Three Heart Echo

Chapter Ten - Iona

The weather had been so nice I decided to walk to and from work that day. It was April first. I remember, because our meeting seemed like such a joke.

It was three weeks after the funeral and things were finally kind of starting to feel normal. Mom was coming back to her senses. Cressida had stopped calling every single day, going back to taking care of her husband and their three kids. Viola was back to inviting me out for drinks every weekend with her and her silly friends.

It seemed like a good day to walk in the crisp weather and clear my head. To take a breather and reset.

My work is just five blocks from my apartment, but I cut right through the middle of town. I thought I'd been paying attention to the hustle and bustle, but as I watched a fighting couple walk down the other side of the road, I suddenly ran smack into someone.

I went down to the ground, scraping my elbow pretty bad, and twisting my knee awkwardly. The individual I walked into dropped their briefcase and was thrown off balance, but I was the only one on the sidewalk.

"I'm so sorry," a smooth, panicked voice said. A hand instantly appeared in my vision, hauling me up to my feet before I was even quite ready. Strong hands steadied me by my shoulders.

My eyes finally settled onto a face. Cut and chiseled and perfect.

"Oh," he said, the guilt and horror widening his eyes. "Hey. You're, uh, one of the Faye girls."

The devastatingly handsome man from the funeral.

"Yeah," I said, wincing against my throbbing elbow. I took half a step backward, raising it up to inspect the damage. My shirt was torn and my skin was brilliant red, but it wasn't dripping blood yet.

"I am so sorry," he said, gently cradling my elbow, inspecting it for himself. "I just stepped out of the office. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"It's okay," I said, bending to grab my bag that I'd dropped. "I wasn't looking, either."

"Don't know how I missed such a beautiful not-quite stranger," he says, pulling off a cocky smile. "You're hard to not notice, Miss Faye."

I gave him a glare as I pulled the strap of my bag back up and over my shoulder. "Really?" I questioned him. "Flirting with a girl you met at a funeral?"

I started walking down the sidewalk, back in the direction of home. He quickly picked up his suitcase and hurried after me.

"We never even got each other's names at that...particular event," he says awkwardly, smart enough to not say funeral. "I consider that to be 'meeting' someone—obtaining their name. Becoming acquaintances. None of that happened before, so it doesn't count."

"You're trying really hard," I said, not looking at him, but a small smile cracking on my lips. "You realize that makes you sound pathetic, right?"

"Pathetic?" he said, sounding genuinely offended. "I'm just being polite. You're the one being nasty now."

"Nasty?" I nearly shouted, rounding on him, stopping us in our tracks. "Really? All things considered in this three-minute acquaintanceship, and you're going to call me nasty? You really know how to burn a bridge fast."

I turned and continued on my way, picking up pace.

"I'm sorry!" he called, jogging to catch up with me. "Nasty wasn't the right word. Maybe just, unpleasant."

"You're not scoring yourself any points with your varying degrees of insults," I said as I crossed the road with a small crowd of strangers.

"Then how about a do-over?" he practically begged as I continued down the road at a quick click. "I'm trying here, I really am. I'm sorry that my mouth got away from me. It happens sometimes when I'm self-conscious."

"Self conscious?" I chuckled. "You?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he chuckled, though the look on his face said he had a pretty good picture of what I meant.

"Don't pull that on me," I said, rolling my eyes, despite the smile on my lips.

"Okay, fine," he said. "Maybe I know a little what you're talking about. But it's true. I do get self-conscious. Are you judging me based on my looks?"

"I guess so," I said, crossing another road. One more block until I reached my apartment.

"Look," he said, gently grabbing my arm and pulling me to a stop. "I'm really sorry, for everything that just transpired in the last five minutes. Will you please accept my apology?"

I studied him, mostly because he was so nice to look at. But he did seem to mean it, at least as far as I could tell, having only known him for a few minutes.

"Fine," I said, feeling the annoyance lift from my chest. "I forgive you. For now."

A smile cocked on one side of his face and all of my resolve cracked a little. Perfectly straight, white teeth shone out, the smile all crooked and charming.

"Thank you, Miss..." he dragged out, his expression hopeful.

I bit my lower lip, debating for a moment. Stranger danger and all that, but at twenty-eight years old, I figured I was a big girl by that point. "Iona," I finally responded.

"Iona Faye," he said, settling further into his casual smile. "I'm Jack Caraway. And I wondered if I could take you to dinner Friday night?"

His audacity startled a laugh right out of me. But the look on his face told me he was dead serious. I just shook my head.

"Don't say no," he said, jumping in, like he could see that I was about to. "I promise, no more running mouth, no knocking you to the concrete again. Just a nice evening, some good food, and a perfectly pleasant conversation."

I just stared at him for a moment longer, in disbelief at the turn of events this afternoon. "Maybe," I finally said. "If I decide yes, then I'll meet you right here," I pointed to the ground at our feet, "at seven o'clock Friday night. And if I decide no—"

"You'll just leave me standing out here on the sidewalk looking like a fool?" he asked incredulously.

I smiled and nodded. And without another word, I turned back for the sidewalk and crossed the road.

"I'll see you on Friday!" he called as I walked away.

"Maybe!" I teased without looking back.