So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

  Contents

  So The Heart Can Dance

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Tara

  Chapter 2: Aidan

  Chapter 3: Tara

  Chapter 4: Aidan

  Chapter 5: Tara

  Chapter 6: Aidan

  Chapter 7: Tara

  Chapter 8: Aidan

  Chapter 9: Tara

  Chapter 10: Aidan

  Chapter 11: Tara

  Chapter 12: Aidan

  Chapter 13: Tara

  Chapter 14: Aidan

  Chapter 15: Tara

  Chapter 16: Aidan

  Chapter 17: Tara

  Chapter 18: Aidan

  Chapter 19: Tara

  Chapter 20: Aidan

  Chapter 21: Tara

  Chapter 22: Aidan

  Chapter 23: Tara

  Chapter 24: Aidan

  Chapter 25: Tara

  Epilogue: Aidan

  Acknowledgements

  Resources

  Abut the Author

  A Final Note

  Upcoming Releases

  Preview of Joy and Tiers (A Hidden Beauty Novel #3)

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Tyler

  Chapter 2: Heather

  Preview of Identity of the Heart (A Hidden Heart Novel #1)

  Chapter 1: Rogue

  Chapter 2: Ivy

  Chapter 3: Tristan

  Preview of Love Naturally (A Hidden Beauty Novel #4)

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Madison

  Chapter 2: Trevor

  Table of Contents

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Mary Crawford.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I’m not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published By Mary Crawford.

  Copyright © April 11, 2015 by Mary Crawford

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1511767989

  ISBN-10: 1511767987

  ASIN: B00VZ1V8MM

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has a story and is afraid to share it.

  May you find the strength to tell someone—

  You could change someone’s life with your words.

  A special thank you to all those who take the time to listen.

  Mindy, the nearly seven-year-old foster daughter of my best friend Kiera, is making it her mission to cheer me up. She refuses to allow me to be a wallflower, the role in which I’m most comfortable. “Are you sure you don’t want to dance? It’s real fun. I bet my daddy will dance with you. He’s a really great dancer,” Mindy offers enthusiastically.

  I freeze as her words lance my heart, yet my soul yearns to dance as the bass thumps through the speakers and I feel the rhythm deep in my bones. I study the crowd of people pressed together on the dance floor and I shudder. “I’m sorry, Mindy, I don’t know how to dance. I guess I’ll have to sit this one out,” I shrug nonchalantly as I answer her, but I can’t quite square my gaze with hers.

  Mindy scowls and narrows her gaze as she examines me from the top of my head to the tips of my freshly painted toenails. “Miss Tara?” she prompts.

  “Mm-hmm?” I reply, trying not to squirm under her perusal.

  “Um, you know I can pretty much tell if a grown up is trying to trick me?” she asks.

  I nod—primarily because my ability to speak seems to have taken an intermission.

  “So, why are you fibbing? I think you’re a dancer because your feet look funny, just like the dancers who came to my school from the Portland Ballet Company. Plus, you kicked your tae kwon do teacher in the teeth when he said, ‘You punch like a girl and should wear a tutu.’ I don’t get why you’d lie about dancing, but whatever,” Mindy says, shaking her head and shrugging.

  I feel like she just punched me in the stomach. I never meant to hurt Mouse in a million years. I feel lower than a caterpillar.

  I glance back at the dance floor. Donda is dancing with the bartender who she’s been flirting with all night as she takes a break from being the DJ. By all appearances, her efforts have paid off. They are dancing so close together that you’d be hard pressed to fit a single sheet of paper between them. I pale as I watch the handsome bartender grab Donda’s waist and grind his hips into her backside. I draw in a harsh, startled breath while I try to find my voice to call for help. Suddenly, Donda looks over her shoulder, gives him a wink, and kisses the underside of his jaw.

  See, Tara? Donda wanted him. Not all contact is bad. Pull it together, I mentally command myself.

  “Are you okay, Miss Tara?” queries Mindy anxiously. “You’re shaking. Should I go get Miss Kiera?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I insist. “Maybe I just need to eat something.”

  “Can we dance after we eat?” Mindy asks.

  I slowly look around at the amazing reception unfolding around me. I want this level of perfect for me and maybe, someday, I’ll be able to believe in perfect again. Sadly, today is not that day.

  I grasp Mindy’s hands and squeeze them lightly as I whisper hoarsely, “I’m sorry, Mindy Mouse. I’d love to dance, but I just can’t.”

  Movement at the edge at of the dance floor catches my eye, I look up to see a look of sadness cross the face of the man walking up to the piano. Astonishingly, he winks and signs, “Bullshit!” before he sits down at the piano and starts to play.

  Bullshit? Who is this guy and what does he mean by that? As I watch him play, I try to figure out if I know him. I’m pretty sure I don’t, but there is something oddly familiar about those moss-green eyes.

  Suddenly, I feel the urge to be anywhere but here. “Mindy, do you want to go get some more cake?” I ask, a little too brightly.

  “Sure thing!” Mindy exclaims. “I want some more of Miss Heather’s food, too. She cooks too good to make food on a truck. It’s silly. She should have a restaurant with fancy tablecloths and napkins.”

  As Mindy chatters on about her favorite foods and what kind of restaurant she would own if she were a grown-up, I can’t help but think about what that piano player said. How could he possibly know about my dancing ability? It’s a weird thing for a stranger to comment on. He acts like he knows me. There’s something oddly disconcerting yet thrilling about that.

  Mindy scampers off to play with her cousin, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I’m fighting a primal urge to simply escape out the back door. Weddings never get any easier for me. I was hoping this one might not be as hard. Kiera is one of my very best friends. Heather, my co-maid of honor, is equally close. Together, we’ve formed the Girlfriend Posse. Once you’re in, you’re in forever. We’ve got each other’s backs at all times. This explains why I’m wearing a shiny new dress when I’d rather run naked in the snow. Admittedly, it’s a nice dress and Kiera and Mindy, her daughter tried very hard to choose one which minimizes my discomfort. There are some things that go beyond the cut of a dress.

  There are precisely two people on the planet that can convince me to wear a dress. Now that Mindy’s in my life, I guess there are now three people who have that honor. Since Kiera and Jeff expanded their family, mine has grown exponentially as well. I consider Mindy, or as I affectionately call her ‘Mouse’ to be my kindred spirit and honorary niece. Mindy is an exceptionally bright kid who has
a very old soul. Someday, I’m certain I’ll be wearing a dress for her special day too.

  Kiera’s husband, Jeff, has become the brother everyone wishes they could claim. We click surprisingly well because we share a tendency to be reserved and shy around strangers. But much to his credit, he hasn’t monopolized Kiera’s time to the exclusion of her friends. Instead, he has assimilated himself into our world, as bizarre as the shenanigans of the Girlfriend Posse can become. Even Jeff’s mom, Gwendolyn, and his sister, Donda, have become honorary members of our ever-growing group. So, it’s no surprise Jeff and Kiera’s circle of friends intersected to throw them this amazing wedding.

  As I look around Kiera and Jeff’s wedding reception, I see reminders of her fairytale love story. Every personal touch, no matter how innocuous, speaks to the incredible depth of their relationship. Every person involved in the wedding has contributed their own special touches that make this wedding incredibly personal to Kiera and Jeff. You would never guess that this wedding didn’t take a couple of years to plan.

  It seems everyone is intent on honoring as many small but meaningful traditions as possible. Even Mindy got in on the act by making hand drawn invitations to the wedding. Gwendolyn, who is an extraordinarily talented florist, made bouquets based on words that Kiera and Jeff used to describe each other. Denny, Kiera’s father, gave the couple a set of engagement rings that were family heirlooms.

  Heather also seems to have missed nothing; she paid tribute to her best friend’s love with a beautiful lace and pearl encrusted wedding cake she made herself. She even made edible flowers out of sugar that mirrored the first bouquet of flowers Jeff gave Kiera.

  As a chef, Heather is meticulous when it comes to food. She insists on small peach slices and a dash of freshly grated cinnamon to grace each glass of ice tea, and the hors d’oeuvres must be at a precise temperature. Heather’s amazing culinary skills are on full display; everything I’ve tasted so far is amazing.

  Since cooking is not my thing, I made gift bags for all the guests. I started with personalized Dove chocolate bars. To honor the special places and memories involved in their courtship, I also included a gift certificate to Panera’s and two boxes of Tic-Tacs. I tied them all with hand-braided ribbon. Although I don’t have much experience in the craft department, I have to admit these didn’t turn out half bad.

  As I survey everyone’s hard work and hear Jeff and Kiera’s effusive praise, a profound sense of melancholy and loss settles over me like a thick fog on a rainy morning. Yes, this is all pretty much perfect. I step back into the shadows under the eaves and wrap my arms around myself as I try to remember the last time I believed in perfect. The sad thing is that even though it’s currently all around me, begging me to lap it up like a thirsty kitten licking cream, I just can’t let myself believe.

  A sense of utter isolation overtakes me as I watch Jeff cradle Kiera gently against his chest in an agonizingly sensual first dance to Bryan Adam’s Heaven. Couples seem to have broken out like a virus. Even Heather, who usually keeps men at a very polite distance with her good humor, is tucked in very neatly under Tyler’s chin, with her cheek resting on his broad chest. She seems oblivious to his large hand splayed across her lower back and hip, but then I notice Heather flush as Tyler murmurs something in her ear and gives her hip a squeeze—perhaps she’s not as oblivious as I first thought.

  Denny and Gwendolyn are dancing a very traditional waltz. In fact, I’d be willing to bet Denny has seen the inside of an Arthur Murray dance studio a day or two in his life. He is holding his own with the socialite and, interestingly, showing more than just a polite interest in the soon-to-be-former Mrs. Buckhold, who appears to be thriving under his attentive care.

  Jeff’s sister, Donda, is twirling a very contented, squealing Becca in her arms. Apparently, the key to keeping Princess Peanut happy is to have brightly colored hair and dangly earrings. Even Mindy has found herself a dance partner in Jeff’s nephew. As I study Gabriel’s body language, I am surprised to find that although he seems nervous, he is not an unwilling participant. He has the stiff, gangly movements of a preteen, but the affable, confident, yet shy charm of his uncle. It is clear by the way Mindy hangs on his every word, she is drawn to him like a hummingbird to nectar.

  As the newlywed’s first dance ends, they transition into the father-daughter dance. Denny walks behind Kiera and he puts his arms around her shoulders. When Heartland’s I Loved Her First begins to play, they begin to sway in time to the music, in their own adaptive dance. Jeff walks over to the sidelines and collects Mindy. He grins down at her and places her feet on the top of his, as he carefully navigates her through her first ever father-daughter dance.

  The sight is too much for me as vivid visions come clattering back into my consciousness of a time, a lifetime ago, where perfect once lived. The sudden assault on my system is overpowering and I end up pulling some weirdly complex yoga/dance hybrid move to plop my butt onto the deck, as quickly as I can, before I pass out. Memories play in my mind like a psychedelic slide show. My heart clutches as I remember standing on my Daddy’s feet as we danced, me in my pink tights and purple tutu with silver sparkles, in the living room of our walk-up apartment. I still remember my mom putting up my long black hair in a small bun and securing them with my Hello Kitty barrettes. Those vignettes are my last memories of perfect. Shortly after that, perfect vanished from my life to be replaced by waves of unending pain that shredded my soul.

  I draw my knees up to my chest, fold my arms over my knees and bury my head with a heavy sigh, as tears slide down my cheeks. As I try to repair my wall of silence and polite distance from the world, I feel a butterfly-light touch on the top of my head. I jerk my head up, alarmed to be caught off guard.

  “It’s okay, Miss Tara,” assures Mindy as she meets my startled expression with a somber look. “I just came over to see what broked your heart today. You look really bummed again. I still think you should dance with Mr. Jeff.”

  Her uncannily accurate reading of my current mood gives me a taste of what people always say after they’ve had an encounter with me. It makes me wonder if Mindy and I share more than just a tragic past. “Thanks for checking on me, Mindy Mouse,” I reply, wiping my face carefully with a cocktail napkin, trying not to lay waste to any more of my artfully applied makeup. “I’m sure your daddy’s a great dancer, but I’m fine. Weddings just make me sad.”

  I glance across the dance floor on the patio and I notice the piano player studying me with great interest. Hmm, maybe weddings aren’t so bad after all.

  I watch the expressions flit across her face as she tries to put what I’ve just signed to her into some kind of context. I’m more than a little disappointed when I don’t see any signs of recognition. I mentally kick myself for my own arrogance. I’m not sure why I thought she would even remember me. It has probably been more than a decade since she’s seen me, and just because I once thought the sun rose and set at the command of this ethereal creature doesn’t mean she knows me from Adam. Once again, I am reminded that it really sucks to be the marginally gifted little brother of a super-star. I know without a doubt that she not only remembers Rory, but also, most likely, still secretly carries a torch for him. Almost every woman I’ve ever met, young or old, seems to—much to the amusement and occasional chagrin of his wife, Renee.

  I guess my expectations were a bit lofty. I was hoping for something closer to a cheesy music video. The kind where the girl finds the hunk at the class reunion is really the skinny nerd with acne who used to offer to carry her books in junior high. I was that kid. I had glasses, braces, and acne. I was the trifecta of nerdiness. If you add the fact that I had the build of a dancer—without the grace—paired with a fondness for Broadway musicals and big band music, well...I was pretty much a lost cause. It didn’t help that my brother was everything I wasn’t. In a family of dark, suave Irishmen with jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, my red hair is so light that most people consider it blond and my eyes are a
nondescript murky green. As I’ve grown up, the playing fields have leveled out some. At six-foot-two and one hundred and ninety, I’m actually bigger than Rory now, and my rock-climbing keeps me in great shape. It’s a blow to my ego that she doesn’t recognize me, but hardly surprising since nearly everything about me—both inside and out—has changed in the last decade.

  I scrutinize Tara while she talks to the little flower girl and it is clear that she has undergone some changes in the last dozen years or so as well. The Tara I remember attacked life with irrepressible energy and optimism—with a work ethic that would make a Navy Seal scream for mercy. Whatever happened seems to not only have dimmed her inner light and taken the wind out of her sails, but also made her jumpy around any type of male attention. I don’t even want to contemplate the blows she has suffered to bring her to this point. She seems like a fragile shell of her former self. It’s so sad because—when she occupied Rory’s world—Tara was a masterful sight to behold. She was beauty and light, emotion and pain. Most of all, she was poetry and art in motion. I fell for her hard when I was about six. I remember telling my mom when I grew big and strong, I was going to marry her. Of course, that was before my own life was knocked off course by a series of blows. I’m a far different person than I was as an idealistic six-year-old.

  For me, the first blow started innocently enough. I was a few weeks shy of my eleventh birthday and I had just returned from music camp when I woke up covered in an itchy rash. At first my parents didn’t think much of it, figuring I had been exposed to poison oak or ivy during camp. However, the next day, I got a splitting headache, I became extremely lethargic, and my neck and joints became stiff. My life became a big, scary blur filled with doctors, nurses, needles, medicines, tests, and machines. It all seemed never-ending.

  After a very painful lumbar puncture, they determined I had meningitis. Of course, I was too young to understand the ramifications and much too sick to care. All I knew was that a couple days ago, I was busy playing my piano, riding my bike, and pestering my big brother, but now I was in the hospital hooked up to half a dozen different machines. As my body fought off the bacteria, it became increasingly more difficult for me to remain conscious, and I floated in a strange dreamland between life and death. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.