Or is it “mostly” because I’ll be seeing him soon?
The thought teased at her as she swooped up her gown from the bed and then made herself slow down to delicately step into it. Thankfully, the red satin material felt smooth and cool, non-clingy against her skin. Zipping it up the side, she plucked her new silver strappy heels from their box and slipped them on. Then she stopped for a moment to have a look at herself in the mirror, and decided—not bad.
Not bad at all.
The jeweled silver ring on her one-shoulder gown worked perfectly with her shoes, and she swayed her hips just slightly, loving how gracefully the skirt of the dress fell from the four-inch wide inset waistband that hugged her snuggly.
Surprisingly, she’d done her hair herself and it actually turned out looking good. Not wanting to hide the gown’s one-shoulder feature by wearing her hair down, she’d gone online and taught herself how to make an elegant ponytail—far unlike the haphazard way she usually pulled back her hair into a rubber band without even consulting a mirror.
I think I’ll be using this new technique again. She turned her head left to right and left again, checking out the result, still shocked she’d managed such a feat.
She’d also had another nice surprise—well, actually three of them—when she was trying to figure out accessories for the evening. Hoping not to have to spend more money, she’d gotten her jewelry box out of the closet and dusted it off. Inside, she rediscovered a diamond bracelet and matching earrings that her parents had given her when she graduated college. Neither had been worn for forever—or at least long before Sammy had been born.
Yes, overall, assessing herself from head to toe, she’d done a good job of pulling her look together for the eventful evening. Smiling at her reflection, she was feeling pleased and confident. That is, until she heard the unmistakable rumble of Mac’s Corvette pulling into her driveway.
Her breath hitched as she tiptoed over to her bedroom window quietly, as if he could hear her heels creeping over the carpet. Barely pulling the dusty-blue curtain aside, she peeked out surreptitiously and watched as Mac’s tall muscular body unfolded from the small car, making the vehicle almost appear toy-like. So handsome-looking in his black tux, he paused, as if he’d remembered something. Then he reached back into the car, bringing out a bouquet of ivory roses. It made her smile to see the way he stopped and straightened his jacket and tie with his free hand before he proceeded up her walk and rang the doorbell.
Even though she knew it was coming, the sound still gave her a jolt, causing her fragile heart to beat in unison with the click of her heels as she crossed the hardwood entryway to open the door.
“Hey.” She smiled up at him. “Come on in. It’s still hot out there, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.” He ducked in the door, and right away his slow grin melted her the same way the evening sun caused beads of perspiration to dot his hairline. “These, um, these are for you.”
“You didn’t have to bring me flowers, Mac. But thank you.” She sniffed at the flowers, taking the bouquet he held out to her.
“They’re—”
“Beautiful,” he said.
But the way his eyes shone as he gazed at her, she knew he wasn’t talking about the flowers at all.
As the band played another familiar-sounding song, and she and Mac slow danced across the ballroom floor, Megan couldn’t help but think back to a Fourth of July when she was ten years old. That particular summer her dad had bought packages of sparklers and handed them out to every kid on their street.
She’d always thought the houses up and down their block were somewhat special, and she never tired of looking down the lane at the eclectic group of homes. Some residences had sprawling yards surrounding their low, lengthy ranches. Other lots featured Victorian two-stories or cottage-style homes with postage-stamp-sized yards and wildflower gardens on each side of the house.
But that night—with kids waving dozens of wands of crackling yellow and gold … with fireflies twinkling across all the lawns … and bursts of color shooting into the sky—their street transcended its everyday kind of special. Instead, it was transformed into an enchanting, magical kingdom. A place right out of a fairy tale.
And being in the ballroom at the Oasis again, Megan couldn’t help but feel that same way again.
When she’d made the trip with Wendy to check out the center for their fundraiser dance months earlier, the room had appeared fine for their purposes. Clean. Doable.
But now, glancing around its perimeters, her eyes caught every glimmer and sparkle here, there, and everywhere. The shimmering light from the gold wall sconces. The twinkling crystal centerpiece vases filled with orchids. The glittery gowns that draped the women as they glided across the dance floor. Even the sheen from the men’s ebony tuxedos seemed to capture the light and shine.
All of it blended, illuminated so breathtakingly, transforming the ordinary rectangular room into a magical setting.
Or maybe … it wasn’t any of that at all.
Maybe … it was just the feel of dancing in Mac’s arms that had her thinking that way.
He felt so tall and solid against her, yet he moved so easily. Effortlessly, actually, he glided them across the dance floor until finally she had to look up at him. She had to look up to make sure he was real, and not some Prince Charming. To make sure the moment was real because she wasn’t used to that kind of fairy tale feeling in her life.
“What is it?” He gazed down at her, his smile as smooth as the lines of the tux that fit every part of his body … perfectly. So perfectly across his broad shoulders. And down the strong arms that held her close.
“What’s what?”
“What are you thinking?”
“How can you tell I’m thinking?”
“Oh, I can just tell.”
Probably because she wasn’t jabbering a mile a minute, she figured, like she had been during their first dances. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d been nervous. Being so close to Mac sent tremors through her that were both delightful and disturbing at the same time. It didn’t matter that she was a mom of an almost seven-year-old and that she was too old to be acting semi-giddy, she had been anyway. Unlike her usually reserved self.
“I’m thinking about the Fourth of July.”
“Ah. Fireworks, huh?” His brows arched with interest. “I like how you’re thinking. You are feeling fireworks? Yes?” he teased, adding the last part with a slight Italian or French or whatever kind of accent. A very bad, but funny, imitation of an accent.
She laughed. “Not those kinds of fireworks. That’s not what I was thinking about.”
“No?” He looked disappointed, or if he wasn’t, he was doing a fine job of acting that way. Better than his accent. “Really?”
“Well, yes. But, no.”
He chuckled. “Ah well, a guy has to try, doesn’t he?”
But no, Mac didn’t have to. Not really.
Because you’re gorgeous and every woman in this room can’t keep their eyes off you, she thought, but before she could come up with some cute response, she felt the pressure of his hand on the small of her back. Felt the way it intensified as he added, “And I’ll keep trying.”
His words, like his touch, warmed her, and as he held her closer, she finally laid her head on his shoulder and let her eyes close. Let his strength and grace lead her. Let a wave of calm wash over her. Let go. So rare and trusting. Aware of nothing but the feel of her cheek against his solidness. Wishing she could stay that way forever, and she did, until her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice.
“Hmm … that’s not good.”
“What’s not good?” She looked up from his shoulder.
“Wendy’s waving to us.” He paused. “But … I have an idea. I’ll act like I didn’t see her.” He suddenly swung their bodies halfway around, sped up their tempo, leading them away from where Wendy was standing by the tables, beckoning them.
“Mac!” She
giggled, trying to catch her breath from that and their dart across the dance floor. “We can’t just ignore her. It’s probably time for us to introduce the volunteers and everyone.”
“Aw … can we not be the co-chairs for one night?”
She laughed at the pouting little boy face he pulled. “Hey, I was going to chair the event all on my own, remember? But then you had to push your way in and save the day.” She needled him with a smile.
“Well, of course I had to. But you’re glad I did, aren’t you?” His lips suddenly went from a frown to the lopsided Hattaway grin no woman could resist.
But, unfortunately, she had to try to at the moment. Because now Wendy was waving her arms, not just her hand, attempting to get their attention. “We really need to go see what Wendy needs.”
“I know,” he grumbled. “But we need to finish this dance, Ms. O’Donnell.”
“That’s not a problem, Mr. Hattaway.”
That promise made, he released her from his arms and took her hand, leading them off the dance floor.
Not a problem at all, her heart sang out.
Truly, if anyone would’ve told her six years ago, even six months ago, that she’d be dancing in MacNeill Hattaway’s arms all night long, laughing with him, teasing him, not wanting to be anywhere else except with him, she wouldn’t have believed it.
And yet there she was. There he was. It was happening.
Oh Lord, is this really You doing all of this? Is it? Because it seems too unreal to be true.
Oh, how she wanted to trust in a plan for her heart designed by God. How she wanted to believe there was something between her and Mac—something more than one magical, fairy tale night.
And just as much as all that, she wanted to trust in love again. Because in that instant she realized that was exactly what she was feeling.
Mac turned left out of the Oasis parking lot, veering the ‘Vette toward Megan’s place, trying to remember the last time he’d driven a date home and had to go through the whole say-goodnight-on-the-doorstep sort of thing. In high school maybe? After some big dance perhaps?
Of course, he also couldn’t recall the last time he didn’t want an evening to end.
It wasn’t lost on him how right and good it felt being with Megan. And how different his feelings were for her from any woman he’d ever known. In his former life she would’ve been the girl he shied away from. Big baseball star that he was, he still wouldn’t have felt “worthy enough” to be with her. Not someone like Megan whose values were so on target. Someone who was a loving mom, a dedicated physical therapist, and also a member of the community everyone admired. A woman who he felt he might taint with just the touch of his hand.
But things had changed now. He had changed.
“I will repay you the years the locust hath eaten.” The verse echoed in his head.
When he’d first been hospitalized after his accident, a nurse named Chantel had prayed over his life as he lay there in those first hours wishing for an end. Wishing he were dead.
No doubt, the angel of a woman had heard about his off-the-field antics as most people had. But instead of judging him, she prayed to God for him, repeating that verse from the book of Joel, petitioning for restoration of his body and soul, over and over again.
At the time, he didn’t quite know or care what the words she mumbled over him about locusts and all that meant. But little by little, as he started healing, and mostly as he began to seek God on his own, he began to realize more and more how Chantel’s prayers had been answered. And how his prayers were being answered, too.
The hollowness he’d felt for so long—the shame that always burdened him—those feelings all began to fall away. And in their place was God’s love and grace, filling an emptiness in him—a void—he’d attempted to satiate in so many other ways for so many years.
And then, he met Megan. And in his heart he couldn’t help but sense that Megan was a part of his renewal as well. Another gift that God had given to bring him to fullness and victory over his past.
He was thinking about it, mulling it over on the way to her place. So much so that he barely knew how they got there, and was almost surprised when the ‘Vette puttered up her driveway nearly on its own.
Helping Megan out of the car, together they took the short yet long walk up to the door. Her front door. Lord, help him! After an evening of being the suave date in a tux, he suddenly felt unprepared and self-conscious about what to do or say next.
He scratched at his chin. “I, uh … right this minute I feel like such a—”
“I know. A schoolgirl.” She finished the sentence for him.
He chuckled at her sincerity. “I was going to say a rookie.” He smiled. “Pretty much the same thing though. You, too, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
His palms suddenly felt sweaty. Like bases were loaded, and it was a full count. Only before, he could rub his clammy palms on the legs of his baseball uniform. Now he rubbed them together in mid-air.
“Awkward,” he admitted, his MacNeill Hattaway womanizer persona nowhere to be found.
“Somewhat.” She nodded.
“Yeah, well …”
He gazed into her eyes then silence fell between them. The glow from the porch light lit her face, and the way she looked back at him had his heart thumping in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the summer evening he’d been aware of just moments before, the crickets chirping in her yard, barking dogs echoing down the block, cars whooshing down the street with open windows leaving trails of voices, laughter in the air.
For him, there was only her … and of course, his desire—wanting to kiss her so much. But he bit down on the inside of his mouth instead, that pain not even close in comparison to the way he ached from wanting to kiss her. But he’d promised himself he’d hold back. Promised.
A June bug flitted from the porch light, buzzed around his face, seemingly trying to remind him of the same thing. He whisked it away, and with that wave of his hand the moment he and Megan shared seemed to fly off to somewhere, too.
“So …” He finally spoke. “It was a really good dance.”
Megan glanced down at her silver shoes, just barely sticking out from her red dress. She sighed. At least he thought he heard her sigh. Because the moment between them had passed?
“Really good.” She looked up at him, nodding agreeably. “People were very generous with their bidding and donations. Wendy and her group make a great team.”
“Yeah. We make a pretty good team, too. You think? You and me.”
“Yes. We do, Mac.” She blinked, new warmth entering her eyes. “We do.”
“Megan, I—”
You were going to take things slow, remember? A voice reminded him, once again cutting him off from sharing what was on his heart.
“Yeah?” She sounded expectant.
“I, uh …” He practically winced out loud, trying so hard to tamp down the urges he was feeling, wanting to reach out and take her in his arms. Instead, he took her hand, but afraid he’d pull her into his arms, he held it loosely. “Can I give you a call tomorrow?”
“A call?” For a moment she looked like she couldn’t decide. The thought that she might say no caused his jaw to tighten. “Sure,” she finally said, much to his relief. “Sure.”
She slid her hand from his, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Okay. I’ll do that,” he promised, backing down the porch steps onto the sidewalk. “I’ll call you,” he said, but she’d already turned and had taken her key from her little silver purse and was starting to unlock her front door.
Another few seconds and she’d be gone. Gone from him, except for in his thoughts where he was sure she’d be all night, and he’d be kicking himself for letting the evening end without her in his arms. And for not spending every last minute he possibly could with her.
Halting in his tracks, he spun around. “Megan?”
She turned, tilted her head.
“I was just thi
nking.”
“Yeah?”
“You owe me the rest of that dance.”
“What?”
“We didn’t finish our dance. We got interrupted, remember?”
Finally … a smile. The smile he’d become accustomed to. The smile that made him feel lighter. That made him smile, too.
“I do remember. But—”
Before she could say anything more, he strode across the walk to the bottom of the porch steps. He held out his arm, reaching up to the top step where she stood.
“You want to dance here? Now?” She giggled like she thought he was crazy. But he could tell she was pleased.
“Is that okay?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she took his hand, descending the two steps as poised and graceful as a princess descending a winding staircase leading to some mansion’s grand ballroom.
Only she wasn’t icy or pretentious or aloof as some royalty might be. No, God—King of kings—had made His Princess Megan warm and caring, and had crowned her with a beauty that was far more than skin-deep. And then, He’d done another thing, Mac realized as Megan stood before him and he pulled her close. God had also made her a woman—the woman—who fit perfectly into his arms. Like no other woman ever had in his life.
Holding her in the circle of his embrace, he started to take a step to dance, but his feet would barely move. Instead, immersed in the moonlight, they swayed to the melody of their beating hearts, his yearning for her growing with each moment. Until finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer.
Lifting her chin with his hand, he brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. A feathery kiss to her cheek. But, of course, it wasn’t enough for him. And not for Megan either it seemed. He felt her yield to his touch, and so he claimed her lips. At last. Pressing his lips against hers, he covered her mouth and devoured the softness there. And felt a rush of pleasure when, thankfully, she returned his affection with a passion that matched his own.
Chapter 15
Megan placed the gas nozzle back into its slot and tightened the gas cap before glancing at her watch.
Wedding Homerun in Loveland, Ohio Page 15