Sure enough the surprise he’d planned for Brittany had backfired in his face, and he regretted it now. Deeply. He’d wanted to apologize to Brittany, for all of it. Writing the play without asking her first. Sending it along to the producer. Telling her the way and when he did.
Back in the cabin, he poured himself a scotch and opened his fridge door, only to find it empty. There was a half jar of mayonnaise, some wilted lettuce and tomato, half a loaf of stale bread, and a jar of olives. So much for spending a romantic evening with the girl of his heart.
Everything had gone wrong. Perhaps if the play had been accepted, she’d have been more agreeable. Better yet, if it had been turned down, he’d never have mentioned it at all, and she’d be with him right now, not hurting and saying hateful things about him to her mother.
The worst part of this scenario was that he’d been wrong to think she’d be happy. She was a strong, brave, gutsy woman who would naturally be furious that she hadn’t been consulted. It was a macho, ignorant man-thing to do. He’d been playing around with the idea of a story loosely based on her and her dreams, and he couldn’t talk to her about it since he was not here with her when the idea took root. There he was, stuck in Charleston, alone in his family’s plantation home with the kids at school and Melanie in the hospital. He had nothing better to do than to sit and work on the play.
It had come to life, as naturally as breathing air when she was around. Words and scenes had typed themselves. She was there in every thought, every word, every emotion, and damn, but it was good. He’d known it immediately, and trusting his feelings he’d pitched the idea when he’d submitted the fantasy play.
He hadn’t set out to hurt her, or betray her trust. He’d never expected that reaction from her, but he understood how wounded she must have felt. He’d overstepped his boundaries, and he had no one to blame except himself.
Chase swallowed the last of his scotch, dumped the food from the refrigerator into a garbage bin, cleaning up the cabin the best he could. He left the key on the table, not wanting to face Brittany in the morning. He needed to get to New York and pull the plug on that play. It wasn’t his story to tell. And then he’d have to learn to live without her.
Because once a fool, always a fool, and he didn’t deserve a second chance. She should go to Miami, live her dream and forget all about him. He was a jaded son-of-a-bitch, and she could do a lot better than hanging around a frustrated playwright. He wasn’t good company to himself, and she was like a brightly plumaged bird that was destined to fly.
* * *
The following morning Brittany was working at the restaurant when Juanita appeared. She said good-morning to Taylor, then asked if she could have a moment with Brittany alone.
Brittany exchanged a glance with her sister, who nodded, a furrow of concern knotted between her brows.
To add to the worry, Juanita took hold of Brittany’s hand and led her outside to the back patio.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Did you have a fight with Mr. Chase?” Juanita asked gently. “The cabin is empty. He left the key on the table. He’s gone.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she used the back of her hand to swipe them away. She loved all the sisters as if they were her own daughters.
“We did have words last night. But I didn’t expect him to leave without saying anything.” Brittany sank onto the bench seat and Juanita sat beside her, putting an arm around her. “I was kind of harsh on him, but he deserved it.”
Her insides hurt. She’d cried herself to sleep, and her eyes were puffy behind the sunglasses she wore to disguise the dark circles. Sometime during the wee hours of the morning she’d come to the conclusion that perhaps they could work this out. She’d romanticized that they’d both admit they were wrong and they’d fall into each other’s arms, and laugh about it twenty years from now.
Instead, he’d snuck off in the middle of the night. No goodbyes. No sense of guilt or remorse. Like a rat, come daylight he’d simply disappeared.
She put a hand to her chest and massaged her heart. “It’s for the best, really. He has plans and so do I. They didn’t jive. The plans I mean.”
“What is “jive”?” Juanita sniffed and rubbed Brittany’s back. “He loves you. You love him. Is that not ‘jive’?”
Brittany’s smile quivered. “No. You’re wrong, my dear friend.” She leaned over and kissed Juanita’s cheek. “We had a romance, but it was not love. It was not meant to be. We had fun together and were good for awhile, but both of us knew it wouldn’t last.”
“I saw you together yesterday. The spark between you was real. When you looked at each other, I felt the love and it warmed my old heart.”
“Your heart is not old, and what you saw was chemistry. Not love.” She wiped a tear that had fallen down her cheek, and straightened her shoulders. “Love is honesty and respect. It’s about putting someone’s feelings ahead of your own, to think about them first and foremost. He wrote a play about my life,” she cried, “and he didn’t even ask me. I would have said no. I did say no, and that’s why we fought.”
“I’m so sorry. Did you read the play? It wasn’t to your liking?”
“No, I didn’t read it. I don’t know anything about it, but I do know that he should have asked me first.” Juanita handed her a tissue from her pocket, and she mopped her sore eyes.
“But, Brittany, what if he wrote expressing his love and admiration for you?” She bobbed her head and her dark eyes were full of compassion. “See? It could be easily explained, and then you can forgive him and you will both be married. Here, in Paradise Cove, of course.” She gave her a hug. “Si? You forgive him, right?”
“No, Juanita.” It sounded so easy the way Juanita said it, but their problems were more complicated than that. “I might have if he’d hung around and talked to me. But he didn’t. He left without a word. What does that say about him and his feelings for me? Love should be strong enough to survive a fight or two, don’t you think?”
“Si. Miguel and I have had our share of fights over the years. Like coming here to America. Big fight. Huge. But he was right. We nearly died, and would have if not for Doctor Sean.” Juanita stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. “But, he was right to take this chance. A better life for us all. Perhaps when Mr. Chase wrote that play, he wanted to give you a better life too.”
“It doesn’t happen that way.” She stuffed the tissue in her apron pocket. “I wish it did.”
“Keep your heart open, and listen to what it’s telling you.”
Brittany stood up. “It’s telling me not to be a fool. That I’m always impulsive and jump too quick. I need to grow up and be responsible for myself, and do what is right for me.” She tilted her chin in the air, determination flowing through her body. “I’ll return to Miami and make a new life for myself. I’ll be older and wiser than before.”
“We will miss you when you’re gone.” Juanita wiped away a fresh tear.
“And I will miss you all too. But I’ll only be an hour away. Not like New York which is a three hour flight.” To think that she’d actually considered his idea.
“Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy,” she said with a sniffle.
“Happiness is not easy to find, but we get a glimpse now and then, and that for most people is enough.”
“Not for the likes of you.” Juanita smiled fondly. “A passionate, glorious butterfly—that’s you. And you will have it all one day. Watch and see.”
Brittany returned to the kitchen where Taylor waited. “Well?” her sister asked, hands on hips.
“He left.” She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, her fingers trembling. “Without a word.”
“Why, that son-of-a-bitch.”
“Dirty, stinking rat.” Brittany put some heat into the words, although she didn’t really think they were true.
“Jerk-face. Moron.” Taylor sputtered. “He’s a complete and utter fool.”
“And a douche bag.” Brit’s voice
broke. “A sneaky, squeaky douche bag!”
Running out of adjectives, they started to laugh and cry and hug each other. Then customers came in and they dried their tears and went to work.
Chase was gone. Brittany didn’t hear from him, and didn’t expect to either. They had said all that there was to say, and goodbyes were not necessary. She put one foot in front of the other, and carried on, keeping her grief to herself. Not that she fooled anyone, but at least her family had enough good sense not to mention him, or talk about her loss.
Days moved slowly, and happy hours were dismal affairs. They only had three cottages rented, families who would stop by for a drink and some free food, then wander off again.
It was mid-September, hot, the air heavy with humidity, and Brittany felt the weight of it more than usual. A week after Chase left, Brittany packed her bags and headed back to the life she’d so recently left behind. No longer pregnant, and not nearly as miserable as the day she’d left.
Even though her heart was aching and she missed Chase more than she had expected, in some ways she felt blessed. He had given her something, a self-respect she’d never known before. He had told her she was special, and his feelings had been genuine, she knew that. Whether or not she ever saw him again, he was a part of her now.
For she knew she was worthy of love, he had been right about that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Chase left Paradise Cove and drove to Charleston to say his goodbyes and collect his belongings, and Max. His brother-in-law had a good prognosis and would be in extensive physical therapy—which to his immediate family was happy news. Chase’s presence in Charleston was no longer needed, so he returned to his apartment in the city, and the job he abhorred. He would quit when the time was right; in the meantime he put his suit on every morning and showed up to work.
He couldn’t count the number of times that he dialed Brittany’s cell phone number and hung up before it could ring. He had betrayed her, he realized it now. He’d hurt her, and he’d never meant to do that. It wasn’t in his genetic make-up to be unkind.
While writing the play about a dancer’s life, he’d convinced himself that it was a tribute to her. He’d expected her to be delighted—after all she was being given an opportunity to be a Broadway star. But she’d never wanted to be one. The stage had been her mother’s role, her mother’s dream. Brittany was born to dance.
Writing that play had not been for her, as he’d once believed. It had solely, selfishly, been for him. Not because he was cruel or heartless or any of the things she probably claimed him to be. His reasons were more complicated than that. True, he had wanted to be a huge success. Desperately. It would free him from the job he was sick of, and give him the creative outlet he craved.
More importantly, he’d wanted it for her, for the two of them.
They were good together. Damn good. He didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to have her with him, day and night. Not in Miami, thousands of miles away. Out of reach. Out of mind. He had envisioned what this play could do for them. Success, both of them happy in their careers, happy in love. If that made him selfish, so be it.
He had spoken to the producer, Melvin Hauge, the day he returned to town. Melvin had promised that he’d be making a decision on both plays soon—until Chase told him the second one was no longer available.
“Why is that?” he’d demanded to know, his voice no longer friendly. “I glanced at it right away. It caught my attention, more so than the time-travel fantasy.”
Chase realized that he was probably committing career suicide. It was a small town when it came to Broadway, producers talked.
“I do too,” he’d answered. “But the lady I told you about, she doesn’t want the world to know her story.”
“You could rework it, couldn’t you? Change it so that it’s a work of fiction. People do that all the time.”
“I couldn’t.” He swallowed, knowing that if he went forward with the play, he’d forever destroy Brittany’s trust in him. But if he refused, likely he could kiss his chance at Broadway goodbye. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry. I will likely decline the first proposal as it was the weakest of the two.”
“I understand.” Acid indigestion rolled in his stomach and he popped another over-the-counter tablet in his mouth. He knew he had made the only decision possible to him, but it didn’t make it easier. “Thank you for your decision, Melvin. And for the opportunity.”
That had been a week ago, and now he was biding time. Planning his next move. This job was stale, New York was cold and bitter, and a young woman was in Miami rebuilding a new life. He knew he could go and offer her financial assistance, but he had a strong hunch that she’d resent him even more if he did.
* * *
“So you’re telling me we can get a grant?” Brittany was on her balcony at City Place Doral, watching the activities below and yakking on the phone with Claire. She had found this small one-bedroom apartment to rent, fully furnished, and was in love with her new digs.
The location was perfect, minutes from downtown Miami, and had a vast array of shops, restaurants, entertainment—everything a girl needed, right outside her door. It didn’t come cheap, but Brittany had decided that she was worth it. And would prove it, if she didn’t go broke first.
She returned inside and shut her patio door, keeping the humidity outside where it belonged. “That is wonderful news!” She walked into the kitchen, grabbed an ice-cold water from the fridge, and screwed the cap off. “Any idea how much the grant will be and if it’ll cover the cost of a new building?”
“No, I don’t have all the details yet. Janine only called me a few minutes ago to tell me about it. I wanted to share the news with you since you seem to be the one holding back.”
“I’m not holding back. I want this too.” She walked over to the patio door, looking out at the view. “But I’m being practical. I’m not willing to take a huge risk, not if it puts my family’s resort in jeopardy.”
“I understand. You told us that before.” Claire spoke in her melodious voice, sounding calm and confident. “But this changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“It is exciting. But until we know the details, I can’t rush in.” Brittany hesitated before clarifying, “We do have it, right? The grant?”
“No,” Claire said slowly. “We don’t have it yet. Apparently, the application begins in April and we should know for certain by the end of the summer.”
“Claire, you just said we had a grant.” Brittany went back to the kitchen and put her bottled water on the granite counter.
“I was being positive. Janine thinks we’re a shoo-in, and so do I.” Claire cleared her throat. “The grant is from the Florida Department of State, the Division of Cultural Affairs and it’s available for Cultural Facilities. So you see our theater would certainly qualify.”
“You mean the theater that we have yet to buy.” Brit flicked a strand of hair back from her face. “What if someone else has a bigger or better theater they want this grant for? Or they’re better connected? I’m sure they will have a long list of applicants, and our credentials aren’t exactly impressive. What do we know about running a business or a theater?”
“Brittany, when did you get so negative? You used to be such a good-time girl, and now it’s Miss Practabillity.”
“That’s not even a word.” Brit snickered. It was true, though. She had changed. For the better, she hoped. “But I like it.”
“Sure it is. It’s Jamaican, for being stubborn and stuffy.”
“I’m not as foolhardy as I used to be, but I’m certainly not stuffy.” Brittany glanced in a hall mirror, and studied her reflection. She was wearing workout attire—tights and a halter bra, both in hot pink, and her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She’d allowed herself to gain a few pounds, which added curves she liked. Her healthier diet let her sleep better, too.
“So tell me what you do know. What is the grant for?”
“It’s tempting. And this grant could be the answer to our prayers. But Claire, it’s a year away. To buy something now and carry the cost, with no guarantee, well, it scares the daylights out of me.”
“Look, if you want out, just say so. We’ll find someone else who’ll jump on this.”
“I do want in, but only if we can find a real buy.”
“That’s what our gal is searching for. Janine’s realtor might have found something in Coral Gables.”
Brittany stopped pacing. Excitement coursed through her veins. “That would be cool. It’s a very artsy place and likely would do well. But, if you want to invite someone else into this, by all means do.” She hitched her butt on a stool next to the counter. “I have another idea that I’m working on.”
“That online entertainment booking thingie?”
“Yes. I could do it from my apartment and make some decent money. I hope.”
“Well, here’s another idea,” Claire said. “Perhaps we could all get involved in your entertainment business and create enough cash flow to buy and support the theater until we hear about the grant.”
“It’s a thought.” If the girls were onboard with her plan, she might not need a huge loan. Her adrenalin kicked in. This might work after all. “Sounds good, but I’ve got to go. Someone is trying to get through. Might be one of my new clients,” she said teasingly.
“Talk to you soon.”
Brittany clicked over.
“Brittany? It’s me. Chase.”
“Hello, Chase.” She kept her voice cool although heat flooded through her. Her neck and chest began to prickle. She hadn’t heard from him in three long weeks. Why was he calling now? “How are you doing? Still in Charleston?”
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