My Heart Still Beats Read Online Helen Hardt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Dark, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
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I inhale the briny and slightly sweet scent of the raw oysters—one of my favorite aromas. Nothing quite like slurping a fresh oyster between your lips.

I look around at the exposed wooden beams, low ceilings, warm lighting, and maritime decor. Seriously, I love this place.

Charlie wears a traditional white apron, and his graying hair is pulled back into a net. He wears an oyster glove and holds the oyster securely in his other hand with a white towel. With his oyster knife, he expertly breaks the seal of the oyster shell, cuts the muscle, and then pries the two halves apart. He inspects the oyster for any debris or shell remnants and then hands it to Tessa.

“For you, pretty lady.”

She blushes slightly and looks down, but then she takes the oyster and slurps it expertly into her mouth. “Delicious,” she says once she swallows. “You make that look so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” I say. “Braden and I once—”

“You told me,” Tessa says.

Right. I did. Today at lunch. So much I’d like to talk to her about, but I’m afraid something I say may inadvertently upset her.

“That’s a Wellfleet,” Charlie says to Tessa.

“From Wellfleet in Cape Cod,” Tessa says.

“Give the pretty lady a star.” Charlie smiles. “You know your oysters.”

“I’ve lived in Boston my whole life,” she says. “Do you have any Chincoteague today?”

“Not today.”

Tessa frowns. “That’s too bad. They’re my favorite.”

“I like them, too,” I tell her. “They’re so briny and minerally.”

“They are, plus they’re from Chincoteague Island, where the wild ponies live.”

“You like horses?” I ask.

“Love them.” Her dark eyes light up. “They’re such gorgeous creatures. Misty of Chincoteague was one of my favorite books when I was a kid. My nana used to read it to me.”

Her dark eyes soften when she mentions her nana.

“Your nana?”

“Yeah. My mother’s mother. I was named after her. Teresa Maria. Teresa after Saint Teresa of Avila, a Spanish mystic and writer, and Maria after…well, after the Virgin Mary.”

“You’re Catholic?” I ask.

“Was,” she says, her mouth tightening a little. “I left the church after college.”

“Teresa Maria,” I say, letting the syllables flow off my tongue as if they’re poetry. “That’s beautiful.”

“My grandmother was a beautiful woman. And a beautiful person.”

“As are you.” I smile.

Tessa looks away from me, a rosy blush on her cheeks.

“Give us a dozen of the Wellfleet,” I say to Charlie. Then I turn back to Tessa, urging her to meet my gaze. “Tell me more about your grandmother.”

Tessa smiles slightly. “She was my favorite person in the world. I suppose she felt close to me because I was her namesake. Eva—she’s my younger sister by two years—wasn’t nearly as close to her as I was. Nana was very devout. My parents were—are—too, but Nana was different. Her faith was more to her than Mass or a set of rules to follow. It was part of her.”

“How so?”

Tessa sighs. “It’s not easy to explain. You’d have to have known her. I can tell you about the altar in her bedroom, about the incense and candles she burned when she prayed to the saints, about her favorite rosary made of rose quartz. About her deep brown eyes that held so much wisdom… About how snuggling in her lap when I was small was the most comforting place in the world. But none of it would truly describe her.”

“Can you tell me why you left Catholicism?” I ask.

She turns away. “That’s personal.”

“I’m sorry.”

A glance back at me. “Are you Catholic?”

“No. We were raised Christian, but we didn’t really go to church. Only on Christmas and Easter, and that ended when my mother died.”

“I’ll never go back,” she says. “Never.”

Interesting. Her grandmother was her favorite person and was also a devout Catholic, but Tessa will never go back? There’s a story there—and I sense it’s not a good one—but I won’t pry. Instead, I grab another oyster from the bar.

Briny and delicious, the oyster slides over my tongue and down my throat.

I order a Wild Turkey, and Tessa orders sparkling water. Charlie serves our dozen oysters, and I take one, add a twist of fresh lemon, and slurp it.

Tessa takes another one and downs it like a champ. “Mmm. So good.”

“Great. You had a hamburger earlier. Now you’re eating oysters. Tell me this isn’t better than bacon and ice cream for dinner again.”

“I’m not really that hungry,” she says, her tone noncommittal.

“Then this is the perfect place for you. I don’t think anyone could actually fill up on oysters on the half shell. I’ve been known to eat them until I burst, but that’s a heck of a lot of oysters. Way more than we’ll be eating tonight.”

Charlie shucks another oyster, and his eyes widen. “Here’s a special one for your lady, Ben.” He hands the oyster to Tessa.

She gasps. “This can’t be.”

“It’s unusual, for sure,” Charlie says, “with the stuff that we get. That, my dear lady, is a pearl.”



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