“It’s been three years now. My dad left me a nice inheritance. Enough that I could buy a house and open the studio. It all kind of came together. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would even be in the will.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There were years of tension between us. He was never satisfied with my career, no matter what I achieved. He tried to control every aspect of my life, telling me where I should live, what company I should be dancing with, that I should stay focused on dance, not romance. When I started setting boundaries—visiting less, not sharing anything really, he hated it. My last visit home before he died was awful. We fought about every aspect of my life. I told him I was tired of never being good enough for him and that I no longer cared what he thought. And I left. That was the last time I ever talked to him. He died a few months later. So there were a lot of things said and not said between us. Regrets that will be with me the rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry,” Roan said.
“It’s in the past now, I suppose.” She looked into the fire, her voice hollow. “I was thinking about your mom today.”
“Yeah?” Roan asked. “What about?”
“I practically lived at your house when I could get away from my father’s clutches. She always made me feel like I could do and be anything I wanted. Cooking with her, just hanging out, are some of my favorite memories.” Reese picked up her mug butdidn’t drink. “A couple weeks before she died, I came by after dance class. You went upstairs for something and your mom sat me down at the kitchen table. I thought she was going to tell me that our plan to move to New York together was a bad idea.” Her voice went soft, like she was hearing Caroline’s words again. “But instead she told me that we had her blessing to go to New York together. She said to stay strong against my dad. Against his controlling ways. ‘Love like you two have only comes along once or twice in a lifetime. Don’t waste it.’”
Roan held his breath, almost frightened by the wave of emotion that came over him.
“I said I was worried you were giving up too much for me. She just shook her head and said you knew your own mind. That you always had.” Reese set down her mug, tears spilling over. “That it was your dream. To be by my side, supporting me. She said she couldn’t imagine anyone better for her son than me.”
Tears sprang to his eyes, imagining his sweet mother and Reese sitting at the table together all those years ago. How he wished he could go back in time, even it were only for a moment.
“Youweremy dream,” Roan said.
She still was.
11
REESE
For a moment, they were quiet, both gazing into the fire. Bing Crosby’sI’ll Be Home For Christmascame through the speakers.
You were my dream.
His words echoed through her mind. Past tense. Or was it? The vulnerability in his tone and the soft look in his eyes told her another story. Could she still be his dream? Or was it all just fanciful thinking? Had he come home for Christmas for good? Could she trust him?
“If she hadn’t died, everything might have been different.” Roan turned toward her. “Everythingwouldhave been different. I’d have gone with you, been there for you as you pursued your career. We would have had a soft place to come home to.”
“Maybe so.”
“All this time—wasted. Apart.”
Reese reached for him, setting her hand gently on his chest. “But not really. You had an amazing career. One you would never have had if you’d followed me east instead of going west. Maybe we had things to do before we could truly commit to each other.”
“I don’t buy it.” Roan smiled but his eyes were sad. “I would follow you, then and now. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll prove it to you.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs and her entire body warmed. “I’m not going anywhere, so there’s no need to follow me anywhere.” Reese shifted closer on the couch, realizing too late that her knee now pressed against his. She stayed where she was anyway. “When I thought about you over the years, I assumed you would have married by now.”
“I had a few girlfriends. One serious. The others not so much. What about you?”
“There’s been no one. When I was still dancing, I didn’t have time. Now that I’m home, I haven’t been intrigued by anyone.”
“Lucky for me,” Roan said.
“Why didn’t the serious relationship work out?” Reese asked.
“Her name is Amanda. A makeup artist. We dated for about two years. She was great—smart, funny, beautiful. But she wasn’t you.” He said it simply, like a fact. “I kept trying to make it work, but she could tell I was still hung up on someone else. Eventually she called me out on it, and I had to admit that she was right. I loved someone from my past. Memories I couldn’t let go of. We broke up three years ago. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since.”
She couldn’t breathe for a second or two. “I’ve compared everyone to you. To what we had. No one else has ever felt like my soulmate.”
“That makes two of us,” Roan said. “After my injury, I started going to therapy. Working through the end of my career, but I kept talking about you. I finally admitted to myself how much I regretted the decisions I made. How I wished I’d fought for you” He met her eyes. “How I wished I could make amends. At least that. Even if you hated me.”
