Maeve's Symphony (11 page)

He stood at the front desk, chatting with the receptionist while he jotted something on a piece of paper the star-struck lady had surrendered. Probably an autograph, or—

“Maeve…Maeve, did you hear me?”

“I'm sorry, Siobhan—what? I'm afraid I'm already debriefing the interview in my mind.”

Siobhan's gaze went straight to Josh. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Maeve scowled, which didn't scare Siobhan at all. Instead, the little minx just grinned. “Like I was saying, our rehearsal is scheduled for ten o'clock instead of eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Elizabeth just texted me to say it'll include everyone—backups, chorus members…everyone who needs to be mixed into place on stage and …”

Siobhan's words drifted to a decrescendo all over again when Maeve felt motion from behind, then the soft brush stroke of fingertips against her hand. She started, capturing Josh's gaze briefly as he passed and pushed a note into her palm. She wanted to curve her fingertips, to catch him, to hold…

But once Maeve took custody of the paper, he moved away, chatting with Chaundra, who gushed, and repeatedly reached forward, brushing her fingertips against his arm. Maeve experienced a very un-Christian-like urge to snarl at the blatant display but popped that bubble.

Instead, she nipped her lower lip, unfolding the paper he'd delivered.

Can you meet me at Randolph's? Drinks, munchies. 6:30?

Blushing furiously, trying to rebuke that increasingly familiar tummy dance, those tingly sparks of expectation, Maeve's gaze pinged to Josh, who looked at her over the top of Chaundra's head, waiting on a reaction. Enticing her despite all better judgment.

Feeling like the school girl she had once been, Maeve delivered a private nod.

“…and then, I strolled into the middle of Times Square and rode a unicorn.”

Siobhan's audacious comment jarred Maeve back to the present; she had zoned out again. Yikes. A trio of knowing smirks met Maeve's gaze.

 

****

 

Soft music—the current selection a gently flowing piano rendition of Moon River—piped through the air at Randolph's. Josh took a second to enjoy the melody and the tasteful, living room style ambiance of the gathering spot before striding to an empty couch angled into a cozy nook complete with lamp and coffee table for placement of beverages and food. Perfect setting.

Josh pushed back the sleeve of a navy suit coat, checking the face of his watch. He was a couple of minutes early. He sat, brushed a wrinkle or two from tan slacks, leaned back and double checked the time. He hadn't felt this nervous and eager about meeting a woman since—ever. He faced the entrance, trying to relax by watching people. A waitress approached, and Josh was about to request menus when he caught sight of Maeve and watched her cross the threshold. He stood automatically, instantly drawn, instantly captivated.

She paused at the door and adjusted a thin purse strap against her shoulder while she searched the crowd. In the instant before Maeve spotted him, Josh took her in and savored. She wore a simple short-sleeved black silk dress that was nipped at the waist. His gaze tracked to long, slender legs and leather pumps. She smoothed her fingertips against a pearl necklace; was she a bit nervous? The maître d approached her. When she greeted him and smoothed back the fall of that vivid tumble of red hair, she spotted Josh. The unguarded pleasure that lit her eyes struck him hard and fast, sweeping him directly into her current.

She murmured to the maître d and moved toward Josh. The grace of her motions, the curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes left him forever grateful that she was here…for him.

His smile of welcome stretched wide; he offered his hand, which she accepted easily—readily. A small but significant victory. Progress.

“You certainly do know how to own a room and make an entrance, Maeve. You're stunning.” He drew her in for a hug and kissed her cheek, lingering just a tad over the connection. Jasmine. Satiny skin. Warmth.

Retreating from his embrace, Maeve smiled and gave his suit coat lapels a gentle tug. “Well aren't you the kind one.”

“I'm honest. Kindness is simply a byproduct.”

The words ignited a tinge of pink against her cheeks as she joined him on the couch. “You could have texted me, you know.”

“Handwritten notes are much better. I'm old school like that.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “I'm glad. I loved it.”

They faced a perfect view of Avenue of the Americas and the people-push, the frenetic hustle of Midtown, yet their space felt intimate. The waitress stopped by once again. After placing orders for ginger ale, they spent a few moments discussing appetizer options.

“Do you still like calamari in marinara sauce?” Maeve peeked at him over the top of her menu.

“Absolutely. I know you've already had a light, working dinner with the team from Zion, but order something more if you'd like.”

“No, this is perfect. I'd rather stay right here and just relax together rather than do a formal table and dinner. This is a wonderful spot.”

“You hadn't checked out Randolph's yet?”

“Shameful, I know, since it's on the ground floor of the hotel, but”—Maeve shrugged—”No time. It's been a whirlwind.” Drinks arrived and they tapped glasses before taking a unison sip. “So, Doug tells me he's coming to town for a visit.”

“Yep, I'm going to treat him to some pain and gain at Quantum Leap this weekend. I have a session Saturday then I'm going to Covington Outreach in Brooklyn to meet with some of the kids.”

“That's one of the centers you support, right?” Maeve leaned forward to set her glass on the coffee table then settled gracefully against the back of the couch. Josh's mouth went dry. Thankfully, she didn't comment about his smitten perusal.

“It is.” Inspiration struck. “I'd love it if you could come along. The kids would really enjoy it.”

“Are you sure you want to tempt fate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren't you worried about rumor mongers and having contact with me outside the parameters of the Lincoln Center event?”

“Doesn't bother me in the least.” They watched each other and an impasse ensued. “And since you opened the gate, I'm walking through. How did you feel about the questions Chaundra asked?”

She blinked. Then, moving slow, she retrieved her soda and took a drink. Stalling, he knew.

“I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. It's no secret we dated, and the media just loves to uncover nuggets of intrigue. I'm fine with it. No harm, no foul, right?”

Such a polished reply; so poised, and so wrong.

In emphasis, Josh kept quiet and studied her. “OK, now answer me as though you weren't in front of a judging panel, or an audience.”

She flinched.

“We've spent a few years apart, but I know you, Maeve. I know you well enough to recognize the signals when you step away from who you really are and slide into actress mode.”

She flinched again. “Wow.”

Josh found it surprisingly easy to ignore her stunned reaction; he didn't allow her any time to recover, or hide. “So, I ask you again, how did you feel about what happened during the interview today?”

Her eyes narrowed, going sharp as a feisty spirit rose. “I'll tell you if you tell me.”

“Fine. I'll even start. I didn't like the ambush, but love being associated with you. I'd never have a problem being seen as your romantic interest.” He arched a brow, daring her forward. “Your turn.”

Of all the blasted luck. Their waitress arrived with food artfully presented upon a white, oblong platter. She placed the serving on the coffee table along with napkins, plates, and cutlery. While they dished, Josh gauged Maeve.

Come toward me. Trust me. Be open with me, like you used to.

Maeve looked away, dipping a ring of calamari into the steamy, garlic-spiced marinara. She popped the morsel into her mouth. When she leaned back, a stocked plate in hand, Josh realized he hadn't touched his food. His appetite centered on one thing alone, rediscovering Maeve.

“The questions didn't bother me.” She picked up the thread of their conversation. “They took me by surprise, although I guess they shouldn't have. Thank you for stepping in so smoothly, and with such class. I appreciate it.”

“For better or worse, I'm becoming used to people who make their living by pushing hype. Given our background, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone figured out we have shared history. As far as the media is concerned, it's in their interest to make those connections, tie the knots and foster interest.”

“Our relationship goes deeper than that, Josh, and you know it.”

“Yes, I do, but I wondered if you realize the same. I have my answer now.”

To his delight, that challenging observation brought her up short, and there was no answering defensiveness. Instead, Maeve's laughter bubbled free. When she moved a bit closer, he stretched his arm behind her on the couch and toyed with a curl of her hair. Looking into her eyes, he twirled the strand, sliding it through slow moving fingers. An awakening, a push of awareness, moved in time to his touch. When she leaned against him, his pulse escalated.

“Moments like this are what I dreamed of all those years ago. I could picture restful moments together while we ate, or talked or shared stories at the end of the day. You and I were always so effortless. We…” Maeve shifted. Ducked her head.

Josh promptly tucked a finger beneath her chin, drew her face upward. He felt—and saw—the melting that took place in her soul.

“Oh, is this getting tricky,” she said.

“There's nothing wrong with tricky.”

Her look pleaded, even as she remained resting within his touch and steady regard. “Can we please—please shift topics?”

Josh sighed, but kissed her cheek, slow, easy, and gentle. “If that's what you want, OK.” A pause beat by. “You can dodge me for now, but the closer we get to the gala, the less opportunity we'll have for quiet, private moments together. I want to come to terms with what we feel, Maeve. We can't keep running.”

Aware of the appetizer plate before him, Josh reached for it, but first he swallowed a cold and bracing dose of ginger ale. At last, he ate.

Maeve polished off a few more rings of calamari. “I don't want you to think I'm running from you.” Their eyes tagged. “Being put on the spot this morning affected me, but not in the way you might think.”

“Then how?”

“I don't mind a connection to you, Josh. Ever.” She huffed. A furrow between her brows paid testimony to frustration—a frustration he understood all too well. “Being with you again brings to life all the wants, all the longings I harbored for us when we were together years ago.”

The admission came to rest in the spaces and distance between them, filling in gaps.

“Would you like some advice?” He trailed his fingertips against a slim shoulder swathed by sleek, body-warmed silk and considered how good it felt to simply touch her.

“What would that be?”

Every interaction left him aching for her, wishing desperately for a different outcome than the one they had been given.

“Look those wants and longings straight in the eye. Then, decide what to do about them.”

 

 

 

 

6

 

Maeve pushed through the glass doorway of Quantum Leap and stepped inside, early for her meet up with Josh and their planned trip to his charity center in Brooklyn. Music pulsed—driving, hardcore, get-you-moving-fast-and-furious type music. A dozen or so athletes made use of the equipment spread across several thousand square feet of workout space. The air vibrated, punctuated by grunts, damp heat, and clanging metal being put to hard use.

She spotted Josh and Doug, but they didn't see her right away. Happy to remain beneath the radar for now, she skirted the perimeter, watching a trainer move into place behind Josh and brace a hand against his right shoulder, adding support as Josh rapidly stretched an elastic band anchored to a wall mount near the spot where he stood. Not far away, Doug performed a medicine ball toss with a second trainer.

Intensity crested Josh's features. She could all but taste his pain. Sweat poured, so he'd probably been at the exercise for a while, yet he worked relentlessly, grunting while he yanked the cord across his chest over and over again, working his injured shoulder.

“Good progress. Stiffness isn't as much of a factor anymore. Keep pushing.”

Without comment, Josh nodded. Every ounce of energy seemed wrapped in the process of completing the task.

“OK—switch.”

At the trainer's bark, Josh didn't miss a beat. In perfect tempo, he spun a half-circle, switching the band holder from right hand to left. Freshly positioned, he went to work all over again. Maeve continued to watch, and marvel.

Five minutes later, the trainer called, “Done, Josh. Step back. Breathe.”

Josh responded on automatic to the firm commands. His chest heaved while he folded at the waist and caught his breath. A mild, skin cooling breeze drifted downward from the overhead fan, tweaking Maeve's senses, providing welcome relief from humidity. When he rose, scrubbing his damp face with the sleeve of his shirt, Josh spotted her and lifted his chin in greeting.

That's when Doug noticed her arrival as well. “Maeve!” He called merrily. “Give me a great big hug!”

Sweat-drenched, smelly and obviously loving every minute of it, Doug moved toward her, arms flung wide. Maeve blanched. “Not on your life.”

“Why, you ungrateful, mean-spirited little—”

“How about me?” Josh sidled close, deliberately egging her on.

“Sorry, Josh. At present, you're just as rancid as my brother. The answer is no way. See also, eww.”