Chapter 11 Reese
REESE
For a moment, they were quiet, both gazing into the fire. Bing Crosby’s I’ll Be Home For Christmas came 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. “Everything would have 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.”
“Did you know it was my studio next door?” Reese asked.
“I did, yeah. I went down a big old Sugarville Grove rabbit hole too. Googled the studio and you—learned about your career and your return to Vermont. Truthfully, I could have found another building, although the place was already outfitted for a gym, but I decided not to.” He shook his head.
“This will sound crazy, but I thought maybe it was God’s way of telling me to try and reconnect with you. ”
“Oh, Roan, is that really what you thought? Because, if so, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not creepy?” He smiled as he leaned closer to wrap a finger around a lock of her hair.
“Most people would say it’s a little weird, but they wouldn’t understand what we once meant to each other.”
“No, they would not,” Roan said.
Reese looked back at the fire, the warmth of the moment fading slightly. “You know, your mom saw you clearly. Saw who you really were.” She paused. “My father never did that for me.”
Roan’s hand stilled in her hair. “What do you mean?”
“He had this image in his head of who I should be. The perfect ballerina. The perfect daughter.” She took a breath.
“Dancers are expected to maintain a certain weight, a certain look. And my father was constantly monitoring what I ate, commenting on my body. I developed some pretty disordered eating patterns.”
“Reese, I’m so sorry.”
“It got worse after I went professional. The pressure was constant. I was either restricting or bingeing, always feeling guilty about eating, always worried about my weight.” She set her nearly empty drink on the coffee table and shifted to face him.
His hands found her ankles, drawing her legs across his lap, just watching her as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.
“When I retired and came home, I realized I didn’t know how to have a normal relationship with food. I was terrified of eating, but also resentful that I’d spent so many years denying myself.”
“Is that still something you struggle with?” Roan asked.
“Some days more than others. But last Christmas, Mia offered an Italian cooking course for beginners. I decided to take it, mostly to see if I could change my relationship with food.” Reese closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her calves.
“It might sound silly, but it was transformative. Learning to cook for pleasure, not just fuel. Allowing myself to enjoy food without guilt. Mia made it feel like cooking was an act of love, not punishment.”
“That doesn’t sound silly at all.”
“I’m still working on it. But I can eat cookies now without spiraling. I can enjoy a meal without calculating calories. That’s progress.”
“I get it. The thing you loved was actually hurting you. It was the same for me.”
“That’s right. I loved dancing. But the culture around it—the perfectionism, the body standards, my father’s pressure—it did damage. Just like stunts gave you an incredible career but also nearly paralyzed you.”
“We’re quite a pair.”
“Broken but healing?”
“Something like that.” Roan brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “So what do we do now? Will you give me a second chance? Even though I hurt you so badly?”
She looked down at her lap. Was this insane? Diving back into a relationship with the man who broke her spirit and her heart? She should be cautious. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t quite bring herself to be so. She lifted her gaze. “I’d like a second chance with you. More than anything.”
“I’d like that more than anything too,” Roan said. “And right now, all I want to do is kiss you.”
She drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I also want to do this right. Not rush it. Not mess it up.”
“How would kissing me mess it up?”
“Because we’ve been drinking. And it’s late. Our guards are down. I don’t want you to regret it tomorrow.” His thumb grazed her cheek. “But heaven help me, you’re so beautiful.”
Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “I would like a kiss. If that sways you one direction or the other.”
His eyes darkened, intent on hers. “It might.”
He didn’t ease into it. One second they were sitting close and the next his mouth was on hers.
His kiss was firm, certain, like a man, not the boy he’d been when she’d last felt his mouth on hers.
Her body responded before her heart could catch up.
She angled closer without thinking and grabbed the front of his shirt, as if she were about to fall off a boat and into the sea.
When he finally pulled back, it seemed reluctant, like stopping was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Kissing you is just like it always was, only better.”
“Yes, exactly,” she said.
“This feels like a dream. A dream come true.”
He kissed her again but pulled apart before it got too heated. They were adults but he understood her values, how seriously she took physical affection. He’d never tried to push her when they were teenagers. And just like then, he was still the perfect gentleman.
The song changed and Dean Martin’s voice filled the room, crooning about frightful weather and a delightful fire. She glanced toward the window to see snow falling steadily.
Reese laughed. “Is it just me or does the playlist seem a little on the nose for us tonight?”
“Let It Snow coming on right now is pretty funny,” Roan said. “Maybe God’s telling me we better just sit tight, right here in your cozy house.”
“In all seriousness, I think you should stay. You’ve had a cocktail. And it’s really coming down out there. You shouldn’t drive home. And the fire is so delightful.”
He laughed, then kissed her again. “I have no strong desire to go out into the cold.”
“So let it snow. You can stay here on the couch.” She said it quickly, before she could second-guess herself. “We can have breakfast in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She stood, needing to move, to do something with the nervous energy coursing through her. “I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow. The couch is actually really comfortable. I fall asleep on it all the time.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She started toward the hallway closet, then stopped and turned back. He was watching her, his expression unreadable.
“Roan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you finally came home.”
His smile was soft, genuine. “Me too.”
Reese woke the next morning to the smell of coffee drifting up from downstairs.
She quickly threw on a sweater over her flannel pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and headed downstairs, excited to see Roan.
But he wasn’t there. He’d left a note by the coffee maker that he had to teach a class early at the gym but that he would call her later.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and went to the front room to enjoy it in the living room by the fireplace. A layer of fresh snow sparkled under the sun outside the windows. Inside, warm and cozy. And she had the whole day to do as she pleased.