street dance. Tonight, after Issy’s show, they’d sit on her front porch and watch the fireworks. She could stay up for that.
    Lucy refused to imagine Seb at the dance. “He looks really good. I’m going to have to hate him for that.” She watched the moonlight glisten on the freshly replanted hosta, the row of ostrich fern, Virginia bluebells, and . . . “What are those big red flowers called?”
    â€œThe ones against the fence? Hibiscus. They’re perennials.” Issy sat on the steps, leaning back against the post, one foot on the lower step, the other drawn underneath her. She picked at the take-out container of grilled corn, the now-cold fish burger Lucy had brought over. “Thanks for dinner.”
    â€œYou really ran out of the grocery store?”
    â€œI feel sick. Just ill. I cannot believe I treated him like that.”
    â€œYou were in shock.”
    â€œI was rude. And hurtful.” Issy drove her hands into her long hair, and Lucy didn’t know how to comfort her. “I am just praying for a chance to apologize, but how’s that going to happen? I swear I’m never walking out of this house again.”
    â€œStop. I’m sure he understands.”
    â€œOh, you don’t know how bad it was. But it had nothing to do with his scars, which, frankly, aren’t that bad. He has a handsome face—or at least amazingly blue eyes. I do remember that much. But, oh, Lucy.” She shook her head as if to dispel the memory. “Let’s talk about Seb. Did he say anything? What do you mean he looks good?”
    â€œThat black curly hair, those mysterious green eyes. He’s filled out—big shoulders, thick arms. Definitely looks like he played football for some college team. . . .”
    Lucy played with her tea bag, remembering Seb standing on the sidewalk, next to the kettle corn stand, as she’d passed out her scribbled Buy one, get one free flyers. For a second, seeing him had knocked the wind right out of her, rushed at her that feeling she’d had the first time he looked at her or, better, seeing him waiting for her after school astride his motorcycle.
    Talk about rude— What are you doing here? But it was a good question.
    â€œDidn’t Seb play for Iowa State?” Issy said, reaching for dessert—a cold raised glazed donut.
    â€œTwo years, I think.” Actually, exactly seven games and three quarters before a late, blindside hit blew out his knee, but telling Issy that would only ignite more questions. “Funny, he stood there, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking embarrassed.”
    â€œHe should be.”
    â€œNot anymore. I mean, c’mon, that was eight years ago. I think I can forgive him for breaking my heart.”
    Issy looked up and for a second held Lucy’s gaze, then shook her head. “You cried for six months.”
    â€œI was a hormonal teenager.”
    â€œYou dated for a year. And he cheated on you.”
    Yes, that’s what Issy knew. Lucy couldn’t bear to tell her the whole truth.
    Better to let Issy think that Seb had simply broken her heart.
    Not stolen her virtue or turned her into a woman who betrayed herself.
    Seb