Maeve's Symphony (17 page)

“Hey…what? Wait a minute...” Maeve stammered as the limo gradually slowed, gliding to a stop beneath the canopy of the Ambassador Theatre, the off-Broadway spot where she had performed in her theatrical debut. “Wh…what's the deal?”

The door next to Maeve came open. Kassidy snagged Maeve's glass and with a powerful group shove, the girls pushed her out of the vehicle, three sets of eyes sparkling in a display of pure sass, their mischievous smiles burning bright.

Maeve trembled. Something big was afoot, and all she could do was…nothing. Nothing but ride the current.

“Have fun!” Aileen waggled her brows.

“See you later!” Kassidy offered an impudent royal wave.

“Go inside! Go inside!” Siobhan shooed her away with the brushing gesture of delicate fingertips.

Dumbstruck, Maeve stood frozen at the entry of the theater, staring after the winking, fast-fading rear lights of the limo as it pulled away. Late hour and all, people buzzed past, taking no notice of a woman with rhinestone butterflies in her fully coiffed red hair who stood attired in a floor-length chiffon gown swirled with every shade of pastel green and blue imaginable.

Typical New York.

“Maevie, I'd love for you to join me.”

Her throat went tight the instant she heard the nickname and Josh's smooth, deep voice. She swallowed, but the lump went nowhere. Her heart rate took off like a rocket.

“Josh…?”

He stood at the entrance, his smile the beacon to her soul. He propped the door open with his shoulder and offered his hand. He only had one to spare. The other was occupied with the task of holding a single white rose.

She tried again. “Josh, what's going on?”

“Come inside and I'll show you.”

She took his hand and crossed the threshold, gasping and what she discovered.

The lobby looked like a fairy land. Majestic marble columns and curved archways had been decorated by tiny white twinkle lights that also adorned the greenery, the trunks and branches of potted trees. An elaborate crystal chandelier formed the centerpiece of a soaring ceiling, and it had been set to dim. Hundreds of sequin accents in Maeve's gown captured that light and split it into sparkling radiance as she moved. As she attempted to draw air.

“You take my breath away every time I look at you, Maeve Callahan.”

He surrendered the rose, but caught her fingertips and brushed a silky kiss against the back of her hand.

Maeve couldn't garner the presence of mind to speak.

Burgundy carpet softened their footfalls as Josh led the way inside, to a stage she knew as well as she knew her own name. Forevermore, this place would be the scene of her first substantial and critically acclaimed effort at song, dance and performing. At the lip of the stage stood a vase overflowing with matching roses, their subtle sweetness mixing with the inbred musky aroma so inherent to this aged venue. Maeve gasped, and an aching, searching heart crumbled beneath the power of Josh's loving efforts.

Maeve had no idea what to say or do. Rather, she stared as he retreated a few rows back, and picked up a theater program from the top of one of the gray velvet seats.

“I have a confession to make.” He re-approached.

“I'm all braced.”

She attempted playfulness, but his intensity wrapped around her, soft and supple, holding her steady—in love's luxury. He extended the shiny, mint-condition theater program he had retrieved. Maeve looked at the cover and her world teetered. Her mind went dizzy and her blood rushed. The cover was marked by the show title, and date, of her debut.

Josh stepped close. “You were absolutely incredible in
Love Me Always
.”

Tears poured in an instant. She held the program in a shaky grip, trying to be careful with a piece he had obviously tended well. “You were there?” Tremors blazed a path from her soul to her heart to her disbelieving mind. “You were at opening night? At my debut?”

“There was no way I'd miss it.” Josh's whisper cut the air.

Maeve gasped, unable to wrap her head around the revelation. “But…but I had no idea…I would have—we could have—”

“Could have what, Maevie?” His tone didn't incite or condemn, it simply questioned. “There was no way forward back then. Oh, I had every intention of seeing you afterward, celebrating, talking about the future, about us. I was a man on a mission.” While she attempted assimilation, Josh paused, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. “Then, I watched you. Once I saw you on this stage, every ounce of my bravado vanished.”

“Why?” Maeve choked the word, stunned beyond comprehension. “I would have found a way—I swear I would have.”

“And in so doing, you would have sacrificed what God intended.” He shook his head. “No. That wouldn't be right. You came to life. You commanded that production, and there I was, at the tail end of my college playing career, realizing I had to step back. I couldn't get in the way of what you were meant to do, what you were meant to be.”

“I was meant to be with you.”

She could have sworn she saw him crumble, the mighty Josh Andrews wavering like tall grass in the wind.

The atmosphere in the theatre was redolent with a depth of love that had been tasted, tested, and now pulsed with an ache for reclamation. Maeve glossed her fingertips across the shiny face of the booklet and her throat jammed so tight she couldn't speak.

“Seeing you then left me a wreck. I wonder if you'll ever comprehend how much I missed you. I wonder if you'll ever understand how much I wanted to make things right, and win you back. When I saw you in Detroit, when I gave Liam the invitation to Lincoln Center, it was like reliving this”—he gestured to encompass the empty theater—”all over again. Only this time, I refuse to back off. I refuse to let anything get in the way of us ever again.”

The aged auditorium whispered to her in creaks of old wood, in muffled noises from back stage, from the lobby. Josh let her ingest, and Maeve did her best to find equilibrium.

“I did my time, Maeve. And so did you. It shows in your guarded eyes, your careful demeanor, and quiet reserve. My penance was the time we had to spend apart. My growth and testing came in the form of temptations that, in the end, I found very easy to rebuke because of the fire you started in my heart. It never dimmed. It never extinguished. How about you?”

The time had come—the time meant for them. The time had come to open herself, to cut free and release the sorrow, the longing, the fears, and embrace the joy Josh had always given her.

“I want the space in your heart that I owned all those years ago. You were then, and you are now, a woman to be cherished. Please forgive me—forgive us—for a fall that God's already forgotten. We've atoned. Making love the way we did was misguided, but loving each other wasn't. We've atoned, and that love was real. It remains true to this very second.”

“For me, too, Josh.” Though she could hardly take it all in. “This is a blessing I dreamed of every day that we were apart.” Tears poured down her face, an uncontrollable release of joy and love. Her voice, usually strong and smooth under the most stressful performance conditions, wavered horribly. “I dreamed of you; I wished for you, for so long.”

Overcome, home at last, she sank against him, eyes fluttering closed as he cupped her face, typically strong yet tender and reverent. A soft hum sounded deep in her throat as he tucked her close and thumb-stroked the moisture from her cheeks. When her eyes came open, he filled her world, head bending low the instant before he kissed her salty, tear-moistened lips.

Soon—far too soon—he stepped carefully away. This was a man of honor. A man matured—confronting a woman who had matured as well. Josh Andrews was a man of heart and passion…full of love. Love for her. Chains crumbled to dust. Overwhelming weights, the measure of which she hadn't been fully aware, until now, evaporated into a silky, heavenly mist.

Her one-and-only. Her forever love.

“We made mistakes, but we did a lot of things right, too. That counts. That matters. Most important of all, we love each other, Maeve, and love is never wrong. Furthermore, nothing is a failure that ends in a meeting place with God.”

At last, and for always, she believed that Truth—believed in him—believed in God's grace. “Amen.”

He drew her close, aligning her gently against his side. Maeve rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and sank into a pillow of contentment and peace that sent a shower of sweet music through her soul. For a long, blissful interlude, he allowed her to rest in a world laced by tender allure.

“Be mine, Maeve. For always. Be mine.”

Maeve looked into his eyes and melted into tomorrow with nothing in her heart but the two of them. “I could ask for no greater blessing.”

 

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