Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Strom, Abigail

  His answer hurt much more than it should, considering that this was a small thing, relatively speaking, and considering that Harry’s reluctance to come uptown was a well-established part of their relationship.

  But it hurt like crazy. And in her sudden urgent need to keep from crying, her whole body felt like an unshed tear, liquid and trembling.

  She just wished Nick wasn’t here to see it. He was sitting across from her with that look of challenge in his eyes, watching her be hurt.

  She kept her eyes down. “I don’t think so,” she said to Harry. “Not tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  Without waiting for a response she flipped the phone closed and slid it back into her purse. Then she raised her eyes to Nick’s for the first time since she’d made the call.

  She’d expected him to look smug, but he didn’t. He looked guilty and unhappy and sorry.

  Well, too bad. He was the one who’d started this. What did it matter if he was sorry for it now?

  “It looks like you were right,” she said. “I’m sure that makes you happy. You strike me as someone who enjoys being right.”

  “Sara—”

  “Don’t bother.”

  She stood up as she pulled her wallet from her purse, and he stood up, too.

  “Sara, please let me—”

  “Good night, Nick,” she said as she took out a few bills and laid them on the table. Then she walked away, moving as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.

  She knew Nick would be delayed by waiting for and then paying the bill, so as long as she didn’t head back to the apartment she’d be safe from seeing him for a while.

  The June air was soft, and smelled like the city—granite and asphalt and car exhaust, and the myriad odors of the millions of people who lived here. It was a scent Sara had always found comforting and familiar.

  She walked fast until she got around the block, heading uptown away from the restaurant and her apartment. Then she slowed down.

  She’d always been so determined to avoid the ugliness that had been her parents’ marriage. Ballet had been her refuge growing up, and then it became more than a refuge. Dance became her passion, her one true love. She didn’t have to worry about disappointing anyone or being disappointed, betraying or being betrayed, because she had something in her life she would always be faithful to. Something that would never let her down.

  Until it did.

  Dance had let her down, and Harry had let her down, just as Nick and Emilio had told her he would.

  Except he wouldn’t have if she hadn’t pushed him. If she hadn’t asked him to come uptown, she wouldn’t have found out how unwilling he was to go out of his way for her.

  She sighed. Of course, she’d known all along that Harry was selfish. But she’d told herself that she was, too. Plenty of past boyfriends had accused her of being selfish when she’d put her career ahead of her relationships.

  She could hear Emilio’s voice in her head telling her it wasn’t the same thing at all. That devotion to your career could not be compared with being too goddamned lazy to take a cab to your girlfriend’s place and climb a few flights of stairs.

  Then she heard Nick’s voice.

  He’s a selfish jerk. And you, for some reason, don’t think you deserve any better.

  What had gotten into him tonight? They’d been having such a good time, and then…

  And then she found out he was in politics. And proceeded to say some fairly uncomplimentary things about his profession.

  That’s when the tone of their conversation had changed. He’d gotten defensive…and it was then that he’d started pushing her about Harry.

  Considering that she didn’t really know anything about what, specifically, Nick did—the candidates he worked for, or his political beliefs, or the way he went about his business—she might have been a little harsh. Not that that excused his overly-aggressive attitude about Harry, but still…

  She’d been walking aimlessly for half an hour, cocooning herself in the sights and sounds and scents of New York, when she realized she wasn’t far from Emilio’s place. She quickened her pace, and in ten minutes she was sitting on his couch and telling him about her night.

  Emilio nodded when she finished. “Sure, that might be part of it. You were snotty about his job, and he pushed back a little.”

  “I wasn’t snotty. At least I didn’t mean to be. I was just being honest.”

  “He was honest, too.”

  “It wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. He pushed me into a corner and used my own words against me, like we were in a debate or something. I felt like all he cared about was proving he was right. It was exactly what I’d told him I hate about politics. The need to win becomes more important than anything else. I admit I said some harsh things about politicians, which he might have felt insulted by, but—”

  “I said that might be a part of it. But it’s not the biggest part.”

  She frowned. “What’s the biggest part?”

  Emilio looked at her like she was an idiot. “Are you kidding? How about the fact that he’s totally freaking jealous? He wants you. He’s nuts about you. And you’re dating an asshole. Maybe the stuff you said about his job provoked him enough that he said what he’s been thinking all along.”

  She was silent for a minute. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

  Emilio threw his hands in the air. “For a smart woman you are absolutely clueless sometimes.”

  Sara chose to ignore that. “Even if it were true, it wouldn’t make any difference. About the two of us, I mean. Nick’s leaving in a few months, remember? At least Harry—”

  “Don’t you dare say that at least Harry lives in New York. I swear, you’re like that guy looking for his keys under the streetlight.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know the story. This guy’s looking for something under a streetlight, and another guy comes along and asks him what he’s doing. He says he’s lost his car keys, and the guy helps him look. After a while he asks if he’s sure he lost them there, and the first guy says no, he lost them in the park. So the other guy asks why they’re looking under the streetlight, and the first guy says, ‘Because this is where the light is.’”

  Sara was silent.

  “Don’t you get it?” Emilio went on. “You approach the whole relationship thing backwards. You’re looking for someone who’s good on paper, who’ll fit into your life the way you’ve mapped it out—and when it doesn’t work out, you start looking under the streetlight again. But life isn’t like that. Love isn’t like that. It’s not supposed to fit into the neat little box you’ve carved out for it. Love is messy and scary and inconvenient. But that’s where you have to start. Look for love first, and then figure everything else out.”

  Sara recognized the little tingle behind her breastbone. She got it when a teacher or choreographer said something about her dancing that she knew was true, something that would help her dig deeper—whether or not she was ready to hear it.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, look. I realized tonight that Harry’s not right for me, and I’m going to break up with him, but—” she stopped for a moment to glare at Emilio, who let out a whoop before jumping up to perform a modified Snoopy dance between the couch and the coffee table.

  She waited until he settled back down before she continued. “But that doesn’t mean that Nick and I are right for each other. Aside from the whole he-lives-in-Washington thing, which you seem to think is a minor obstacle, after tonight I’m not even sure I like him very much.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You really need me to spell this out? Actually, considering you have the romantic self-awareness of a tube of toothpaste, you probably do. Okay. Usually as soon as there’s a hint of real conflict with a guy, you end things. You don’t talk about it or do a postmortem—you just move on. But you’ve spent the last hour talking
about Nick even though you argued with him and pissed each other off and had conflict galore. Thus I conclude that you’re a smitten kitten.”

  She bit her lip. “You think I’m afraid of conflict?”

  “It’s definitely not your favorite item on the menu. This never occurred to you before?”

  “You were the one who said I lack self-awareness. Nick—” she paused, realizing she was talking about him again.

  “Nick what?”

  “He said that, too. That I don’t like conflict.”

  “We’ll add insightful to his list of good qualities.”

  “I don’t think I could be in a relationship with someone like that. Someone who sees things about you, and uses those things to…”

  “Challenge you?”

  “Hurt you.”

  “Come on, Sara. Do you honestly think Nick’s primary motivation was to hurt you?”

  She thought about the moment after she’d hung up with Harry, when his answer had felt like a knife through the heart. The moment she’d met Nick’s eyes, expecting him to twist the knife a little, to say I told you so.

  But he hadn’t looked smug. He’d looked like he regretted what had happened and wished he could take it back.

  “Okay, maybe it wasn’t his primary motivation. But he’s in politics, which means he argues for a living. He thrives on conflict. And he’s got this charm thing going on too, you know? So it’s like a double whammy. He pulls you in with those damn eyes of his and then goes in for the kill.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re not smitten at all.”

  Once again she chose to ignore him, leaning back into the plush cushions and closing her eyes. It was getting late. She thought about walking home, and the possibility of seeing Nick at the apartment.

  “Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?”

  “Avoiding Nick?”

  “It’s just been an intense couple of days, that’s all. I’d rather not risk any more intensity tonight.”

  “My casa is always your casa. But unless you’re planning on moving in here, you should prepare yourself to see Nick again soon. Actually, isn’t he coming to the performance tomorrow?”

  “He was supposed to, but after tonight I don’t think he’ll show.”

  “You’d better leave a ticket for him like you said you would.”

  “Of course I’ll leave him a ticket. But he’s not coming.”

  “Ten bucks says he does.”

  “No bet. Help me pull out the couch?”

  “I’ll pull it out all by myself if you’ll feed that ravenous beast in the kitchen.”

  Emilio’s cat had been meowing for dinner for the last five minutes. “Deal.”

  She paused in the kitchen doorway and turned around again. “Emilio?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  * * *

  It turned out that Sara was right—he wasn’t a ballet guy. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed some of the pieces he’d seen so far tonight. One of them he’d liked a lot—three couples in costumes reminiscent of the 1920s, dancing to an old jazz song. But the more classical stuff didn’t do it for him.

  But he would have put up with a lot worse than boredom to be here. Sara hadn’t come home last night, and it had almost killed him not to be able to apologize to her right away. Wondering where she was—and who she was with—hadn’t done much for his peace of mind, either.

  She’d told Harry on the phone that she wasn’t going downtown, but maybe she’d changed her mind. Or maybe he’d called her back and talked her into it.

  Maybe they’d finally taken the plunge and slept together.

  The thought that his own obnoxious behavior might have pushed them closer was like a knife in his gut.

  But what was done was done. He was here to see Sara dance. And afterwards, he was going to find her backstage and apologize. He’d tell her he shouldn’t have pushed her last night, and that her relationship with Harry was none of his business. All he wanted was to be a good neighbor while he was in New York, and to have the chance to become her friend.

  He glanced down at the program, and saw that Sara and Emilio were next. After that there was only the grand finale to get through.

  The house lights went down, and the rustling and shifting of the audience quieted as a few cool piano notes dropped into the darkness.

  A single spotlight came up. It was as pale and soft as a pool of moonlight, illuminating a bed on stage with a table beside it, holding a framed photograph. A dancer in a white nightgown was curled up on the bed.

  Sara.

  She seemed to be asleep at first. Then she rolled onto her back and arched her body, curled in on herself and arched again.

  Watching her gave him a sense of luxurious pleasure, and the sensation reminded him of something. After a moment he realized what it was. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in twenty years—the feeling of waking up on the first day of summer vacation. That moment when you opened your eyes and stretched, feeling the days spinning out before you in a golden haze of time and freedom.

  Sara had captured that feeling. After a minute she bounced out of bed, radiating pure happiness with every movement. When she reached for the photograph, hugging it to her chest and spinning in place until she was a blur of movement, Nick knew what was making that girl so happy.

  She was in love.

  The piano music was spare and introspective, giving Sara space to dance in and around the notes. And then the lights came up a little more, illuminating a wooden frame in the center of the stage and Emilio standing within it.

  The man she loved had come to her window.

  When Sara saw him she went still, balanced on the tips of her toes as though poised for flight. Then they both moved at the same time, coming together with a joy so palpable that Nick felt a rush of longing. He wanted to be the man she looked at like that.

  When the two of them started to dance together, he felt a prickling on his skin. He pressed a hand to his forearm and felt the hairs standing up.

  Goose bumps.

  The way they were moving together—that’s what it felt like to be in love. The kind of love that was only possible before your heart was broken by the world, when you could still trust someone completely.

  He found himself thinking of his senior year in high school, when he and Laura had fallen in love. He’d been so certain of his feelings—and of hers. They’d planned to get married the summer after their freshman year in college.

  When Laura left him for his brother, he was determined never to be blindsided by a woman again. He spent his last two years in college adopting a “dump her before she dumps you” philosophy, and even after he outgrew that stage, he tended to keep his relationships on the casual side.

  He still did.

  Over and over Sara fell, and Emilio caught her. He lifted her into the air in ways that made Nick’s body tense, because it didn’t seem possible for her not to fall, not to hurt herself.

  When they finished, there was a crash of applause. He joined in until his palms stung. The grand finale was next but he hardly noticed it.

  She was extraordinary. She’d devoted her life to creating this transient beauty night after night, at the cost of the things most people valued above all else—money, stability, security.

  He wanted the right to call her his friend.

  One of the ushers told him how to get backstage, and in a few minutes he found himself in a throng of spouses, family and friends, all waiting in a cramped and labyrinthine space near the dressing rooms. Some, like him, were carrying bouquets. He’d gotten irises instead of roses, because roses seemed like such a cliché and because there was a watercolor of an iris hanging on Sara’s living room wall.

  He leaned against a wall and waited as dancers emerged from their dressing rooms, laughing and chatting and hugging. Conversations were animated and lively, and after a while he recognized the energy around him. It was like the war room on election night
after a hard-fought campaign. You were physically drained but emotionally exhilarated, just like the dancers around him.

  There was no sign of the particular dancer he’d come here to see, and he was about to ask someone where she was when he caught sight of Emilio coming towards him through the crowd. Maybe Sara wouldn’t be far behind.

  The two men shook hands. “You guys were amazing in that duet,” Nick said. “It was incredible.”

  “Thanks. We were on our game if I do say so myself. Are those for me?” he asked, with a nod towards the bouquet.

  “Uh…”

  Emilio clapped him on the shoulder. “Just kidding. So, I hear you were a real prick last night.”

  Damn. If Sara had described their dinner like that, it didn’t bode well for him. “Yeah.”

  Emilio grinned. “Are the flowers for the performance or the apology?”

  “Both. I take it Sara talked to you?”

  “She stayed at my place last night.”

  A sudden rush of relief made him feel almost dizzy. She hadn’t been with Harry after all.

  Emilio was shaking his head. “You should see your face right now. You must be a lousy poker player.”

  He was actually an excellent poker player, but he didn’t bother mentioning it. “I’m just glad to know she was with a friend.”

  “As opposed to Harry.”

  Was there any point in denying it? “Well…yeah.”

  Emilio grinned again. “She broke up with him this morning.”

  He tried to keep his emotions in check this time. “She did?”

  “Yep.”

  Sara had dumped Harry. She was officially single.

  Not that that changed anything. She was pissed at him, and even if he managed to smooth that over, he was still leaving in a few months. Sara didn’t seem the type to go for a fling, and he had other things to think about right now. All he was looking for was a chance to apologize and get back in her good graces.

  Nick’s eyes scanned the hallway again. Where the hell was she, anyway? His desire to see her was growing stronger with every passing second.

  “She’s not here. She left right after our piece.”

  His disappointment was as intense as his relief had been a moment before. “Where is she? Did she go home?”