A Season to Dance

by Rebecca Heflin

  She’d once thought she had everything she wanted when she was dancing. And maybe she did. Then. But now? Things were different. She wanted more. And less.

  More friends. More family. More Zach. And less loneliness, travel, and stress.

  Now, in the light of day, with the frenzy of the recital behind her, she reflected on her time back in Northridge and the conclusion she’d reached last night. What she had been doing the last three months—running the studio, mentoring young dancers, preparing for the recital, choreographing the dances, handling the costumes, creating the scenery, and so much more—was satisfying. No, more than satisfying. It was gratifying.

  She’d lived a dream most people will never attain. It was time to move on. Cinderella had her happily-ever-after. It was time for Olivia to get hers.

  Hungover without the benefit of the good time, Zach strode through the police station, avoiding eye contact with his officers and staff. Given his current state of mind, it was best for all concerned if he were left alone to stew in his own juices.

  Stopping at his assistant’s desk, he instructed her, “Unless there’s a raging fire, armed robbery, or arterial blood, don’t bother me.”

  “Uh, got it, Chief.” Gabby frowned at him with a mixture of trepidation and pity.

  Great. His abrupt exit from the party had not gone unnoticed, and clearly word had already spread.

  He sought the solitude of his office, so he could suffer in peace.

  After staring at his computer screen for who knows how long, he rose from his seat, restless and frustrated, rubbing a hand over the ache in his chest that had taken up residence there. Why stare at his computer, when he could stare out the window instead? Deep in his gloom, it surprised him to see the sun shining. Couldn’t the weather cooperate and provide a bleak backdrop to match his mood?

  The good people of Northridge went about their day, unaware that his world had imploded. Again.

  Kristen stepped outside, broom in hand, and swept the entryway to her café, then raised a hand in greeting when Tabitha Gillespie walked by, weighed down with paint supplies for her business. Marshall MacKinnon exited his building, checked his watch, then rounded the corner to his parking lot. Officer Dillon wrote a parking ticket for a white car parked in front of the fire hydrant.

  Just another day in the life . . .

  But not for him.

  He’d been up all night second-guessing everything. From allowing his heart to get tangled up with Olivia again to walking away from her last night. Even as angry as he’d been, leaving her like that had been like ripping out a vital organ.

  Of all the people in his world, she had the power to hurt him like no other. What was that saying? Real love is giving someone the power to hurt you. He laughed, a harsh cynical sound that grated on his ears. He’d given her that power long ago, and he’d never taken it back.

  The question he wrestled with now was whether, after all these years, he’d ever get it back.

  Olivia came down the stairs, ready to set her plan in motion, then groaned when she spotted Logan’s suitcase standing by the front door. She’d forgotten his departure, and he’d need a ride to the airport, which would delay her next steps.

  She couldn’t be mad at him for telling Zach. How was he supposed to know the calls weren’t news for public consumption? And speaking of that, how did he know about the job offers?

  Rubbing her head, she detoured to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee and found Jennie and Logan sitting at the kitchen table, thick as thieves. Their conversation stopped abruptly at her entrance.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

  “Nothing,” Jennie said then cleared her throat and stared down at her mug of tea.

  Logan rose, looking a little shame-faced, and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so sorry I spilled the beans last night. You know me and my big mouth.”

  She patted him on his rock-solid abs. “You couldn’t have known Zach didn’t know. But, how did you know about the jobs? I hadn’t told anyone.” Looking up at him, she caught the sheepish expression on his face.

  “Well, you see, you were looking for a job, so I thought I would help, being your friend and all. So, I called my friend Paul at the San Fran Ballet and put a bug in his ear. Of course, Raoul didn’t need a nudge in your direction. He’d already been considering you for the position, since Evangeline Dubois plans to retire the end of this year.”

  “That explains it,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry it created a hullabaloo.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It was very thoughtful of you, and under other circumstances I’d be thrilled.”

  “But things are different now,” he stated, matter-of-factly, then kissed the top of her head before releasing her.

  She nodded then took a deep breath before exhaling. “Let me grab a coffee and I’ll take you to the airport.”

  “Jennie’s taking me.”

  Olivia lifted a startled glance in Jennie’s direction, where she still contemplated her tea.

  “You’ve got more important things to do. Like go get your man.” He pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t be a stranger.” He released her and strode out of the kitchen without another glance.

  Olivia blinked back tears as she watched him go then felt Jennie’s arm on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Biting her lip, Olivia nodded.

  “Logan’s right. You’ve got important things to do, and time’s a-wasting.”

  Wrapping her arms around Jennie’s waist, Olivia kissed her weathered cheek. “Thank you. For . . . everything.”

  “That’s what family’s for.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .” Olivia drew in a long deep breath then blew it out slowly. “I’ve decided to stay. To take over Mom’s business.” She’d already shared the news about the Romanos, and Amy had been ecstatic for her.

  At the news that Olivia planned to stay, Amy rose from her seat and a broad smile spread over her round face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of concern. She placed her hand over Olivia’s, where it rested on the desk. “Are you sure? What about the other job offers?”

  Olivia flipped her hand and squeezed Amy’s. “I’m sure. The other offers are . . . flattering, but I can do those jobs, and more, right here. I can make a difference in the lives of girls like Emily. Carry on my mother’s vision and grow that vision so that it merges with mine. Here, I’ll have control. And I’ll have something more. Friends and family.” And Zach. Maybe.

  First, he had to forgive her and want to take a chance on her.

  Amy blinked away the tears and smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you.” She gave Amy’s hand another squeeze and rose herself. “I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Anything,” Amy responded with alacrity.

  “Stay. Help me run this business. I can’t do it without you.” Olivia held her breath. Without Amy, every day would be an uphill battle.

  Amy stared, mouth open.

  At her hesitation, disappointment bloomed in Olivia’s chest. “You can take some time. Think about it before giving me your—”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes?” It was Olivia’s turn to stand and stare, slack-jawed.

  “Of course!” She threw her hands up in the air.

  “You don’t want to think about it?”

  “What’s to think about?”

  Olivia held up a finger. “And I want you to be a partner, not an employee.”

  “But—”

  “No but’s. Partner. You’ve earned it.”

  Olivia strode through the police station—past the receptionist, the officers’ cubicles, the dispatch station—and headed straight for Zach’s office before she lost her nerve. After all, she’d hurt him, and there was no guarantee he would listen to what she had to say. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

  As she approached his assistant’s desk, Gabby stood, arms folded
across her chest. “I hope you’re here to take him back. We can’t take another minute of his foul mood.”

  Olivia didn’t bat an eye but nodded and knocked on his door.

  “What?” Came his grumpy reply.

  She glanced back at Gabby, who lifted an eyebrow.

  Okay, then. Inspiration struck, and she opened the door. “I’d like to report a crime.”

  His head popped up, a scowl on his face. The scowl turned to bewilderment. “Not Christopher again?”

  “No. He’s not the culprit.” Olivia entered Zach’s office and stood a few feet away, her heart hammering against her ribs as if she’d just danced the Coda from The Nutcracker.

  Zach reached for his notepad and pen. “And you know who the culprit is?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the crime?”

  “Kidnapping.”

  He slowly lifted his head, pen poised over the sheet of paper. “Kidnapping.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. Kidnapping.” Olivia said, her response as clipped as her nod.

  “All right. Who’s the victim, and who’s the accused?”

  She drew in a breath. Here goes . . . “I’m the victim. You’re the accused.”

  “Say what?” Both brows shot up and, placing his palms flat on his desk, he rose, staring at her.

  Her phone rang—dammit. Pulling it from her back pocket, she glanced at the screen. No. This was perfect. She held up her finger indicating she had to take the call, and he stared at her in astonishment.

  “This is Olivia.”

  What the fuck kind of game was she up to? Zach wondered.

  “Oh, hello. Yes, I called about the interview.”

  What the—?

  She listened a moment then responded. “No. I’ve changed my mind.” She lifted her gaze to his, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest. “I appreciate the consideration, but I’ve decided I’m not interested.”

  Not interested? In which job? Did she decide against San Fran, in favor of The Joffrey, or vice versa? Did she already take one of the jobs and was turning down the other? His hands balled into fists. Dammit! What the hell was happening? He rounded the desk, ready to snatch the phone from her hand, but she shot him a look and took a step back, holding up her free hand.

  “Thank you for saying that. I do have a favor though. I have a student, her name is Emily Madison, and I think she’d be perfect for your Trainee Program. She’s gifted. A natural.” She nodded. “Yes, I understand she needs to audition, and that can be arranged.”

  More silence on her end. “Next week would be perfect. Yes, I’ll accompany her. Great! We’ll see you then.” She hit end and tucked her phone back into her pocket, a smile on her face.

  If she didn’t tell him something soon, he’d throttle her!

  “Right. Back to the kidnapping charge,” she said, as if she had no intention of telling him what that conversation was all about.

  Before he could demand to know just what the hell was going on, she continued, her eyes a warm brown on his. “I never meant to stay. But you,” she pointed her finger at him, accusingly, “you captured my heart. Again. And now I can’t leave.”

  Resisting the urge to shake his addled head, he stepped closer. “What do you mean you ‘can’t leave’?”

  “You asked me what I used as my motivation when I performed ‘Rhapsody on a Theme.’ You. Us. That’s what I used. Every emotion I felt, every regret, every heartbreak, every if-only, I poured into that dance.” She closed more of the distance between them. “I can’t leave because, if I did, I’d be leaving my heart behind once more.” Tears swam in her eyes. “I tried to tell you last night, but you were so angry. I had my doubts the day the San Francisco Ballet called, that’s why I never told you. And then last night, it all became clear. I love you, Zach. You and everyone in this town.” She grimaced. “Well, maybe not everyone.”

  He reached for her then, gathering her to him, holding her close, her head against his shoulder. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. “You know my mother left, but what you don’t know is why. She grew to resent me and my father for interfering with her dreams of being a country singer. I never wanted you to grow to resent me like that.”

  “Oh, Zach.” She squeezed him then.

  “So be sure you won’t regret this six months from now—a year?”

  “I am sure. I want you. My vacancy will be filled with the Emily Madisons of the dance world. It’s time. I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame. I had a long career, longer than most dancers, and I have no regrets. I broke some barriers. I proved that women can be explosive athletic dancers just like their male counterparts, and yet still be feminine and graceful. I’m proud of that.”

  “And I’m proud of you.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She drew back and looked up at him. “You forgive me then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. What are you doing next Saturday?”

  Forget the butterflies. Olivia’s stomach swarmed with pterodactyls.

  She and Zach sat in a café in Buckhead waiting for two people she’d never met. Her leg bounced underneath the table.

  “Relax. They’re going to love you,” Zach said, giving her hand a squeeze.

  She exhaled on a shaky laugh. “I wish I had your confidence.” With her free hand, she fingered the photo of the man who she now knew was her father. She and Alex and Satira had exchanged emails and phone calls all week, and those emails had included a few photos of her father—the same man in the picture with her mother. The phone conversations had been . . . easy. Comfortable. No awkward pauses, no stilted silences.

  Both Alex and Satira had seemed genuinely thrilled to learn Olivia James was—in their words—the Olivia James, ballet dancer, and this, in turn, had warmed Olivia immensely.

  But. Phone conversations were one thing. Face-to-face meetings were something else entirely.

  Olivia groaned and looked at her watch.

  Zach patted her thigh. “We were early, remember? They’ll be here.”

  Olivia had wanted to arrive early to ensure she had a table facing the door, so she could spot them the minute they came in, and every time the door opened, her stomach flipped.

  “Is this them?” Zach drew her attention back to the door.

  “Omigod,” she breathed. They had her olive skin and dark hair. Their faces lit on hers, and she was out of her seat closing the distance between them before she even thought about it.

  They opened their arms and embraced her in a sobbing group hug. They clung to each other as if their lives depended on it. When they finally parted, Olivia had no idea how long they’d stood that way. They all glanced around the café and, finding themselves the center of attention, laughed, brushing tears from their faces.

  Olivia brought them over to Zach, who stood by the table, and introduced her . . . sisters. The word gave her a thrill of pleasure.

  After the introductions were made, Zach bent to kiss Olivia. “Call me when you’re ready,” he whispered in her ear. “This is amazing.” Then he politely took his leave.

  Alex and Satira watched him go then smiled at Olivia. “He seems like a keeper,” Alex said.

  “Yeah. He is.” Olivia’s eyes swam with tears.

  Satira laid a heavy photo album on the table. “So, where should we start?”

  Olivia looked between the two. “Can we start with your father?”

  Alex reached across the table and gave Olivia’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t you mean our father?”

  Olivia’s heart warmed with the acceptance, and she nodded. “Our father.”

  Epilogue

  (Three Months Later)

  Zach felt like he was either a stalker or on a stakeout. As he sat in his police SUV, hidden by the trees along the bend in the road, he constantly checked for Olivia’s new white studio van.

  In the past three months, she and Jennie had been co-habitating peacefully in Carly’s house, and she and her two half-sisters had become
closer. They had embraced Olivia, welcoming her into their families and sharing stories about their father.

  Olivia finally had everything she’d wanted. Almost.

  There was only one thing left he could give her.

  How long did she plan to stay at the studio anyway, for God’s sake? He’d been sitting here for over an hour waiting. Just as he was about to abandon the plan, he caught sight of a vehicle rounding the bend. It was Olivia.

  Time to set his plan in motion. He waited for her to pass then swung his SUV around and pulled out behind her, keeping some distance between them, so she wouldn’t spot him right away. His heart hammered in his chest as if he were in hot pursuit of a dangerous criminal. For an instant, he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking.

  It was now or never. He flipped on his lights and siren then closed the distance between them. She slowed, as if she expected him to go around her, on his way to an urgent call, but he rode her bumper until she got the message. Her blinker on, she pulled onto the shoulder and stopped.

  Making sure his dash cam was on, he climbed out of the driver’s seat, mouth dry, and approached her vehicle. She had the window down, an expression of both dismay and expectation on her face.

  “Zach? What are you doing? Was I speeding?”

  “Step out of the car.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?!”

  “Step out of the car,” he repeated, his voice all business. He stepped back, hand on the door handle.

  Her face flushed, as she sputtered. “Fine. I don’t know what the hell this is about,” she grumbled as she unfastened her seatbelt and swung the door open.

  Desperately working to maintain a straight face, he rubbed his hand over his mouth as if in frustration.

  She stood, hands on hips, tapping her foot. “You mind telling me what is going on?”

  “Olivia James, you’re wanted in connection with a crime.”