Dane's Storm

by Mia Sheridan

  A hiss of breath came through my lips. I leaned closer. “Shit, Audra, you know how I felt about that. You didn’t want that ring so I didn’t fight for it. You made me promise I wouldn’t.”

  “Of course I didn’t want that ring. Do you blame—” She took a deep breath and seemed to gather herself, taking another sip of wine and waving her hand in the air. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. You went home to get your grandmother’s engagement ring and what happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I grimaced with the slight amount of guilt I still felt. “It was like the second that ring was in my hand, I knew without a doubt I didn’t want to marry Winnie.”

  Audra had just taken a sip of her wine and she sputtered slightly, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Winnie?” She wiped at her lip. “You almost married Winnie Sinclair?” Her eyes flared with what looked like outrage. I had so rarely seen Audra angry that I couldn’t be sure. She tended to hide emotions like anger behind a wall so thick, a bulldozer couldn’t knock it down. Or she had. Dammit, why did it suddenly feel as if no time had passed? Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe in some ways we were both still stuck in the same place we’d been in seven years before.

  “Well, your grandmother must have been thrilled about the possibility,” she tossed at me. “And devastated when it didn’t work out.”

  “It wasn’t Winnie’s fault my grandmother was so fond of her.”

  Audra let out a small laugh. “No, of course not. I’m sure she’s perfect.”

  “She’s not perfect, but she’s a nice person. I was sorry to hurt her.”

  Audra’s shoulders drooped slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. “God, I’m sorry. I’m acting bitter and unkind.” She took a deep breath, and I found that I was almost disappointed to watch her gather herself. It felt like she’d just showed some honesty, not just that detached politeness she’d hidden behind toward the end of our marriage. I’d hated it. I’d wanted something—some emotion, any emotion—yet she’d seemed completely unwilling to give me anything at all in that regard. “It’s just . . . I guess everything that’s going on with your grandmother has brought some things from the past to the surface.” She offered me a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Let’s pretend I never said any of that. I really am sorry things didn’t work out for you and . . . Winnie.”

  I wasn’t. I wasn’t sorry in the least. I’d been sure of my decision then, and time hadn’t changed that.

  But I simply nodded. Our waitress arrived with our food and set it before us, smiling as she asked if we needed anything else at the moment. When we said no, she left us to our food.

  For a few minutes, we simply enjoyed the delicious pasta dishes we’d ordered.

  “So, ah, I know you went into floral design, but do you still paint? Or sketch? Even as a hobby?”

  “No, not much.”

  “Why not? You loved it so much. I didn’t think you could stop if you wanted to. It was such a part of you, Audra.”

  She sighed as she played with her food, and as I watched her, my mind drifted to the day I’d first shown the building to her, after we’d been married in a small ceremony at the courthouse. I recalled the dreamy expression on her face, the same one that always appeared when her creativity had been tapped. My heart had turned over in my nineteen-year-old chest. God, I’d loved her. I’d loved the unguarded look of joy that overcame her pretty face when she let herself dream. I knew her upbringing hadn’t allowed for much of that, which meant she was cautious with it. That had made it precious to me. Made me want to put that look on her face as much as I possibly could. Sometimes I’d felt so in love with her, I thought I could happily devote my life only to that and always be satisfied. I’d come up behind her as she’d talked about her plans to turn the space into a gallery, and I’d laid my hands on her growing belly. Initially, I’d been so scared when she’d told me she was pregnant, overwhelmed with images of how I’d pictured my future, and ways in which a baby was going to change . . . everything. College . . . a career, my relationship with Audra. But as the weeks had gone on, the fear had lessened, and I’d just felt this sense of rightness, of pride, of an even deeper love. Audra had turned in my arms that day in the empty building, and she’d kissed me . . . a beloved little life growing in the space between us. We’d had no idea . . . God, we’d had no idea about the storm brewing in the distance, heading straight toward us.

  Finally, Audra shrugged, looking up from her plate. “Honestly, I don’t have any time to draw. I thought about turning the building into a gallery like we talked about . . . originally. But”—she paused—“I didn’t feel confident there’d be much immediate income with that plan. So, flowers it was.” She smiled in a way that met her eyes and softened them, bringing to mind melted chocolate—sweet and warm. My heart flipped in that old familiar way, so I looked away from her, both liking the sensation and hating it simultaneously. Audra didn’t seem to notice as she continued. “I love it though. It satisfies the artist in me and brings in enough money that I can feed myself.”

  “And pay the rent.”

  She shook her head. “I still live in my grandparents’ house.”

  “You what?”

  Audra must have heard the shock in my tone because her eyes snapped to mine and widened slightly.

  “You never moved? Why?” She’d hated that house, hated the way it made her feel trapped, alone. Hated the dismal feel of it, the memories of longing for connection, familial closeness and never getting it. The colorlessness. “You told me you were moving back there temporarily until you sold it. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because it’s paid for. I know it’s not easy for someone with the last name Townsend to take into consideration annoying things like mortgages, but unfortunately, I don’t have that privilege.”

  “Don’t give me that, Audra. You talk about me like I was a snob, and you know I wasn’t.”

  She looked down and color filled her cheeks, but when she looked back at me, her expression was regretful. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You were never a snob. That was unfair of me. Maybe we should have spared each other this little reunion.”

  “Maybe this little reunion has been long overdue.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Audra, that maybe we’ve both needed to quiet some old ghosts.”

  She shook her head, but something that might have been panic flitted over her expression. “I don’t need to quiet any old ghosts.”

  “Are you sure about that? Why do you still live in that house? You could have sold it and bought a new one and still not had a mortgage. Why have you stayed there all these years?” Are you torturing yourself in some way, Audra? Do you even realize it?

  She picked up her wine glass and took a last drink. I watched her throat as she swallowed, and despite feeling irritated, unsettled, slightly sad, the movement caused a buzzing in my blood. “I don’t know, okay?” she finally said. “It just felt overwhelming to think of packing that place up, moving, when I was already working myself ragged trying to get my business off the ground.” She huffed out a small breath and I sat back in my chair, watching her. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to move once I have the occasional spare weekend. . .”

  Working herself ragged. I hated that. Hated it for her. Yes, that’s what it took to start a business, but it didn’t sit well with me. She should have been soaring by now. She was that talented. I sighed, picking up my fork and taking a bite of my now-cold food. “If you need help—”

  “No, of course I don’t need help. But, thank you. Thank you, I appreciate that. What you’re doing, flying to Laurelton to talk to your grandmother in person, that’s more than enough.”

  I nodded and some of the tension of the last few minutes seemed to dissipate as the hum of conversation around us made it back to my ears.

  “So, you, um, like your job? Running Townsend Robotics makes you happy?” I appreciated her attempt to switch the topic back to me but hated that there was still sad
ness in her eyes.

  “Yeah. I really do. It stimulates my mind, but more than that, I’m good at it. If I do say so myself.”

  “I’m sure you are. You’ve lived and breathed robotics since you were a boy. I remember the light in your eyes whenever you talked about Townsend Robotics.” Melancholy moved across her expression, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

  “Yeah. We’re designing and manufacturing prosthetic limbs now. It was something I spearheaded, and it’s brought the company to a whole new level. It’s amazing, Audra, especially when we fit a kid for a new leg or a hand when he’s never had one before. To see their whole world change . . .”

  Her eyes filled with a sad tenderness and pride. “Your contribution,” she murmured.

  I paused again, suddenly eighteen years old, sitting in my car, my backside wet from the rain as I confided in Audra about my dad. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat, trying to shrug off the memory. We’d been so different then. But I still had that burning desire to confide in her, to share things with her I didn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone else. “But even more,” I said softly, “it fulfills me because I couldn’t do anything for my own son, but I can help these kids. I can be part of making them whole.”

  Audra’s eyes widened, pain flitting over her expressive face. I wanted to say more, and I was about to, but suddenly, several tables away, people started clapping softly and gasping when a man went down on his knees in front of a woman as she cried, bringing her hands up to her mouth. Ah, Christ. What spectacular luck that I’d chosen this restaurant to bring my ex-wife to so we could witness a marriage proposal. Great.

  I looked at Audra, and she was watching the scene as well but turned her eyes back to me. For a few seconds we just stared at each other, when suddenly her lip quirked up and she started laughing softly. Surprised, I chuckled too, rubbing at the back of my neck.

  I poured her more wine then picked up my glass. “Cheers to them.”

  She inclined her head. “May their marriage last longer than ours did.”

  I made a sound in my throat that I wasn’t sure was a laugh or a groan, and clinked my glass on hers. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Uh oh. I guess.”

  “You work in the wedding business. Does it ever bother you that you never got that? A real wedding, I mean?”

  “No. All that stuff’s fun. But I never felt like I didn’t get a real wedding, Dane. To me”—she took a breath, her eyes moving away and then back again—“to me, it was very real. Despite everything that happened later, I . . . I hope you know that.”

  Our gazes lingered, the air filling with . . . something. That something I couldn’t define then and still couldn’t now. The difference was, now I knew the rarity of the unknown something that had always flowed between Audra and me. And apparently, not time, nor distance, nor a hundred unspoken hurts had diminished it. I nodded once, a quick, jerky movement, and smiled, a smile that I hoped acknowledged my appreciation for the honesty with which she’d spoken. It had been so very real for me too.

  The waitress brought the check and Audra excused herself to go to the ladies’ room while I paid. I gathered my coat and Audra’s sweater and waited at the front for her. Once she’d joined me, I asked, “There’s this great gelato place a couple of blocks over. How about I tell you about the industrial park while we get one. We never really made it to that.”

  She glanced at me once we’d stepped onto the sidewalk and though she looked a bit uncertain, she nodded and said, “Okay, sure.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Audra

  We started walking toward the shop, and I pulled my sweater around my shoulders. It was a cool night, but not overly cold, and the sidewalks were full of people sitting at outside cafes, wearing light jackets or sweaters like myself. “Is this the coldest it gets during the winter here in San Francisco?”

  “It gets a little chillier than this, but nothing like Colorado.”

  “Don’t you miss the snow, though? You always loved it.”

  “Yeah, I do, which is why I do as many weekend trips to Tahoe in the winter as possible. My brother and I went in on a ski lodge there.”

  “Ah. Nice. How is Dustin?” The last time I’d seen his brother, he’d been a kid. He was a man now, though it was difficult to picture him any differently than the way I’d known him.

  “He’s good.” Dane smiled. “Still the annoying little brother who likes to get on my case as often as possible.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” We walked for a couple of minutes in silence as I people-watched, smiling at an older couple who walked past us. I felt mostly relaxed at the moment, though dinner had been a roller coaster of emotions. I’d expected it, somewhat, though not to the degree reality had proven the experience to be. As much as spending time with Dane made me feel high-strung and off-balance, so did it offer this surreal feeling. It was almost like I was in one of those dreams where you wake up crying very real tears or with your throat full of laughter. Like fantasy and reality colliding. This night would be over soon, though, and then we’d fly to Colorado and that would be it. I’d probably never see Dane again. That was good, of course, and yet the thought resulted in indescribable distress.

  “What did you think of the miniature industrial park you saw in my office?”

  “It looks like it’s going to be beautiful. I was surprised. When I first heard ‘industrial park,’ I pictured something square and gray. It somehow manages to look quaint and upscale at the same time.”

  He smiled, seeming pleased by my impression. “Thanks. That’s exactly what we were going for. We want it not only to bring in tech jobs, but to bring in new shops, restaurants. I think it’s going to be a really great thing for your business, Audra.”

  “I thought the same thing actually—if everything works out with your grandmother.”

  “I told you. It will. She’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I nodded. He did seem sure, and I wanted so much to believe him, but when it came to me, Luella had never “come around.” Why would she now? I decided that worrying any more than I already had was pointless, though. I would trust Dane for now and hope to God he was right.

  We talked a little more about the specifics of the park as we bought a gelato, stepping back outside where we took a seat at one of the outdoor tables, covered by an awning and warmed with heat lamps. There were twinkle lights on the awning and though it was warm and charming, apparently the other customers either preferred to sit inside or had taken their treats to go, as we were the only people out there. Things felt easier than they had at dinner—maybe because I was getting used to his company, and maybe because we’d covered the topics we’d agreed to talk about. I was also more relaxed, because even though Dane had brought a few things up I hadn’t wanted to discuss with him, he hadn’t pushed me, and I felt relieved. There was no point resurrecting subjects that did nothing but bring hurt and cause us both to relive painful memories. No, some things were better left in the past.

  I smiled around a cold bite of the lemon gelato that was both sweet and tart, as a white poodle pranced by on the sidewalk, looking as if it was grinning. When I looked back at Dane, he was watching me with a small smile as he used his thumb to rub along his bottom lip. Oh. My belly clenched, and I blinked, the familiarity of that expression suddenly gripping me and making me feel warm but also slightly panicked. I swallowed but somehow couldn’t find it in myself to look away. I felt caught in his gaze, the same way I had earlier in the restaurant. The world seemed to disappear around us and it was only him and those beautiful green eyes I’d gotten so lost in long ago. So lost in it’d taken me seven years to claw my way back to a place where I could finally catch my breath. With effort, I dragged my eyes away, knowing I had to. Knowing it was the only choice.

  “It’s still there between us, isn’t it?” Dane asked softly.

  “W-what?” I asked, and my voice sounded to
o breathy, filled with the fear suddenly trickling through my veins.

  He leaned forward, putting his forearms on the table so we were face to face, eye to eye. “That damn attraction that never went away even when we were drowning in grief, even now after so long of being apart. It’s still there as strong as it ever was, isn’t it, Audra?”

  I stood, my chair scraping the cement. “We should go. I”—I shook my head—“I mean, you said we’re leaving early tomorrow morning—”

  “Audra.” Dane stood, taking one step so he was in front of me. He took my upper arms in his hands and even as he steadied me, his touch also caused me to feel more off kilter.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, pulling away. “Attraction doesn’t matter. It never solved anything. It didn’t help us when times got . . . hard. It’s just . . . it’s just chemistry and lots of people have it, Dane.” And the truth was, all it did was hurt now because it wasn’t enough. Not then and not now.

  He stared at me for a few heartbeats then let go of my arms.

  A couple came through the door from the shop, cups of gelato in hand, laughing. Their appearance broke the spell I was under, and the world around us burst forth in sudden movement and noise, along with a jolt of indignation. I turned and began making my way through the tables to the low gate with an opening to the sidewalk.

  I heard Dane following, and then he caught up with me as I turned, heading toward his car. “Audra, slow down.”

  “No. I want to get back to my room. I need to pack.”

  “Okay, fine, we’ll change the subject.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just slow down. I’m not wearing my running shoes.”

  I took in a deep breath through my nose and slowed my pace. I came to a stop in the doorway of a closed shop and turned to Dane. He seemed surprised but stopped as well, looking at me expectantly. “Listen, Dane. This is hard enough as it is, seeing you again. I think it’s natural that some old feelings surface, but . . . we obviously both know that nothing can happen between us again, and so even to acknowledge some remnants of chemistry just feels . . . pointless and uncomfortable.”