My Heart Insists on Playing Tag with My Brain
“Time to spill it, Hannah Banana. Who was that gorgeous specimen of a man?” Mason asks as he enters the return cubicle where I’m working on book returns before reshelving them.
I scan a book to put it back into the system and set it on the cart for reshelving. Mason leans against the counter, which I’ve learned he’s very good at, at least until Matilda catches him and threatens him with work-study shifts on Friday nights.
“A friend from high school.”
“And…” His eyes seize mine and hold. One. Two. “I can tell by your blush there’s more to the story.”
My eyes slide back to the stack of returns. “Why do you have to be so hateful? You know not to bring up my single weakness,” I say, referencing my unhide-able tell. The book-return beeps as I point the gun at the code on the inner cover of the book.
“Me?” He presses a hand to his heart. “Hateful? Never.”
As coworkers for over a year, I’ve learned Mason’s singular flaw: beautiful leaning while watching me work rather than pitching in because “he’s too pretty for menial labor.”
I offer him a coy smile instead of speaking and check in another book.
Mason lifts himself up onto the counter, plucking at the green and blue plaid wool trousers he’s wearing today. He’s also got on a green button up and a sweater vest, looking dapper as usual. “So, that’s quite a gigantic stack of returns,” he says, and his eyes flash to the cart piled with books. “I’d hate for someone to just, oh say, forget to reshelve them tonight. Maybe accidentally misplace the cart for tomorrow’s shift? Do you work tomorrow, Hannawnaw?”
“You wouldn’t.”
He arches a dark blond brow as if to ask, “Want to test me?”
I narrow my eyes at him, then grin. “That’s really dirty, Mason Rand. Extortion?”
“Have I ever indicated, Hannah Fleming, that I wouldn’t use all the tools at my disposal to get what I want?” He smiles.
I chuckle. “Fine. His name is Seth. We’re just friends.”
He hums a sonorous note through his nose.
“What?”
“I need more information, Hanzie. Oh. Wait. I don’t think I like that one.”
“Yeah. Let’s pretend you never said that,” I reply to his new nickname. So far Mason has named me Hannah Banana, Hannawnaw, Hanz-N-Franz, Hanover, Hannah-it-over.
He slides from the counter. “Give me all the dirty deets.”
“There aren’t any.”
Mason leans against the counter. “Not buying that. Selling and selling it quickly. Those shares are rubbish.”
I laugh.
He shushes me and glances around for the Hun. “Your blush alone, Hannah, tells me that there’s more there than you’re saying. And–” He holds up a hand to hush my protest. “And, I may not be straight, but I’m pretty good at reading guy because I am one—he’s interested in you.”
I shut my mouth to chew on that bit of information. “You think so?”
He makes a face, most of his features migrating to one side of his face. “Yeah. Couldn’t stop looking at you and by looking, I mean looking.”
“I’m supposed to meet him for pizza after my shift.”
Mason stands up as if someone pulled a string. “Really? Yes! Now, as your love guru–”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
He pouts. “Please?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to go.” It’s only when I say it that I realize how anxious the idea of meeting Seth makes me. It isn’t Seth so much as my own fears. These ideas mixed up in doubting myself, in worrying about what happened last time.
“What?” Mason asks a little too loudly, ducks a smidge, and glances around. “What?” he repeats in a whisper when he turns back to me. “You have to!”
“I just got dumped.”
“By a douche!”
I want to argue with Mason about Sebastian being a jerk but know it’s pointless. Mason is in the Team Hannah camp—which I’m grateful for—and that makes him, and Jewel, and my sister biased in my favor. I’d like to think that I know the ins and outs of my relationship with Sebastian clearer than they do, but lately, I’ve started wondering.
“I see you trying to formulate a justification for his behavior, Hannah. There isn’t one. So stop. Would you have cheated on him?”
“Fine. You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. And based on your blush, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you had a crush on this… Seth.”
My face heats.
Mason grins.
“I’m only getting out of a relationship.”
“Two months ago! Hannah!”
“Nine weeks.”
“Exactly. Nine weeks of nine months is twenty-five percent of that original relationship. That calculates to like seventy-five percent over it.” He leans a hip against the counter again.
I bark another laugh, then duck, glancing around for the Hun. “That’s weird math.”
“Regardless. Time to move on.”
I sober. “I don’t know if I want to put myself out there like that again.” Instead of Sebastian, however, I’m thinking about the night at the beach and the fact Seth had stopped calling.
I scan another book.
“I mean, that is an option. There’s always the self-pleasure fallback.” Mason looks at his nails again, then at me with a gleam in his eyes. “But why go that direction when you could have a nice warm body?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
My face heats.
Mason’s grin tempers. “Look, while I’m not disparaging your plan to protect yourself—as you should—I’m not sure closing yourself off from beautiful possibilities is the right course.”
I love how Mason, even with all his superficial bluster, isn’t. He’s deep and reflective, kind and compassionate.
“But we’re friends.”
“And as some wise obscure person probably said, falling in love with your friend is the greatest treasure.”
I scan another book and another, considering his words.
“Don’t think of it as starting another relationship, Hanz. You already have a relationship with Seth. This is just a catching up kind of dinner, right? Between friends?”
I look up at Mason, who’s watching me with one of his perceptive looks. His mouth curls up on one side.
“Yes.”
“So, what’s with all the pressure?”
He’s right. I’d already decided it wasn’t a date, but then slid into remembering all the feels I once had. “It isn’t a date.” I grin. “You’re right.”
He grabs my upper arms. “Shit! Here comes the Hun!” he whisper-shouts and pushes me out of the cubicle. “Clock out!” Then he takes over the job of checking in the books. “Save yourself!”
“Ms. Fleming?” Matilda asks when she reaches the counter. A thin woman with sharp features, I always have this feeling she’s about to stab me with one of her body parts. She’s so wiry and pointy. “Are you just standing around?” She glances at Mason and narrows her eyes.
He offers her a smile and continues with the job.
“My shift is over,” I say and smile at her.
“Then why are you here bothering Mr. Rand? Get gone.”
I look at Mason and roll my eyes at him as I back away. “Yes, ma’am.”
After gathering my stuff and slipping into my jacket, I check my phone, again, for the gazillionth time to see if Seth has canceled. No cancellation. There is a new text from Sebastian. I ignore it and send Seth a text: Leaving the Ham now.
Seth: I’ll get us a table. Drive safe.
I send a thumbs up emoji and exit the library.
The snow isn’t sticking anymore but it’s mixed with freezing rain, so I flip up the hood on my jacket and hurry through the parking lot to where I parked my little green car. While waiting for the car to heat, I text Jewel, letting her know where I’ll be. When I get to the pizza parlor—five minutes later because Mountain Park and Linden Falls are tiny neighboring towns separated by a narrow two-lane highway running between them—I take another deep breath to settle myself.
It isn’t that I still like Seth. It isn’t.
While I was infatuated with him in high school, I wasn’t the only one. Everyone was. He was just one of those charismatic people that made you feel like the center of the world when he smiled at you, completely unaware of what he did to your insides. The night at the beach was the culmination of two years of infatuation and the presentation of an opportunity. I knew then not to let my infatuation be anything other than that even if my wires got crossed later. I resolve to see this the same. I can enjoy how attractive he is. I can appreciate the fact that we’re hanging out as friends sharing pizza. Definitely not a date.
Park the car in the lot.
Deep breath.
Hurry through the sleet.
Push through the door into the pizza parlor.
My eyes adjust to the low light of the interior. It’s warm and cozy, the fire blazing in the stove glowing at the center of the room. There are a few kids standing near it, and a mom trying to draw them away. The dining room isn’t overly full, not like after a football game, but there are enough tables full of patrons that I have to search for Seth. When I find him, I remind myself: just friends. That’s safest.
He’s sitting in the opposite corner at a table tucked against the wall away from others. His head is tilted forward as he looks at his phone. I notice his hair is a little longer than he wore it in high school, the ends curling a little more prominently. It’s also darker, more brown than the honey blond it used to be highlighted with in high school, a little damp. A memory of being in elementary school hits me. We were eight and playing chase at recess. Seth tagged me, laughed, and ran away. His hair had been completely blond then. I smile at the memory as I weave my way around the room toward him.
When he looks up and sees me, he smiles.
Dimples.
My belly warms with a firework’s bloom, sprinkling heat that explodes to my extremities. I resolve not to let the attraction become anything more. Last time it led to a dead end. I’m in the process of dealing with the emotional fallout of the last dead end. I can’t do any more dead ends.
But Mason’s words hit me like a dart into the bullseye of my heart: he’s interested.
Seth stands. He looks so good dressed in a dark, long-sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans which ride his narrow hips.
When I’m close enough, he draws me into a hug. “I didn’t get to do that at the library,” he says.
The rumble of his words reverberates through his chest into mine, sitting in the space of my spine that speaks to all my nerves, sending messages of light into spaces in my body that I hadn’t realized were empty until that moment.
Muscle memory of our night on the beach kicks in, my heart kicking up sand and nearly choking me. His warmth seeps through my jacket, and instead of fighting it—because I’m tired—I relax, wrapping my arms around him and holding on. My eyes slip shut, and I take a deep breath. He smells clean and refreshing, like soap and citrus. I remember all the ways we were friends, and all the ways I wish we hadn’t been.
“I’m still so surprised to see you,” I say against his shoulder. He’s taller than I am. I notice how strong his arms are, how they flex around me—just a touch more after I’ve spoken. I notice the way his body has filled in and widened like his face. I want to burrow into him, snuggle, but realize we’ve been holding onto one another for a more-than-friends length of time. So I step back, because I don’t need to be thinking about the strength of his arms or his body.
Just friends.
I smile and unzip my jacket. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Our eyes catch, and I hold onto his. He does the same, his smile waning, but the intensity of his gaze darkening. He clears his throat, looks away, and sits.
“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered.”
“What did you get?” I settle in the chair opposite him.
“The hot cheese one with pepperoni and sausage. And ranch.”
“Yummy. Thick crust or thin? And yes, this is a test,” I tease as I remove the green scarf around my neck.
“Thick.”
“Aced it.”
He grins and rearranges the napkin holder and the various shakers on the table. “My new roommate. He taught me Lindie’s Pizzaria 101 the first week after I moved it.”
I adjust my purse and jacket in the chair next to me, taking a moment to center myself. “He did good.” Deep breath. Just friends. Another deep breath and I turn to him with a smile. “I want to hear all about your life over the last two years.”
His eyes search my face as if memorizing it, as if he too is worried I might disappear. “Hold on,” he says, his gaze intent and focused. I feel it like a caress.
“What?”
“I’m just…Wow. I can’t believe we’re here right now.”
My skin heats, and I can’t keep eye contact, but I also can’t contain my smile. “I’m so happy to see you.” The moment I admit it, I understand the ephemeral nature of my happiness lately. I can clearly see since my father’s death, happiness—the real thing—has been elusive. This feels like the real thing, reminding me how I once felt. It’s a scary realization.
Seth nods, his dimples back, then takes a sip of his drink and clears his throat as he sets it back on the table. Then he runs his hands over what I assume are his thighs, hidden from view.
“There’s not much to tell. State for two years. Quit soccer. Time spent last term in Benson with my parents. Transferred.”
I laugh. “Nope. Not getting away with that. Parents first. Still together?”
His smile fades, and he looks at the clear plastic cup in front of him. “Yes.” He grasps hold of it as if needing to ground himself with something.
I know there’s a lot I don’t know about Seth and his family. There are things I can guess. Everyone knew his dad had been arrested for child abuse when Seth had been in the hospital, but the truth of that is not something Seth has ever shared with me.
“That’s a bad thing?” I ask.
His eyes flick up to mine. “No. Not bad. They are still in therapy, and he’s still sober.”
“You seem–” I search for a word– “doubtful about it.”
He takes a sip of his water. “He’s been on the wagon before.”
“This long?”
He shakes his head.
“Have you forgiven him?”
“A work in progress,” he says, then offers a smile. No dimples.
“We all are.”
“And you? How are you a work in progress, Hannah? I never thought you had much to fix.”
I’m taken aback by his statement. “Why would you think that?”
“You were—are still, I bet—the best of all of us.”
I look away, embarrassed, unable to hold his gaze. “What an awful and wonderful thing to say.” I don’t think he’d say that if he knew the heart of me, of what happened the night my father died, of how selfish I’d been.
“How’s that awful?”
“All that pressure.” I allow myself another look at him.
He smiles. Dimples. “Nope. No pressure.”
A name is announced over the loudspeaker.
“Girlfriend?” I ask. I want to know.
He smiles and tilts his head, studying me. “The abridged version: I dated a girl freshman year. Broke up. Dated a bit. Then I had a girlfriend sophomore year. Lasted about six months and fizzled out.” He takes a sip of his water. “You?”
I blush. “Just got out of a relationship, actually.”
His eyebrows shift again, and his mouth fades toward seriousness. “How long?”
“We were together for nine months.”
“How long have you been broken up?”
“He broke up with me right before finals last term.”
“Was it serious?”
“I thought so.”
His eyes skitter away like pebbles skipped across water. “He didn’t?”
I offer him an easy smile even though it isn’t really. I’m embarrassed. “I guess not.” It’s hard to admit I was dumped, that I wasn’t good enough somehow, and when I look in the mirror, I know it’s that belief about myself that I reflected to Sebastian. It’s probably why we broke up. I hope my reflection is changing, that Seth sees something different. “He was seeing someone new.” I press my fingertips to my cheeks. “Sucks to not be wanted.”
“He’s an idiot.”
My eyes flash to Seth and notice the tightened line of his jaw. He looks away as if maybe he’s said too much. I decide not to make anything of it. I’d made too much of what happened at the beach way back when. I want to guard my heart. I smile, attempting casual. “I’m going to be a cat lady.”
“That is an absolute impossibility, unless that’s what you want.” He twirls his cup around with both of his hands, the right one pushing and the left drawing it back toward him. It’s repetitive and captures my gaze, which is easier than looking at him. His hands are beautiful, which seems like a weird thing to notice, but I can’t seem to look away from them. I recall his touch, and I swallow. I didn’t realize I had a thing for hands.
He leans forward, drawing my eyes to his. “Why didn’t you go to senior prom with me instead of that weird kid from Newport?”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s random. You didn’t ask me.”
“You could have asked me.” His light brown eyes, which I notice have flecks of green in them, are bright with mirth.
“Shut up. You name me one girl who asked a boy in high school?”
“Pizza for Seth,” reverberates through the room.
Seth stands and swipes his forehead dramatically. “Saved.” He grins and walks away.
I scold my heart for bouncing in my chest like a rubber ball as I watch him walk across the room. I notice the way his shirt stretches over his back; it isn’t tight, but I can see the definition of his shoulders and the ridge of his blades. I trail the sinew of his body to his hips where his well-worn jeans sit perfectly, hugging his backside and thighs. “Stop,” I tell myself, forcing myself to look away and take a sip of my water.
When he returns, Seth slides the silver tray onto the table. “I have decided there is no better pizza in the state.” It’s oozing cheese and bubbling with pepperoni and spicy Italian sausage. He offers me a plate. “I didn’t get you a fork. Want one?”
“Who eats pizza with a fork?”
He grins. Dimples. “My sentiments exactly. You passed your test.”
I laugh and pull a slice from the pan to put on my plate. “Okay. Where did we stop? State. Check. No girlfriend. Check. Moved to Benson. Check.”
He takes a slice from the pan and bites. “Oh! That’s hot!” He puffs air through his mouth to cool the bite.
I look away. The shape of his lips makes me think about kissing and how long it feels since I’ve kissed anyone. Sebastian doesn’t count. It seems like we stopped kissing months before we broke up. I miss kissing. The hungry way kissing explodes. The way it slides through your whole body.
The night on the beach with Seth hits me.
My stomach twirls with the memory, and I squeeze my thighs together to quell the way my body remembers it too. I test the pizza on my plate with a fingertip to reset my thoughts.
“Worried?” Seth asks around the bite.
“Yes.” But I’m not talking about pizza.
“Your turn. Parents still in Cantos?”
My heart hooks on an exposed nail.
Just like that, grief dashes any other feeling inside me. I can’t bring myself to answer him and refuse to look up. I’m sure he’ll notice the way tears fill my eyes. Anytime I think about the loss of my dad, even two years removed, the loss is loose heart tissue. Time has stretched between the then of it and the now, but it feels like I fold the line to return every time I’m forced to look.
“What is it?” Seth asks. His expressive eyebrows are scrunched toward one another over his eyes.
“My mom and sister are still in Cantos. My dad passed away during my freshman year.”
“Oh shit–” He reaches out and covers my hand with his.
The warmth is welcome, and it’s another contrast to Sebastian, who was usually annoyed that I struggled to get past it. That somehow, I just needed to dig a little deeper and find a way to get over it. “It’s hard to talk about.”
He wraps his fingers around my hand, and I’m falling into that touch with too much ease. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
My gaze slides up from our joined hands to his face. “Thank you for that.”
He offers another reassuring squeeze and releases my hand.
I miss his touch, which is ridiculous. I missed it after having had it that night on the beach, too.
“That was during freshman year?”
I nod. “January.”
“Oh.” Seth pokes at the crust of his pizza. “Is that why you transferred?”
I clear my throat of the lump and mentally reset myself on steady ground, then offer him a smile. “Yes. I took a year off and then transferred.”
“We both took time off.”
I’m not sure what to think of the statement, but some part of me grasps for the kismet of it. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing; how if we hadn’t taken that time, we wouldn’t be sitting across the table from one another right now.
We drop into conversation reminiscing about our shared childhoods, people we knew, and the town where we both grew up, though the night at the beach is avoided. Being with him is easy, and just like I always do, I rotate into the comfort of being aware of him and his movement. He is like the sun, and I’m content to exist in the shadows, except Seth keeps his sun shining on me and forces me to stay out in the light.
“Still talk to Abby and Gabe?” I ask.
“Gabe. Yes. When they broke up–”
I nod, knowing.
“You?”
“Abby.”
He takes a deep breath, his chest leaning against the edge of the table on his side. “Do you think it’s inevitable that people who date in high school break up?” Then he leans back and takes another slice of pizza, depositing it on his plate.
I shrug. “Some people make it work.”
He hums a sound.
“What?”
He shakes his head and offers me a smile without dimples. “Just thinking about circumstances.”
I’m not sure what he means, but it makes me return to my crush on him, to relive the moment on the beach. I feel my skin heat and know I need to change the subject. “Are you enjoying Western?” I ask him.
“Definitely is looking up,” he replies and grins.
My phone buzzes in my purse against the chair next to me. Unsettled by his statement and the insecurity of allowing the hope of seeing him again to battle with the tempering of my expectations, I grab the phone to allow myself a moment to breathe. Except it’s Sebastian. I decline the call and set the phone on the table.
Seth’s eyes track my movement. “Any suggestions for my transition?”
This makes me laugh. Western is a fraction the size of State. I shake my head.
“Why are you shaking your head at me, Hannah?”
“I think you’ll be okay.” My phone buzzes on the table again. Sebastian’s face pops up on the screen.
“Do you need to get that?” He nods at the phone.
I shake my head and pick up the phone. “The ex.” I wave the phone and slip it into my purse again after declining the call.
“He’s still calling?”
“Just today.” I take a sip of my soda. “I’m not sure why.” I don’t mention it’s the second time today and that he’s texted too.
“You’re not?” His eyes haven’t left my face, and I feel warm under his focused gaze. During our senior year, I would have considered doing most anything for his attention, even if I hadn’t. Or how when we kissed on the beach, I thought I’d finally found what I’d been looking for. It was a story I told myself, wishing it were so but too afraid to do anything about it.
“I’m so glad I ran into you, Hannah.” His amber eyes twinkle as he takes another bite of his pizza.
I grab my cup and take another sip, reminding myself this isn’t a date. We’re just friends.