“Don’t you see?” More tears. “Now I have to humiliate myself—again—and tell them I can’t go. I should never have come for the callbacks. But I just…”
“Jamie—”
“This.” Anger vaulted over her grief. “This is why I didn’t turn in my application.”
Sean stepped closer, but at the same time, so did the guy behind her. Their eyes locked, and Sean sent him the hardest look he could muster. He dared this guy to challenge him. When Martin’s shoulders lowered, Sean refocused on Jamie.
“Listen,” he said, as he cupped her face. “You belong here, Jamie. You do. I could see it while you were dancing.”
“But I don’t have—”
“Let God handle that, okay?” He lifted her chin so she looked into his eyes. “Trust me on this. It’ll get paid. I don’t know how, but it will. Don’t throw away your dream.” He inched closer. “This time, it’s about you.”
She caught his wrists and tugged them free. “I want to believe that. It’d be… wonderful.” Jamie sniffled again. “But I have to be realistic. I know I have what it takes, but now I need to get a job and figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”
“Jamie—”
“It’s okay, Sean.” She nodded. “I’ll be okay. But I have to go.”
Panic streaked through him like a branding iron. “You’re just walking away?” His pulse ratcheted. “Just like that.” From this? From me?
“I have to, Sean. I can’t live hoping and”—her lips quirked—“dreaming my life away.”
Each molecule of air felt like a ten-pound weight. “Who’s the one who told me I was too chicken to dream?”
More hesitation. Then she straightened. “Good-bye, Sean.”
“Good-bye?”
A tremor ran through her chin. She turned and faded into the shadows with the entourage of dancers.
Chapter 12
Eight months later…
Light glittered and snow fluttered from the machines placed along the sides of the stage as Jamie took the stage for a final bow after the performance of her first recital with The Juilliard. Deafening and enthusiastic, the applause rang through the theater.
For you, Dad and Mom… I did it!
Roses sailed through the air, landing with soft thumps at her feet as she smiled at Uncle Alan, who sat on the front row with Gail. Beside them, an empty chair.
Jamie hauled in a breath. Sean?
She swallowed the painful thought. No, he wouldn’t come. She’d walked away from him that day in the theater, so terrified her dreams would end when Madame Faultier discovered she could not pay the tuition.
Lifting a rose from the stage, she blew a kiss as the others did the same. Backstage, she found herself wondering for the millionth time where the money had come from for the tuition. She’d never forget arguing with the admin offices, but they’d insisted her account had been paid in full.
Dressed, she hurried out to the lobby to find her uncle and his wife. Both embraced her warmly.
“I am so proud of you, James,” Uncle Alan said, planting a solid kiss on her temple as he hugged her. “Your father and mother would’ve been so proud of you, to see you living your dream.” He guided her through the doors into the crisp December air.
Dream. If it hadn’t been for Sean sending in her application… The weight sat heavy and prominent in her mind. She wanted to make things right, but he’d never talk to her. Not after the way she’d treated him and these months of silence.
“You were amazing!” Gail passed an enormous bouquet of parchment roses.
The deep rattle of a motorcycle drowned her thanks. A Harley—No! Not just a Harley. The one Sean had been restoring—she remembered the stenciled flames on the tank. But that wasn’t possible.
“Excuse me.” Jamie found herself speaking to the driver.
“Where did you get this bike?”
“Like it, do you?” With an appraising look, he grinned. “Kind of crazy, driving it on New Year’s Eve when there’s supposed to be a storm, but it’s a pride thing, I guess you could say.”
“Why are you driving Sean’s bike?” she demanded, her heart thrumming.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You know Sean Wolfe?”
Anger spiraled through her. “Why do you have his bike?”
“Sorry, it’s mine. He sold it to me. We’re partners.” He offered his hand. “Marc Riordan.”
“Sold it?” She couldn’t help but gape. “But he—it was his father’s!”
“I know. And he took me to the bank for it, too. Dragged thirty-five grand out of me. But she’s a beauty—it was worth it. I’d better get inside before my date abandons me.” He nodded then strolled into a nearby restaurant.
Sean had sold the bike? But he loved that thing. Said it was like having his dad back.
“Jamie?”
She turned toward her uncle’s voice. “I… I don’t understand.”
Snow fluttered around them, spiraling as the cold wind kicked up.
“What don’t you understand, Jamie-girl?”
Had her mind disengaged? “Why would he sell it? It was so important to him.”
Uncle Alan’s face filled with a sad smile. “I think something else was more important.”
“What?” She swallowed, the cold drying her mouth almost instantly. “What could be more important than living his dreams?”
“You living yours.” Gail’s gentle words held no reproach. “He wanted that for you, even if you weren’t for him.”
Jamie hauled in a sudden breath at what they were saying. “No.” He’d sold his bike to pay for The Juilliard? He sold his bike, his dream, for hers? It couldn’t be. Her vision blurred, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She shook her head, and an unbelievable inadequacy engulfed her. “No.” I don’t deserve it. Not after being so angry with him she’d said good-bye and walked out on him. She gulped the anguish. “He told you…?”
“He didn’t tell us that, exactly. But it wasn’t hard to figure out when he started having to walk everywhere, and you suddenly had your account paid.” Uncle Alan looked absolutely miserable. “That boy—when he gets an idea in his head, there’s no digging it out.”
Gail touched Jamie’s elbow. “He was here tonight.”
A tear slipped free. Jamie opened her mouth to say something, blanking at the thought of Sean watching her dance. Watching her do something he’d paid for.
“He went for a walk.” Gail looked down the road.
Jamie followed her gaze. Draped in a blanket of white, with ethereal glowing lanterns dotting the darkened entrance, Central Park beckoned.
Elbows pressed to the snow-laden cast-iron rail, Sean threaded his fingers into a fist and squeezed. It was painful to watch her. Watch and know that she would never be his. Know that the one thing he’d wanted in life—her—wouldn’t happen. Despite being a first-year student, she was taking the dance world by storm. No doubt existed that she held a promising future. She’d dance around the globe. She’d live her dream.
He pivoted around and dropped back against the rail. Arms folded, he let out a breath that puffed in his face. Cold nipped at his nose and ears, at the scar marring his neck. She deserved someone better, stronger, not broken. She’d get that now. She had a chance.
Sean stuffed his cold-stiffened hands in his pockets—and stilled. He drew out the coin. A new ache wove through him. This piece had made it through hundreds of years, through numerous relationships… and now failed.
He’d found the right girl.
But she didn’t want me.
Head lowered, Sean closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he returned the coin to his pocket. What was the point of reading the letters? Of learning about his ancestors? Sure, he got a good history lesson. Maybe he didn’t think of himself as a loser anymore. But in a way, he’d thought of the coin as a magic talisman. Not intentionally, of course, but just reading those stories, seeing how his aunt found her first true
love…
Why can’t it happen for me?
“I want her, God.” He turned back to the frozen lake, the fat flakes coming down in drifts. “It’s selfish, and probably unrealistic, but I want her. Next to You, she’s all I want in life.”
Love perseveres.
Hadn’t he done that? Letting her walk away, paying for her school, helping her fulfill her dreams?
The sound of clopping drew his gaze around. Only darkness and the silent sentry lamppost stretched before him. The sound grew louder… closer.
A form raced under the halo of light and snow. She stopped, cupped a hand over her mouth, then darted toward him.
His heart kick-started. “Jamie.”
She flew into his arms, thudding against his chest as her arms coiled around his neck. He snapped his arms around her waist and drew her firmly against him. She trembled.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she mumbled against his neck.
He held the back of her head, amazed at the miracle of this moment. “Tell you what?”
She eased away to look at him. “You sold your bike.” Tears twinkled in her eyes. “For me?”
His chest tightened. “I’d do that and much more.”
Tears streamed down her face as she relaxed against him. “Really?” she squeaked.
“I…” Sean’s focus dropped to her mouth. He angled in, uncertain and hesitating, then captured her mouth with his. He’d never imagined a woman like her could accept a guy like him. But holding her, kissing her, savoring this moment, a thrill sped through him.
He broke off and brushed the hair from her face, his mind racing. Only one thought hit him, kept hitting him.
Oh man. Could he say it? Why was it hard to breathe? “You told me I was pathetic once because I didn’t dare to dream. I thought the bike was my dream, but I’ve realized in the last six months, you’re my dream. I love you, Jamie.”
“I love you, too, Sean.” She kissed him.
“Would you…?” He drew the coin from his pocket and held it out.
With more tears, she nodded.
Sean slipped the pendant over her head, his hand tracing the line of her jaw. “Dare to dream a little dream with me.”
Ronie Kendig grew up an Army brat, married a veteran, and they now have four children and a golden retriever. She has a BS in psychology, speaks to various groups, volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and mentors new writers.
Dineen Miller readily admits one of life’s greatest lessons is that there’s purpose in our trials. Her years as a youth counselor, Stephen Minister, women’s ministry leader, and small group leader fuel her desire to ignite the souls of others through words of truth. Married for more than twenty-four years, she shares her life with a great guy and her two grown daughters.
Kim Vogel Sawyer, a lifelong Kansas resident, is a wife, mother, grandmother, singer of songs, and lover of cats and chocolate. From the time she was a very little girl, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and seeing her words in print is the culmination of a lifelong dream. Kim relishes her time with family and friends, and stays active in her church by leading women’s fellowship and participating in music ministry.
MaryLu Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist and bestselling author, is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full-time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats.
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Elizabeth Goddard
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Central Park Rendezvous Page 29