Chapter Twelve
The final notes sounded, fading softly from the concert hall. Angelica took a breath and lowered her violin. The bright lights blinded, but the applause was thunderous. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.
She smiled and bowed slightly again, wishing for the privacy of her Paris hotel room.
Staring out into the darkness beyond the bright lights illuminating the stage she couldn’t help comparing it with the open-air stage in Bryceville.
She couldn’t see anyone, not that she’d recognize anyone here. She smiled again and slowly walked off the stage. Another concert to check off. Only a couple of more and she’d be heading back to New York.
Once in the dressing area they’d assigned her, she quickly wiped her violin and placed it in the case.
Congratulations and well wishes were called through the semi-open area where other musicians were talking, laughing and getting ready to leave.
A couple looked grumpy, but she ignored them, wondering if they felt as lonely and uncertain as she herself did.
She touched the strings gently, remembering the sunshine and breeze when she’d played that song in Kentucky.
What would the audience tonight have thought if she segued into Orange Blossom Special after that Mozart piece?
She shook her head. Maybe she should try it just once to see what happened.
To see if she could purge the ache in her heart that had been steadfast since she left Smoky Hollow.
“These folks ever hear Orange Blossom Special?” a familiar voice asked behind her.
Angelica spun around, unable to believe her eyes.
Was that truly Kirk Devon standing there—wearing a dark suit, brilliant white shirt and red power tie?
He looked amazing. Her heart stuttered and then began beating furiously.
She felt it take wing. Could he really be here in Paris? In this backstage area?
“Kirk?”
He nodded, his eyes watching her intently. She knew that look, had thought she’d never see it again. Her breathing had stopped. For a heartbeat time stood still. Then she forced herself to take a breath.
“What are you doing here?”
Her eyes searched every inch of that beloved face. She couldn’t read him at all.
“I came to see you. Hear you.”
“Could you—hear me, I mean?”
She never expected to see him again—especially not in Paris, France!
“Most of it, I think. Watching you was enough.”
She stared at him, her heart racing.
“I didn’t know you were coming to Paris.”
“I didn’t know myself until I bought my ticket. I went to New York to see you. But you weren’t there.”
“I’ve been on tour for several weeks.”
“So I found out.”
He stepped closer and pulled an envelope from his inside pocket.
“I brought you pictures of the sculpture. I told you I’d let you see it. Always keep my word. This seemed the best way.”
For a moment she almost cried. He had come only to show her the finished art work? Trying desperately to gather her wits, she stared at the envelope. He held it out and she took it, almost snatching it away when she saw her fingers were trembling.
Opening it, she withdrew a half dozen photos.
One was of the complete work, still on the floor of his studio.
It looked amazing. She’d known it would.
She looked at the next, a close-up of the trees, another a close-up of the cliff.
The next—the woman on the edge. She stared at it for a long moment—it reflected yearning and hope with a hint of trepidation.
How had he managed that with chisel and hammer? It was amazing.
She wanted to tell him so, but was afraid her voice wouldn’t work. Her throat ached with tears. She’d longed to see him for weeks. Almost as if in answer to prayer he showed up and it was only to fulfill a promise to show her the carving.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally whispered, blinking to hold back tears.
“Almost as beautiful as its inspiration, eh?” he said slowly, stepping closer.
She looked up at that, tilting her head back to better see him as he drew near with each step.
“The thing is, Angelica, I got to thinking.”
He stopped for a moment, licked his lips and took a breath.
“Ever since I can remember, Devon men can’t keep their women. You know about my granddad and father. And me with Alice. I thought maybe there was something lacking in me.”
“Nothing’s lacking in you,” she exclaimed involuntarily, hurt that he even thought such a thing.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve been a bit inflexible. Thought I knew exactly what I wanted. Only—seems like some things are worth bending for.”
She frowned, not knowing where he was going.
“Like maybe spending my life outside of Smoky Hollow.”
“But you love it there. You’re an integral part of the community. What would your grandfather do if you left? Your neighbors?”
Was he serious? What did he mean?
“I expect they’ll muddle along,” he said, laughing softly and shaking his head. “I’m not the lynchpin of Smoky Hollow, and I do have a right to life on my terms.”
He was close enough now he could reach out to brush back a tendril of hair, his fingers skimming her cheek.
She swallowed hard, holding her breath for fear of giving herself away. The commotion in the rest of the backstage area faded as she could only see Kirk. Was this how he focused when trying to hear? Did the rest of the world vanish?
“Am I enough, Angelica?”
“For what?” she asked, her knees threatening to give way.
Her heart pounded, blossoming with hope.
“For you to share a life with?”
She blinked, tears giving way.
“Oh, honey, don’t cry. Please!” He wiped the tears with his thumb.
“Would you marry me? Think about it before you answer. I’ll go wherever you wish.
We don’t have to live in Smoky Hollow. I can carve wood anywhere there’s space enough and light.
I love you, Angelica. I never thought I’d fall in love like this.
I know our family doesn’t have a good track record with women, but I’ll love you until the day I die and do my best to make you the happiest woman on the earth.
But I can’t go on without you. When you left, you took the sunshine with you.
I thought a couple of times… I mean, I hoped some of your reactions meant… Anyway, think about it, if you would.”
She shook her head.
“Okay, just a thought.” He looked around, as if noticing the others in the space. No one seemed to be paying them particular attention.
“No, no! I can’t believe you think I need to spend a moment of consideration. I wanted you to ask me before I left. But you didn’t.”
He looked back at that. “You wanted me to ask? I almost did—at least to have you stay a little longer, let us explore this feeling. Only I was never sure you felt the same way. You’re a bit naive and I thought you were experimenting.
Only with me it went deeper. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. ”
Her smile lit his world.
“I love you, Kirk. I think I have since we splashed in the creek together. I never had anyone to have fun with before.”
“And I never knew.”
Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her with all the pent up desire he’d had to deal with since August.
A few minutes later he pulled back. Both were breathing hard. Several musicians clapped and Angelica smiled up at him in confusion.
“Are you done here?” he asked.
“For tonight.”
She smiled at the musicians and looked back at Kirk. Had she just dreamed this? If so, she wanted to never awaken.
“Then let’s go for a late supper and talk. Explanations and plans. We’ve got a lifetime ahead of us to deal with.”
She laughed. “I’m ready.”
They found a small bistro, ordered a light supper and talked the night away.
He explained his fear he couldn’t offer her enough.
She explained her hurt when he seemed to be so standoffish.
They laughed as they remembered different incidents—from different viewpoints.
Both agreed it had been a fantastic summer.
One they could repeat for decades to come—knowing now they would spend those decades together.
“Let’s get married in Paris,” he said as they waited for the taxi that would take them to their hotels.
“Now?”
She looked up, stunned, then grinned.
“Why not?”
“It’ll mean no big wedding and reception,” he warned.
“You’re the one with all the friends, if you don’t care, I don’t. I think it’s a brilliant idea. Could we really?”
“We’ll find out. So I take it the answer is yes? You never said,” he said as a taxi swerved in toward the curb.
“Yes! I love you, Kirk Devon, and I always will. We can break the pattern of your family and be the first to live until we’re old and gray and still loving each other.”
He kissed her while the taxi driver patiently waited. It was Paris, after all.