Free Sacred Hart by A.M. Johnson Page A

once.”
    “Maybe.”
    I pulled my ponytail tighter and looked up at him from under my lashes. “That’s not a no… I’ll hold you to it,” I said, and he shook his head with a grin. “Let’s go, Honey.”
    “See you next Sunday?” Ryan tugged at the collar of Beth’s jacket.
    “Will you have more of that dough stuff?” she asked and grabbed my hand.
    “Sure.” He gave her a nod before he brought his eyes to mine.
    The air between us was heavy with the weight of his gaze. I didn’t want to break it; I wanted him to look at me like this, with need, with something other than the sadness that seemed to reside under the surface all the time. His jaw pulsed, and he lifted his hand taking a loose piece of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He placed the strand behind my ear, letting his thumb briefly graze the skin on my neck. My eyes closed automatically, and I stood still breathing in his scent.
    My eyes reluctantly opened and when I looked into his, I saw the conflict, the panic as it fought against the desire.
    He took a step back, and his lips pressed together in a firm line.
    “Ryan?”
    “I’ll see you next week, Maggie.” He backed up further, and it was then I noticed his hands were balled into fists.
    He was closing up. He was shutting down.
    He was letting the fear win.

Chapter Eight
     

     
    The multi-colored lights reflected off the ceiling creating a warmth in my chest and a pattern of shadows on the wall. The Florida humidity made it too hot to feel like Christmas, but as soon as I walked through my front door, my lips spread into a huge grin. The tree was perfect. The house smelled like apple pie, my favorite, and Birdie was laying under the tree playing with the glass bulb ornaments. Her tiny feet wriggled from underneath the branches, and her light laughter made me chuckle. I snuck closer to her; she should be getting ready for bed, but I was grateful I could say goodnight.
    I’d picked up a second job working at the delivery dock of one of the local department stores to earn extra money for the holidays. It was past nine p.m. on Christmas Eve, and I had hoped Sarah kept Belle awake for me. I was pleased she had. I knelt down in my dirty jeans and slowly moved closer to my little girl. I pinched her toe gently, and she squealed.
    “Daddy.” She rolled to her side and crawled over to me at record speed. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, and I kissed her on the cheek.
    “Hey, Birdie.” I laughed, and she squeezed me tighter.
    Sarah came around the corner from the kitchen, her smile small and her hand wringing in a dish towel. “You’re late.” She shook her head and my smile fell. “I made pie for tomorrow, apple.” The right corner of her mouth lifted again as I stood.
    Belle sat on my hip as I leaned in and kissed Sarah. “Thanks, baby.” I brought my forehead to hers. “Merry Christmas.”
     
    The memory hit me as I pulled the apple pies from the oven. Four pies. The smell of sweet spice and baked fruit saturated the kitchen bringing me back in time. The tight grip of pain in my chest almost made me drop the hot metal tray to the ground. I set the pies on the counter and rested my hands on the cool surface of the worktop. My head hung down as I caught my breath. I closed my eyes and tried to think of Maggie. I tried to picture her and how sometimes her top lip would tremble when she looked at me with a bright smile. The thought of her cheeks and how they would turn that perfect shade of pink whenever I allowed the tempting space between us to dwindle; it calmed me. Her face, her laugh… just having her here — it eased the burden, cooled the sting, and stopped the shit storm in my head even if only for a few hours.
    The problem was, the more I thought of Maggie, the more all the memories I tried to repress were dredged up. The chasm of space I’d had around me for all these years was getting smaller with every visit. Every time Maggie came to the diner, the lines