Mechanical Heart

By Beverly Anne Michel

Levy Hart thought he had a great life. He lived with his best friend, scientist, Finnea Wong. He had a good job, played Dungeons and Dragons, and loved to bake for his friends. Everything seemed to be going perfectly until he discovered someone close to him had been keeping secrets. Lies and secrets turn his world upside down. He must relearn how to navigate the world. He must learn how to trust the ones closest to him again. Things become even more complicated when Finnea finds herself in trouble. Levy must help her while rebuilding their relationship. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverly Anne Michel
• Release date: Nov 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215662182

Beverly Anne Michel

Beverly Anne Michel is a romance author from Nebraska. 

Book preview

Chapter One:

Guilty pleasures are just that, pleasures in life that make you feel guilty. What’s my guilty pleasure? Competition baking shows. There’s just something about them that I can’t get enough of. On a particularly quiet afternoon after work, I found myself completely involved in a good one. My eyes were glued to the television. A baker had just pulled the most beautiful loaf of bread out of their oven. The task that week was to make challah bread in whatever flavor they wanted. It was one of my favorite shows. But who didn’t love a good baking show? The competition, the friendships, the baking, and of course the English accents. There was so much to love about it.

I was so enthralled in the show that I didn’t hear the sound of keys jingling outside or the squeak of the door. I didn’t even hear the subtle clacking of my roommate’s heels against the wood floor. I continued to watch my show oblivious to the fact she was watching me. Then I could feel it. I could feel the eyes of Finnea Wong staring at me. Judgmental and probing. I shut off the T.V. and threw the remote to the other side of the couch. I sat there staring back at her as if I hadn’t been doing anything. I was completely and utterly innocent, of course. 

Finnea rolled her eyes at me. You’re ridiculous. 

What do you mean? I continued to feign innocence. 

You get so embarrassed about your shows. It’s not like you’re watching soaps or something. 

My mouth fell open aghast, I would never. 

Exactly, so stop being so weird about your baking shows. 

I’m not weird about them.

You are. She laughed, teasing me.

I pushed myself up from the couch. Maybe a little? 

Try a lot. You don’t have to be embarrassed. 

But- 

No, no buts. I opened my mouth to speak again, but she raised her hand to stop me from speaking. She lifted one finger and waved it back and forth. No. 

I had to laugh a little. She was right. There was no rule that I couldn’t like a baking show. I didn’t have to sit around watching car shows or something like that. Finnea shrugged off her lab coat and lazily slung it over the back of her chair at the dining room table. What had started out as a perfect and tight ponytail that morning was now a little frizzy and messy. Black strands fell in her face and hung in front of her brown eyes. She stepped out of her black pumps and pushed them away as if they were offensive. 

Finnea stretched, her blouse rising just a bit. Glad to be home. 

I’m glad you’re home too. 

She waved me off and walked to the kitchen. It was an easy walk because our apartment had an open layout; the living room, dining room, and kitchen were basically one big room. They all had a very minimalistic feel to them. I might have been living there for a few months, but I had yet to put my touch on anything, so it still felt very much like Finnea’s apartment. I didn’t mind the cool metals and clean lines. It looked nice. The only thing I really cared about was the kitchen. Finnea wasn’t much of a cook, but I had picked up cooking in the last couple of months. It was becoming somewhat of a hobby of mine and I enjoyed it.

Finnea grabbed a bottle of red off the wine rack, which was settled on the counter. She went for a glass, but I reached above her and got it for her. Our eyes met for just a moment and I smiled. She rolled her eyes at me and snatched the glass away.

Just because you’re taller than me doesn’t mean you have to help me all the time, she snarked. Five foot five is not that short. 

I chuckled and leaned back from her. My hands raised up in surrender. I’m sorry. To be fair, I was at least seven inches taller than her.

She narrowed her eyes at me and shook the glass in my direction. You’re not sorry at all. 

I put my left hand over my heart. I, Levy Hart, am sorry. I could barely contain my giggles. 

Finnea smacked me in the chest. You’re terrible. 

I laughed loud and deep. What if I cooked a steak to go with that bottle of red? 

I might forgive you. 

I lifted the package of steak I left on the counter a couple of hours ago. I waved it in front of her, but she shoved it away. 

Alright, alright. She sat down at the dining room table where she could watch me cook like she usually did. 

I handed her the wine bottle opener before getting out everything I needed to cook dinner. With a pop, the cork came out. She poured herself a healthy glass of wine. My gaze wandered to her lips as she brought the wine glass to them. Her lips were almost as red as the wine. She held the glass delicately in between her fingers. Her nails were painted, but they were always a little scuffed because of how often she worked with her hands. My gaze went from her fingers back to her lips and I had to look away. 

I shook my head and forced myself to pay attention to the food in front of me. The stove turned on with a click and woosh of flame. I moved the pan over the flickering fire, letting it heat up for a few moments. With a pinch of salt and a grind of pepper, I seasoned the beef. The thick steak fell into the pan with a sizzle of applause. In a matter of seconds, the room filled with the scent of cooking meat.

The sound of a pen scribbling against paper came from behind me. It was not an unusual sound to hear in the apartment. Finnea took a lot of notes for work. I glanced back at her and saw she was doing just that. She had her wine glass in one hand and a pen in the other. Her feet were propped up on a chair catty-corner from her. I turned back to the stove to make sure the steak was okay. Everything was fine, so I worked on a side dish. 

How was work today? Finnea asked. 

Oh, uh... it was okay. I grabbed a bag of salad and a few vegetables from the fridge. 

The sound of the pen moving stopped. What do you mean okay? 

I mean... it was okay. Not very exciting. To be honest, I hadn’t been feeling that great about my job, but I didn’t want to worry Finnea. 

The scribbling continued. It sounds like it was more than that. 

I sighed. She knew me too well. Have you ever felt like you aren’t where you’re supposed to be in life? I tossed the salad and flipped the steak. 

Yeah, I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Her voice grew gentler. 

I don’t really know how to explain it. Just a couple of months ago I thought I had everything planned out, but now I feel like... I feel lost. Like I shouldn’t be working at the bookstore anymore. I shrugged my shoulders. But then I don’t know what I should do. 

I put the salad in a bowl and began chopping a few vegetables. The knife moved quickly in my hand, slicing cucumbers and cherry tomatoes. I moved with ease. My knife skills had gotten better in the last few weeks. I’d only cut myself once. It had been quite the ordeal, though. I didn’t think I had ever seen Finnea so freaked out over a little bit of blood. It hadn’t even hurt. I kept chopping, hoping the conversation was over.

No such luck.

Do you know what brought on this feeling? She continued to write in her notebook. 

I grabbed a plate and put the steak onto it along with some of the salad. No, I think it was gradual. You know? Something just started feeling wrong about what I was doing. Day after day shelving books and standing behind a counter. 

I understand. 

I brought the plate of food to the table. Finnea slid her feet off the chair and sat up straight. She watched me carefully as I set the plate and silverware down. I sat across from her at our small table. She dug into her steak. She didn’t say anything about the fact I wasn’t eating. I never really seemed to be hungry. 

Are you going to be okay?

I don’t know. I shrugged.

Finnea frowned as she chewed. After she swallowed she said, If you want to make a change you can. 

But I’m not sure what I want to do. 

She let out a soft breath. I’m sorry, Levy. 

The rest of the dinner was quiet. Finnea finished her meal and drained her wine glass. My stomach twisted into knots thinking about what to do with my life. I had a good job at the bookstore, but what if I just dropped everything and started over? Started over doing what exactly? I didn’t know and neither did Finnea.

I picked up the plate and put it in the sink to be dealt with later. Something about washing dishes didn’t seem very appealing. Did it ever? Turning around, I found Finnea looking at me again. I frowned at her and she frowned back. It was like she was making a face at me. 

Stop stressing. It’s not the end of the world, she said. 

You say that, but it feels like the end of the world. I leaned back against the counter. I thought I knew what I wanted, but everything feels... off. 

She poured herself another glass of wine. And that’s normal. People feel like that all the time. 

I don’t. I had everything planned out or I thought I did. I ran my fingers through my hair. How can I go from on top of the world to so confused. 

I don’t know. Finnea took a large gulp of wine. 

I’m going to bed, I said suddenly.

Okay. The frown on her face deepened.

Pushing away from the counter, I moved toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. My room was the only place in the apartment that had my touch. The dresser and bed were made of wood instead of the cold metals that Finnea had throughout the apartment. I could smell the candle I had sitting on top of the dresser. It was a warm baked cookie scent that I liked to burn when I relaxed. I changed out of my button-up shirt and jeans into a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. I caught my reflection in my full-length mirror. My brown hair was a mess as usual; I never seemed to be able to keep my hair in place. At least there weren’t any bags under my dark eyes. Yet. Climbing into bed, I cuddled under the soft orange and red blankets. The colors reminded me of the sunset over the Boston Harbor. One of my favorite things.

I did my best to relax as I slumped down into the bed. My mind swirled with thoughts of change and it only confused me more. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as possible. I needed to calm my thoughts and get to sleep. Slowly, very slowly, I drifted into a deep sleep. Darkness overtook me and a sense of peace fell over me. I didn’t dream, but then again I never dreamed. 

A LOUD BEEPING NOISE penetrated my sleep. Peaking my eyes open, I glared at my phone. It was making an offensive noise in an attempt to wake me up. Light streamed through my room through red curtains. Another annoyance. Couldn’t the world just let me sleep a little longer? I pulled my blanket over my head and hid from the light and the noise. It seemed like a good idea until I heard a knocking at my door. Even Finnea was against me that morning. 

Whatever it is, no, I said, my voice muffled through the blanket. 

Turn off your alarm and get up, we’re going for a walk. 

It’s too early, I whined like a petulant child. 

Don’t make me come in there! 

The idea of her coming in there made me want to get up. She saw me in my pajamas and with bedhead all the time, but for some reason the thought of her coming into my room was terrible. I pushed the blanket away, but the light hit my eyes. I squinted and shielded my face with my hand as I turned away from the offensive sunshine. Grumbling, I turned my alarm off and glared at the door. 

There! I yelled at Finnea. 

That wasn’t so hard, was it? 

Where are we going? I slid from my bed and started rifling through my dresser. 

For a walk.

For a walk, I repeated in a high-pitched tone. 

I don’t sound like that, Finnea laughed. 

The melodic sound of her laughter brought a joyous warmth to my chest. I joined in her laughter. Right now you do. 

You are so rude, she said, though she was still laughing. I’m going to let you dress, but you better hurry. 

The grin on my face felt permanent. Finnea always seemed to make me feel better. Last night I felt cynical, but this morning was a different story. She brought a smile to my face and warmth to my chest. I couldn’t remember a time when Finnea wasn’t my friend. We have known each other so long, it seemed she had always been there. She was a bright spot in my life that I was grateful for. So, she got me up a little early to go for a walk, I could deal with it. My alarm had gone off anyway. 

I tugged on a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. Sitting on the bed, I pulled on a pair of white tube socks and black sneakers. Was there any point in doing something with it? I stood in front of the mirror and rolled my eyes at the little cowlicks. I grabbed a comb off the top of my dresser and did my best with it. I was kind of useless when it came to hair products and styling. The comb didn’t do much, but I tried. 

When I decided I looked good enough, I made my way out to the living room. Finnea stood there in a pair of long black slacks, red flats, and a red blouse that seemed like a stark contrast to her pale skin. Instead of her usual ponytail, her long black hair fell like a waterfall down her back. I swallowed thickly. There was no denying that Finnea was a beautiful woman. Her face was turned away, looking down at her phone. She typed away, oblivious to me staring at her. I shouldn’t have been staring at my best friend like that, to begin with.

Finnea looked up from her phone and smiled. Ready? 

Yeah, I guess, I said in a faux sullen voice. 

She rolled her eyes and motioned me toward the door. We left the apartment and made our way out onto the street. I was hit with the sounds of Boston. Cars drove by, people walked up and down the sidewalk, their chatter filled the air, and every once in a while, there was a bird chirping nearby. I loved the sounds of the city. Busy and full of life. I took a deep breath of the Boston air. It might not have been the cleanest, but it was the city I loved. 

Let’s get going. Finnea grabbed onto my arm and dragged me to the right. 

We walked down the sidewalk, moving past busy people. Everyone always had someplace to be. I didn’t feel like them. Finnea was taking me somewhere, but there was no sense of urgency. I didn’t need to be there quick, quick, quick.

Do we actually have a plan? I asked. 

No, not really. She let go of my arm. I just thought some fresh air would do you good. 

How unlike you. 

I know. 

I shook my head but decided