by LuAnn McLane
“True,” Grady said, but then grinned. “We’re sure going to be seeing a lot of one another during the next few months. You might change your opinion.”
Jimmy laughed. “Yeah,” he said, but then sighed. After a moment, he said, “Maybe just think about contacting Arabella?”
“Jimbo, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to discuss,” Grady said, even though he was already thinking about Arabella. . . . Hiring her was not going to happen. “Let’s just plan the concert date, hammer out the details, and then get with Devin Parker to work on the publicity end of it with Julie Jacobs. The two of them will get the job done.”
“I just don’t want Devin to talk us into doing more, like a tour or something. He’s wanted this reunion for years.”
“We were Devin’s biggest success.”
“Which is why he’ll press us for more.” Jimmy shifted in his chair. “I don’t have any interest in going on the road again. And I think that Oliver does.”
“He’ll have to get over it. This will just be one concert.” Grady held up his index finger. “Then you can go back to songwriting. Oliver and Jesse can go back to running the music store. And I’ll keep working on setting up Mom’s foundation. I’ve already got more fundraising ideas bouncing around in my head. I want the foundation to grow quickly and the concert is a big way to get attention.”
“Yeah, but Arabella—”
“Jimmy, please, don’t go there again. Look, this is probably a moot point anyway. Arabella is most likely too wrapped up in her own life to take the time needed to come here and work with us.”
“We’ll never know unless we ask.”
We’ll never know echoed in his head. “That’s right. And we’re not going to know.” Grady gestured toward the pool. “Right now, we need to keep Oliver and Jesse from drowning each other. Then I’ll fire up the grill and we can sort out the details over dinner. We’ve still got a lot of beer to drink.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You get those two under control and I’ll head to the kitchen for the steaks.”
“I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything.”
Grady chuckled and then pushed up from the chair. But as he walked into the house, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back to the old questions and to the only woman who had ever broken his damned heart. What was Arabella like now? Did she ever think of him? Did she have regrets? How could she just walk away without looking back? Hadn’t she loved him?
Was she involved with someone?
The last thought made Grady’s heart jump, and he opened the fridge with more strength than needed. In truth, Grady and his brothers were all gun-shy when it came to lasting relationships, not that it wasn’t damned easy to figure out why. They’d lost their dad in a car crash and their mother to a horrible disease that attacked her own body.
Whoever had come up with the notion that loving and losing was better than not loving at all was full of bullshit.
Loving someone and losing them sucked.
And Grady wasn’t about to give anyone that power over him again—especially Arabella York.
CHAPTER TWO
I WANT IT THAT WAY
“Hello, Maxine,” Arabella said, bracing herself for where the conversation would likely lead. She gripped the cell phone tighter and swiveled her chair away from her desk.
“Hello, dear, how are we this morning?” Maxine’s low, melodic tone did little to soothe Arabella’s frayed nerves. “At one with the universe, I hope.”
“Well . . .” Arabella inhaled a deep breath. She didn’t know what it meant to be “one with the universe,” but she was certain that her personal state of the universe was way off-kilter. “Oh definitely,” Arabella replied in a breezy tone that failed to match her dark mood.
“Good, good . . . good. Did you read through the notes I sent in my latest email?”
“I did.” And Arabella despised nearly every suggestion.
“Ah . . . brilliant . . . brilliant! I do hope we’re on the same page,” Maxine said, but failed to pause for Arabella to respond. “Hip, Hop, Health needs quite a few changes before I come on board,” she continued in her low, singsong voice. Arabella had quickly learned that behind Maxine’s Zen-like persona was a total control freak. “Quite. A. Few.”
Kiss. My. Ass. If there were any other way to save her dance studios from financial ruin, Arabella would jump at the chance. But right now, financial help from the famous holistic fitness guru remained her only hope of survival. Arabella remained silent, fearful that all she could manage was a feeble moan.
“No offense, but the whole . . . hip-hop thing is just so . . . wrong.”
Why didn’t people realize that anything that began with no offense was going to be offensive? “Wrong?” Excuse me?
“Completely, I’m afraid.”
She counted to ten before responding. “Maxine, with all due respect, my Hip, Hop, Health brand is popular and doing just fine. Because of the success, I simply expanded too quickly and so I’m in need of financial backing along with your endorsement, but not a complete change.”
“I can only back what I believe in. Hip-hop is so . . . passé.”
“Dancing is and always will be a fun way to stay fit.”
“Ah . . . you millennials all think that everything has to be . . . fun.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Arabella mumbled.
“We need a balanced approach combining the mind, body, and spirit . . . none of this bouncing and hopping all around the studio to loud music. Peace . . . meditation. Eating clean and lean.”
“We promote a healthy lifestyle at Hip, Hop, Health.”
“No . . . no, no.” Maxine made a low clucking sound. “Ah . . . we must cleanse . . . deepen our awareness of . . . self.”
Arabella was aware that she wanted to hang up, eat dark chocolate, and drink some red wine, the latter two of which were proven to be healthy.
Maxine continued. “I’m thinking we can change the name to Hope, Healing, Health. Brilliant, right? It just came to me. . . . Ah, sometimes I surprise myself. What do you think? Oh, and instead of those wild dance routines, we need to have our students create their own freestyle dances . . . more stretching, swaying . . . chanting, setting the soul free! I’m thinking we need drums, bells. The ideas just keep flowing over me like a waterfall. Are you with me? Can you feel the energy?”
Arabella tried to formulate words but nothing came out of her mouth.
“Arabella?”
She swallowed hard.
“Ah, am I overwhelming you?”
“I’m whelmed, but not overwhelmed,” she replied, but failed to get a chuckle.
“I don’t understand.”
“A little overwhelmed,” Arabella replied in a small voice. She picked up a yellow smiley-face stress ball and started squeezing.
“I can do that sometimes. Oh, Arabella, darling, I can feel tension radiating from you. Breathe deep, Arabella. Come on, with me now.”
Arabella obediently inhaled, sneezed, and, oh gosh, passed a tiny bit of gas. Oh God, had Maxine heard that?
“Ah . . . toxins! I knew it! They must go! Go-oooo! Breathe in . . . breathe out. Better, now?”
“Yes,” Arabella said, but her voice sounded like a croak because she was trying so very hard not to laugh. She tended to have fits of giggles at the worst times.
“Are you sure you’re at one with the universe, Arabella? You don’t seem like you’re at one with the flow of change. First you must be at one with yourself before you can be one with the universe and then all that is.”
What the hell? “I’m pretty sure I’m at one with myself,” Arabella said.
“Ah, a start. Now, on to the next level of oneness.”
“I . . . uh, sure, you mean like being super chill, right? I’ve been at one with, like, that
universe whatever thing.” Hadn’t she? Yeah, maybe she had been at one with a bottle of wine, which happened to be last night. And she could sure use a glass of chardonnay the size of her head right about now. She gave the ball another hard squeeze.
“ ‘Super chill’? I suppose that’s one way of putting it. So, are we on the same divine wavelength?”
“I don’t know. How long is your wave?”
“Excuse me?”
Arabella cringed. Wow, note to self. Maxine has no sense of humor. No, they were not on the same page or the same wavelength, or remotely in the same universe. Not even close. “Um, well . . . I guess I understand what you’re saying.” She didn’t have a clue. Sometimes she felt as if living in California was like living on another planet and she was an alien. Growing up in the Midwest hadn’t prepared her for this Zen stuff.
“Good, good.” Maxine drew the words out in a near whisper. “You’re with me, then. I feel we’re finally getting somewhere. Are you with me?”
“It’s a lot to swallow. . . . I mean digest.” Arabella bit her bottom lip.
“Sure . . . sure,” Maxine said. Arabella wondered why the guru felt the need to repeat her words so often. “Give the suggestions some time to sink deeply into your soul.”
What does that even mean? “Okay,” Arabella said, but the only sinking she felt was the sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Well, I have a sold-out seminar to present in just a bit so I must do some deep meditation to prepare. It was so lovely chatting with you. I hope you experience peace and wellness for the rest of your afternoon.”
“I will, as soon as it’s wine o’clock.”
“Pardon?”
Oh . . . shit. “Nine o’clock. My . . . uh, bedtime.” Wincing, Arabella almost laughed. “You know . . . early to bed, early to rise . . . the early bird gets the worm.” Pressing her lips together, she tried hard not to laugh, although laughing and crying were engaged in a tough tug-of-war at the moment.
“Ah, yes, yes, excellent. Rest is such a vital part of complete wellness,” Maxine continued, droning on and on so slowly that Arabella actually started to feel drowsy. “Have you been drinking the corn-silk tea three times a day like I suggested?”
“I haven’t found any yet.” Not that she’d looked.
“I’ll have my assistant send you some. I have my own brand. It’s quite delicious.”
“You don’t—”
“Oh, I want to have you in tip-top mental shape. We have a lot of work to accomplish. This is going to be spectacular, don’t you agree?”
“I think we need—”
“Well, I’m off!” Maxine added with a surprising burst of volume, startling Arabella into emitting a little squeak.
“Okay . . .” After ending the call, Arabella stared at the phone, wondering how Maxine managed to control the entire conversation. She tossed the stress ball and it hit the wall with a solid whack. “Corn-silk tea? Is that really a thing?” She put the phone down and cradled her head in her hands. “Oh . . . I can’t do this. I have to do this.”
Arabella leaned back in the buttery soft leather chair and tried to hold herself together. At this point one would think she would be used to life smacking her upside the head, but optimism always seemed to trump caution where Arabella’s brain was concerned. “Everyone loves to dance,” she mumbled defensively to herself. While she was open to incorporating meditation and at least some holistic health remedies into her programs, she wasn’t ready to completely change her entire brand. “And fitness should be fun,” she grumbled, wishing she’d been more direct in her conversation with Maxine. But she had to tread carefully. Arabella had found out early in her dealings with Maxine that the popular health guru got her yoga pants in a twist real quick if you dared to disagree with her.
“I need to be more assertive,” Arabella reminded herself with a sigh. Having grown up with parents who fought constantly, she’d spent countless hours in her room and immersed herself in music and dance, drowning out the yelling. She’d left home as soon as she landed her first choreography job. Although Arabella presented herself as being feisty, she hated arguing, despised confrontation, and consequently backed away or fled at the first sign of conflict both in business and in social situations. The only person she consistently argued with was herself, not always understanding if she won the arguments or lost. “Not good for the old love life, that’s for sure,” she said, and then rolled her eyes. “Who am I kidding? What love life?” Being an only child, Arabella had developed a habit of talking to herself, something she thought everybody did only to learn later in life that it wasn’t the case.
After another long, drawn-out sigh, Arabella swiveled her chair around and gazed out the picture window, but the cheerful California sunshine failed to lift her spirits. When was the last time she’d hung out with friends or had a date? She tried to blame her lack of dating on her busy lifestyle. In truth, she’d been trying to find the same endless passion she’d once shared with a certain boy-band heartthrob from her past and always came up short. But she didn’t hold Grady Heart accountable for her failed relationships. Arabella took responsibility for her fears, feelings, and failures. After witnessing her parents placing constant blame on each other, Arabella tried not to play that destructive game. Still, she had to wonder: What might have happened if she hadn’t caught Grady cheating that fateful night?
Was it fair to blame Grady for what had happened after she fled? Maybe not . . . but holding him accountable helped to ease the pain that continued to show up in her brain uninvited.
“Oh, damn.” A hot lump of emotion clogged her throat, but she gave her head a determined shake. Nope, feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t solve anything. She’d found that out long ago. Crying buckets of tears also didn’t solve anything, and puffy eyes were not attractive. “Maybe I need some corn-silk tea,” she said, and managed to chuckle.
When times were tough, Arabella tried to find ways to laugh. Without her sense of humor, she didn’t know how she would have gotten through some of the dark days of her childhood. Her mother laughed, but only when her father wasn’t around. When her father walked into the house, usually late, the whole mood instantly changed and the fighting would begin.
Thankfully, when her parents’ fights were too loud to handle, Arabella would escape to Granny York’s house. She and Granny would bake sugar cookies, listen to music, and dance around the small living room. In a time of chaos, Granny York had been the voice of gentle reason, bringing quiet peace into a world way too loud for a scared little girl.
“Ah, Granny, I miss you.” Arabella couldn’t stop a hot tear from sliding down her cheek. Her grandmother was the only person who knew what had happened after Arabella left Grady, and she had taken her granddaughter’s secret to her grave.
Lost in thought, Arabella watched the palm trees swaying in the breeze, wishing she had time to go to the beach. It occurred to her that perhaps she should sell Hip, Hop, Health and go back to choreography so she could pick and choose her jobs and make time for travel . . . and perhaps she could even seek a relationship. But after she’d left Heartbeat, choreography had lost some of its magic. Like her love for Grady, no other job could live up to the fun she’d had with the Heart brothers.
“You can’t move forward by looking back,” Arabella whispered, and then: “Why am I whispering?” With a groan, she wondered where the stress ball had rolled off to.
Arabella’s stomach rumbled in polite protest over missing lunch, but none of the healthy options going through her head sounded appetizing. She finally grinned, thinking she should go for a big slice of deep-dish pizza or a giant double cheeseburger just to defy Queen Vegan, Maxine. Oh, and a soft, chewy sugar cookie with a glass of whole milk for dessert. Ha!
Her stomach growled in earnest this time.
Arabella patted her midsection. “I hear ya.” In all honesty, she believed
in healthy eating and encouraged her clients to choose their food with care. But she wasn’t opposed to treating herself to something decadent here and there. She didn’t consider a bit of dessert cheating.
Seriously, who could live without cherry cheesecake?
Arabella’s tummy gave her an are-you-kidding-me rumble that resembled the sound of a motorcycle revving up. Of course, her weak stomach always reacted to her emotions, usually at the most awkward times, like in a crowded elevator. With a sigh, she spun around and searched through her top drawer in the hope of finding her secret stash of chocolate, but only came up with a mangled peanut butter protein bar. Wrinkling her nose, Arabella unwrapped the top. After taking a sniff, she bit into the bar. It was thick and difficult to chew, giving her molars a workout. “Wow, this is gross. Peanut butter? Uh . . . no.” She tossed the bar onto her desk, deciding to walk down the street for takeout of some sort, but her cell phone rang before she could get up.
“Hi Mom,” Arabella said, raising her eyebrows in surprise at the out-of-the-blue call. She didn’t talk to her mother much these days. “How are you?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“You sound weird.”
“I am weird.”
“What is it? Come clean.”
“I showered.”
“Arabella . . .”
“Wait, I’ve got something stuck in my teeth. What’s up?”
“Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Sure, I’m fine, Mom. Just a little stressed with work.”
“Oh. Well, I just wanted to give you a call before Joe and I leave for our cruise.” She didn’t sound convinced but thankfully let the matter rest.
Arabella forced the gooey so-called peanut butter from her teeth with her tongue and smiled. “Oh, right, I forgot that you leave tomorrow. The trip came up fast. Are you packed?”
“You know me. Of course not. Joe, on the other hand, has been packed since the day we booked the trip.”