On the Corner of Heartache and Hopeful--MIC by Lynda Bailey

complained louder.
    “Hey,” he said
from the spot he seemed rooted to.
    “Hey,” she
responded, staring at the gnarled wood grain of the swing seat. She traced a
curvy line with a stubby fingernail.
    He came near,
hesitancy in his movements. She understood his reservation. Breaking up was
probably messy. She could’ve taken the easy, cowardly road and just stayed away
until Scott left Tatum. But she’d never been a fan of cowardly acts. Nor easy
ones for that matter.
    He sat at the
other end of the swing. “I’ve been looking for you.”
    Liar! Tears burned the back of her eyes. She kept her gaze diverted. “Found me.”
    “I, uh, need to
talk to you.”
    She nodded as a
tear escaped. “Me, too.”
    “Um, you wanna
go first?”
    Did she? Would
it be easier to say the words or hear them?
    Scott cleared
his throat. “Okay. I’ll start.” He paused, staring at his clasped hands.
“Things have moved awfully fast between us—”
    Mic surged to
her feet. Hearing the words was worse. Way worse.
    She marched to
the railing, her arms wrapped around her middle. Turning back, she saw he’d
stood as well, his hands in tight fists at his sides. “We both know this won’t
work,” she said in as even a voice as she could muster.
    He took a single
step forward. “What, exactly, won’t work?”
    Her hand sliced
the air between them. “This.”
    She spun away,
raw emotion suffocating her. With a deep breath, she placed a shaky hand to her
forehead then coerced herself to look at him. God, she was going to miss him.
    “Us. You and me.
You should go back to New York. It’s where you belong.” She choked on the air
in her lungs. “With Snookie.”
    “Who?”
    “Snookie. You
know, your girlfriend.”
    Confusion
blanketed his face as he came nearer, his hands outstretched. “I don’t have a
girlfriend.”
    “Please don’t
lie to me.” She dodged his touch. “I came by the house earlier and heard you
talking on the phone. To Snookie. You said your obligations here were almost
done, that you’d be back in New York tomorrow…You convinced her not to leave
you…you said…you loved her.”
    Comprehension
lit Scott’s face and he threw his head back with a barking laugh. A blinding
sheet of rage dropped over her eyes.
    She stomped to
him and jabbed her finger into his chest. Not satisfied when his ear-to-ear
grin remained, she shoved him back, hard. “How dare you?” She shoved him again.
“Our time together might not have meant a damn thing to you, but it meant
everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything.” Another shove. “I will not have you laugh about it.”
    She whirled away, knowing if she didn’t, her right cross would
connect with his jaw. Before she could take one step, strong arms wound around
her waist, lifting her feet from the wood porch. “Let me go.”
    She torqued in
his embrace, no match against his strength. He turned her in his arms as she
slapped and punched any part of him she could reach. The next thing she knew,
his hand was on the back of her head holding her still, and his mouth was on
hers.
    Mic tried her
mightiest to shove him away, but it was useless. With a feeble whimper, she
slumped in his arms, his mouth and tongue never ceasing their gentle mugging.
    He eased away
enough to mutter against her lips. “Now, listen here, Michaela Anderson. What
you heard was not me talking to my girlfriend, but to my secretary,
Beatrice Snooker.”
    “But I—”
    He reclaimed her
mouth for another swooning kiss, then pulled back. “No, buts. The business that
bought me back to Tatum is almost done, but not the business which I hope will
keep me here for a good, long time. And I did tell Snookie not to leave—the
company we work for. A grandmother her age shouldn’t have to worry about
finding another job. And for the record, I do love the old girl, but I am not
in love with her.” He caressed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m
in love with you.”
    She