So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  I try to keep a straight face, but I can’t even almost get there, so I wink at him and quip, “AJ, you clearly haven’t had enough coffee this morning, if you can’t tell that I’m just yanking your chain. You are trying way too hard to be perfect.” His hair has fallen into his face and I can’t see his expression. I reach up to tuck it behind his ear.

  Aidan captures my hand and holds it there with my fingers threaded through his thick curly locks. The expression in his eyes is intense, as he studies me. It is so mesmerizing, it’s difficult to look away. Finally, he murmurs, “I hope you decide to have kids one day, Tara. That’d be an amazing thing to see.”

  I can’t stop the flush that spreads through my body under his scrutiny. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was thinking about borrowing him for his studly services. That idea seemed fine in theory, but when I’m face to face with the reality of him and I’m reminded what a sweet, funny guy he is, I know I could never just do the deed and run.

  “Thanks, I think,” I reply shyly, uncomfortable with his intense focus. “I don’t know what kind of Mom I’ll make though. It’s not like I had a bunch of parental guidance growing up.” I shrug and duck my head.

  He runs his finger down the side of my check and under my jaw. He uses it to gently tilt up my chin until my eyes are again meeting his. “Tara, listen to me. That’s how I know you’ll be a phenomenal mom; you had none of the advantages—yet you’re one of the most beautiful people I know, both inside and out. You are amazing.”

  I do what any reasonable girl in my shoes would do at this point—I melt right there in Seat 3B. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. The man is good—really, really good. For all intents and purposes, despite my plans to be all objective and rational, you might as well put a fork in me and say done. Holy crap!

  Now what am I going to do? This is going to be way more complicated than a bowling date. Damn. I can’t call the Girlfriend Posse for advice from 30,000 feet in the air. I sure wish I knew why my gift of insight and perfect timing seems to work on everyone else’s life but mine.

  “Earth to Tara,” Aidan whispers as he kisses me softly on the lips. “Why is it, when I give you a compliment, it seems to stun you into complete silence?”

  “What?” I answer, befuddled by both his statement and the random kiss. As my brain unscrambles what he just said, I hurry to set the record straight. “No, I’m just thinking. You caught me off guard. Your unabashed support of me is sometimes overwhelming. So, what about you? Do you see the pitter-pat of little feet in your future?”

  Aidan seems amused by my question. Yet, he seems thoughtful as he answers, “I’m not sure. Rory’s girls are super cool and they’ve really mellowed him. I’ve always wanted them, but I’m not in the greatest position to support a family right now. It’d hardly be fair to bring kids into the picture if I’m going to be on the road all the time.”

  “Wow, you’ve given this more thought than I expected,” I admit.

  “What? You expected me to be shallow and vapid, because I’m a musician?” he teases.

  I blush hotly. “No! Well...maybe,” I stammer. “You have to admit most guys are not all that concerned with the repercussions of their choices.”

  “Not the guys you know maybe, but I was raised better. Ms. Delores would have my hide if I had disrespected a woman that way. Dealing with the consequences of your choices was a mandatory part of sex education in our household. We got those lessons right along with our condoms. I suppose it’s one reason my adopted brother, Jarrod has custody of his daughter after his girlfriend decided manicures and designer jeans were more important than her own kid. He’s doing a great job. But I don’t want to be like him. This is a job I want to do with my wife. Seeing as how I don’t have one of those at the moment, the daddy part is going to have to wait a while.”

  “You’re right.” I concede, apologetically, “My carnie friends and coworkers at the gas station aren't really the best role models for stable, long term relationships, I suppose. I’m often too quick to lump all guys together. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be too quick to apologize,” Aidan cautions. “Some stereotypes exist for a reason. Guys can really be horn-dogs and not act in your self interest. If your gut is telling you something is off, you have to trust that. A guy who really likes you will understand and respect the boundaries you put up. Your safety will mean everything to him and a few ruffled feathers and hurt pride will mean nothing in comparison to your well being.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks for the warning, I guess. Don’t take this the wrong way, Aidan, but I can’t shake the feeling maybe you’re trying a little too hard. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but you seem to say and do all the right things all the time. Aren’t you a jerk every once in a while?” I ask with some trepidation.

  When I see the look of total shock on his face, I wonder if I pushed the boundary just a little too far. Slowly, a grin starts to cross his face and the corners of his eyes crinkle up with laughter. “Oh boy! You and Delores are going to get along like two peas in a pod. She is going to love you. She’s always telling me I’m such a cool customer that butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. She said she couldn’t wait until I met the one person who would look past all my blarney and see the real me,” he replies with a chuckle.

  “You actually want me to meet Delores?” I ask, my eyebrows raising in surprise.

  It was Aidan’s turn to give me a comical expression of surprise as he exclaims, “Of course I do, I’m closer to Dolores and her family than I am to my own. Why wouldn’t I want you to meet them?”

  “I’d love to meet her. She sounds delightful. I just didn’t think we were there yet in our relationship. The whole 'meet the family thing' seems like a really big step. I don’t know what the rules and boundaries are for us. We’ve been friends for such a really long time, but we haven’t seen each other in forever, so we’re also strangers.”

  Aidan turns in his seat and takes my hands in his as he solemnly asks, “Tara, why do we have to figure it all out and put labels on it? Why can’t we just be ‘us’—whatever that turns out to be? We’ve never been really good at following rules anyway. We were best friends at an age when boys and girls are supposed to be mortal enemies. You were a dancer and I was a piano player. Hell, I was the little brother of the guy you had a crush on. If we could make all that work when we were just kids, we can work through our obstacles now. We’ll just take one day at a time, okay?” He squeezes my hands and leans in and kisses me softly on the forehead.

  The stark sweetness of that simple act is my final undoing. I have no more defenses left. I crumble slightly in the seat and a tear rolls down my face as a realization hits me. I can voluntarily set down my armor. Aidan isn’t the enemy. I can stop fighting. For the first time in almost half my life, I can stop being afraid.

  It’s such an earth shattering paradigm shift I don’t know how to process it. Bizarrely, even though this is a good thing, my body seems to be going into shock. I start to shiver uncontrollably.

  Aidan immediately flags down a flight attendant and asks for a blanket and pillow as he peels off his jacket and tucks it around my shoulders. His voice is gruff with concern as he peppers me with questions, “Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you me were a nervous flyer? We could’ve done some meditation or something—”

  I sign for him to please stop. When he sees me resort to sign language, he stops mid-sentence.

  “AJ. Stop, please.” I plead. “I usually sleep like a rock when I fly; that’s not the problem.”

  “Oh crap, I’ve pushed you too hard to work overtime so you could go on this trip and now you’re sick. I knew helping me would overload you,” he mutters.

  I sign, “No.” He looks at me with concern creasing his brow, but at that moment the flight attendant returns with the bedding. “Is everything all right here or do I need to find some medical assistance?” When she says that and reminds Aidan of our precarious position in the wide blue sky, he v
isibly pales.

  I grip his hand after he drapes the blanket over my lap and tucks it around my feet. “Aidan, I’m fine. I got lost in my thoughts for a bit and let my nerves get away from me.” I hold my hand out in front of me to demonstrate that I’m no longer shaking like a leaf. “See, I’m feeling better already."

  Aidan kisses my hand like an old-fashioned gentleman. Our flight attendant winks at me as she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Clearly, I’m not needed here, so I’m going to skedaddle. Y’all let my know if you need anything, okay?”

  I nod wordlessly, but Aidan pulls some bills from his pocket. “May we have some Champagne please?”

  “Of course sir, but there’s no fee. It’s covered in your fare,” the flight attendant graciously explains.

  Aidan gives her a wide grin. “No wonder the passengers up here always look like they are having so much fun,” he quips.

  The flight attendant sticks her bottom lip out in a pretty little pout. “I always thought it was my stellar customer service skills. But, you’re probably right; free booze and food never hurts the cause. Y’all have a good flight now.”

  After she leaves, Aidan brushes the hair from my eyes as he examines me carefully. “Oh my God, Gracie,” he murmurs in a rough whisper. “I haven’t been this scared since Rory practically blinded you with his elbow. What happened? It seemed like you were okay one moment and destroyed the next. I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out what I did.”

  A tear rolls down my face, but I manage a wry smile as I try to explain my existence. “Welcome to the wonderful wacky world of post traumatic stress disorder—where your body thinks good news is just as catastrophic as bad. I was just thinking that being with you would mean I wouldn’t have to be frightened all of the time. Even though it makes me ecstatic beyond words, the idea of being truly free shook me up and sent me into a little bit of shock.”

  “Maybe it’s more like the metamorphosis a butterfly goes through when shedding its cocoon. During the process, her strength is sapped, but the payoff is awe-inspiring. There may be hiccups along the way, but in the end, it’s going to be so worth it for both of us,” he declares with conviction.

  I laugh lightly. “Aidan, only you can make a panic attack seem like a relationship affirming event.”

  Aidan gathers me into a tight hug and whispers in my ear, “I know you can’t help it, but I’d really like it if you didn’t make a hobby of doing that. I’d like to make it past my 40th birthday, and episodes like that are hard on a man’s heart.”

  As always, there is a lightness to his words. Yet he can’t quite hide the pain. Without even thinking about it, my fingers travel to his brow as I try to wipe away the slight frown on his face. He leans into my touch. I pull his head closer to mine as I return the kiss that he had given me a few minutes earlier. I tenderly kiss him on the forehead. I move to the bridge of his nose, then to the tip of his chin. I find the angle there to be fascinating. It’s strong and sharp, yet it has a charming dimple he never seemed to outgrow. The freckles that seemed so prominent when he was a child have faded and are barely noticeable on the bridge of his nose. Anyone else might focus on Aidan’s hair as his most outstanding feature. Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous. I’m tempted to just run my fingers through it and play with those incredible curls. But for me it’s Aidan’s eyes that get me every time. To describe them as green would be like saying the world’s ecosystem is made of water and dirt. His eyes convey a seemingly infinite spectrum of colors and moods. Aidan’s are the only eyes I’ve ever seen that truly twinkle with laughter—although right now it’s not laughter. What I see in those eyes is blatant desire. It’s completely unnerving for me.

  I feel a tingle of excitement travel through my body. It’s what I used to feel like when I nailed a complicated lift for the first time or could surpass a choreographer’s expectations. Still, there is a little voice in the back of my head that asks if I can handle what happens next.

  Aidan shifts slightly in his seat and cups the back of my head as he angles for the perfect kiss. As his firm lips touch mine, my breath catches and I moan softly. Pleasure sweeps through my body like fire. I am embarrassed by the intensity of my reaction. It’s a normal kiss in a public place; it’s not like he’s stripping me naked or anything.

  I’m not sure my racing pulse and aching, throbbing body parts are the way I expected to react to Aidan. This is a brand new experience for me. I’ve never really wanted anyone before. Sure, I thought I wanted Rory when I was a teenager, but that wasn’t anything like this. I feel like a plant that has long existed, just half-alive in the desert, and Aidan’s touch is the first rain in years, just in time to mean the difference between life and death.

  As I’m relaxing into the simple joy of being expertly kissed by my very own rock star, I hear a delicate cough behind me. “I’m so sorry, y’all. But the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign because we’re expecting some turbulence. I hate to interrupt, but the Captain is asking all passengers to face forward and fasten your seat belts,” the flight attendant says with an apologetic grimace.

  I smile at her, thinking how awful it must be to deal everyday with folks who resent your presence. I’d probably get a little cranky with folks who wouldn’t turn off their electronic devices. “That’s okay,” I assure her. “I don’t want anything to happen to this handsome face. He is going to be a big star.”

  Aidan whips his head around to look at me as he asks, “Really, Gracie? You believe that?”

  I squeeze his hand and lace my fingers through his. With my other hand, I sign as I speak to underscore my message, “Yes, Aidan. I do believe that, with my whole heart.”

  Aidan draws in a rough breath as he mutters under his breath, “Umm, I guess it’s my turn to be at a loss for words.”

  It’s been a really long day. While we were waiting for our luggage to arrive in baggage claim, Tara seemed to lose steam. Now, riding in the taxi to the hotel, she’s curled up next to me like a kitten, dead to the world. My arm is falling asleep, but I don’t want to wake her after the day she has had. She’s doing a good job considering how hard this is for her, but I can see the stress on her face when she thinks no one is watching. I still can’t believe she wants to do all this for me just to help me succeed. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised; she has always been an exceptional human being.

  If the episode today is an example of the terror she’s been living with since that bastard attacked her, it’s a wonder she managed to stay sane, let alone practically raise herself, graduate from high school, go to college, and learn some self defense skills. Today was a wake up call. Being a good guy may not be enough. I was so sure that if I was the anti-Warren Jones, it would be some kind of magic elixir that could bring her long nightmare to an end. It’s clear now, this is what Delores was warning me about.

  I need to take my own advice and not try to define, label, or script our relationship. Whatever ‘us’ is, it will happen minute by minute, moment by moment, until we’ve built a definition which works for us. This may be the single easiest and also hardest thing I’ve ever done. Tara and I have fallen into our old friendship as if nothing has changed in some ways. She’s still the wickedly smart confidant and companion that ‘gets’ me like none other but is not afraid to call me on my bullshit. Still, incidents like the one today remind me things are not the way they used to be. Underneath all the normalcy, there is the shadow of a monster named Warren Jones. I don’t know if it’s within my power to slay that monster for her, or even if it’s my right to do so. Maybe he’s a monster she has to slay all by herself. It may take everything I have within me to stand on the sidelines and watch her do it. And yet, if that’s what I have to do to make us stronger, I’ll have to put my protective instincts aside.

  Honestly, the most difficult thing for me will be not hunting down that bastard and feeding him his balls on a skewer. Slow castration with a rusty nail would be far too kind. I wonder if he even realizes his five-minute
power play, a dozen years ago, changed the person Tara became. I’m a true believer in karma and I really hope that his new prison buddies are taking care of any discrepancy in the sentence he got and the one he deserved.

  It’s an incredibly difficult challenge to feel this connected to Tara and yet keep arbitrary boundaries between us. I’m encouraged by the fact that she seems to be relaxing the invisible buffer between us and crossing it voluntarily more often. In some ways, I wish we could go back to the way the things were before. We were so close that we almost didn’t have to speak to communicate and there were no physical limitations between us. She would think nothing of jumping on my back for a piggyback ride, arguing that her feet were insurable through Lloyd’s of London and therefore too valuable to touch the floor and that she was dancing on them. I think I carried her around for two weeks before we moved on to the next game. I believe she tried to teach me Jenga, next. It’s a good game for her, because she has the patience and determination of a saint. I, on the other hand, royally suck at the game because I want to play all my big moves right up front. I’m not willing to take my time and let the game unfold.

  I want to believe I’ve learned some lessons in life since I was eleven and have developed the patience needed to slow down and take this experience moment by moment. I certainly don’t want to add more stress to Tara’s life. But let’s face it, the woman is incredibly sexy, and I am not a kid anymore. I don’t know if I can always keep a lid on that. It’s going to be an interesting weekend, to say the least.

  As the hotel comes into sight and the taxi slows down, Tara wakes up with a start. Her head flies up, nearly striking me in the chin. For a second, her eyes are wide with terror. It’s yet another disconcerting glimpse of what she’s been living with for over a decade. It feels like someone punching me in the gut.

  Watching her eyes focus, I interlock my index finger with hers in our familiar gesture and softly ask, “Hey, Gracie, are you ready to help me tackle L.A.?”