Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Are you kidding? That will blow my diet, which will blow the recital. Martin will kill me.” Jamie locked the door and followed Monet into the kitchen.

  Completely at home, Monet grabbed spoons, peeled the lids off the pint-sized containers. “I’m sick of you pouting over that guy, so we’re going to eat, cry, and laugh like best friends should.”

  Groaning, Jamie plodded toward her bedroom. “Let me get some socks. It’s freezing—can’t believe you brought ice cream when it’s twenty degrees outside.”

  “Forty. And it’s never too cold for ice cream.”

  Jamie tugged open her top dresser drawer and pulled out a thick wad of wool socks. Bending to put them on, Jamie stilled as a glint of gold caught her eye. The Civil War coin pendant. She’d been so hurt by Sean after the wedding reception that she’d tossed it in the drawer with the intention of never touching it again.

  Sean’s gorgeous blue eyes moved into her line of determination, breaking it. The metal felt cool against her fingers. She lifted it, an ache worming through her chest. Oh Sean… Her eyes fluttered closed as she remembered Sean in his suit, walking Mitzi down the aisle. Several young ladies—daughters of the bride’s friends—vied for his attention. But he’d not given any of them a second glance. Or dance. But he’d asked Jamie.

  Then he’d noticed she was wearing the necklace. A storm erupted in his gaze. He left without another word.

  “A love meant to be…” Mitzi clearly had misunderstood Sean’s interest in Jamie.

  “What’s that?”

  Jamie jumped at Monet’s voice.

  Her friend tugged the piece from her hand. “Whoa, this is pretty cool. Wait—wasn’t your uncle’s new wife wearing this at the wedding?”

  Jamie retrieved the necklace and returned it to the drawer. “I’m ready for that ice cream.” She sidestepped her friend and moved into the living room. Tucking her feet under her, she settled on the sofa with the ice cream.

  “Okay, don’t think you’re going to get away with the silent treatment about this.” Monet folded herself into the opposite corner of the couch. “You’ve been moping for the last few months over that man.”

  “What man?”

  “Oh, don’t even try that.” Monet spooned the chilled dessert and gave a soft moan as she raised the pint. “To die for.” She smiled then nodded. “Go on. What happened? You two danced at the wedding….”

  “That necklace—he saw me wearing it. His aunt put it on me, said I should wear it because Sean liked me, because we had a love meant to be.” Two spoonfuls sated the burn in the back of her throat. Almost. “I mean, seriously—we only knew each other a little over a month before everything fell apart. How she thinks we were meant for each other, I don’t know.”

  The bridge… the fleece prayer… What did that mean, Lord? Besides trying to teach her not to fleece pray again.

  “But you hoped she was right?” Monet asked, her voice soft.

  Jamie lowered the pint to the table, drew her knees up onto the cushion, and hugged them. Her vision blurred. “Yeah.” Holding the cuffs of her sweatshirt, she pressed her knuckles against her lips. “He’s…” Smart. Strong. Encouraging. Stoic. Quiet. Wounded. Sweet. “So…” They got along, it seemed so natural. Talking, walking through Central Park to their bridge.

  When did she start thinking of Bow Bridge as their bridge? Would they ever meet there again? She thought of the pendant, of her uncle and Mitzi waiting nearly forty years. That was as long as the Israelites had wandered in the desert.

  Oh, Lord, please don’t make me wait that long. The thing was—would she wait? If it took forever? How on earth had her uncle ever managed? No wonder he’d given up!

  “Sean is…” What could she say?

  “Perfect?”

  Jamie met her friend’s eyes with an expression she knew bordered on desperation but couldn’t stop it. “Am I pathetic?”

  “No.” Monet set aside her frozen delight. “But if he’s not talking to you, Jamie, then you need to move on. I can’t stand seeing you moping around.”

  “But… I believe…” Why did it sound so foolish? “I believe I’m supposed to be there for him. First Corinthians thirteen—love always perseveres.”

  “There’s persevering, and there’s not living.”

  “I don’t want you giving up your life for me.” Sean’s words echoed through her head.

  “Jamie, God wants us to persevere, but He doesn’t want us losing ourselves the way you are.”

  Was she doing it again? Losing her own life trying to fix someone else’s? Finding meaning through what she did for others, rather than just being who she was?

  When Monet leaned forward, her blond crop swept along her jaw. “Listen, I don’t know what Sean feels, but my guess is that you hit a nerve. I mean, I saw the way he looked at you during the wedding. He kept stealing glances, but then when y’all were dancing… it was like he was terrified.”

  “He is.” Jamie batted loose strands from her face. “His father killed himself. His mother drove him to it and convinced Sean he was worthless. We were in the park one night, things were going great—he held my hand.” She licked her lips and rested her chin on her knees. “Things got a little tense, we argued. I asked what he was afraid of—he said a woman who couldn’t accept him and walked off.” She shook her head. “I just wanted him to reach for his dreams.”

  “Stop trying to fix him.”

  Oh man. She was doing it again. “You’re right.” She hung her head. “But it’s too late. He won’t even talk to me now.”

  Monet chewed her lower lip for a minute, lifted her ice cream, and ate several indulging bites before her eyes enlivened. “Here’s the plan….”

  Skirting the boxes that still lined the one-room space, Sean navigated his way to the door. Harry had agreed to lease the apartment above his shop to him, on the condition that Sean would work at the shop, repairing bikes. It’d been a no-brainer.

  But who on earth knocked on a door this early on a Saturday morning?

  “Coming!” Sean threaded his arms through a long-sleeved shirt. He tugged open the door, letting in a blast of icy air. He froze. Not because of the blast of icy air, but because of the man standing on the cement landing that led down to the garage. “Simon.”

  “Hey, Sean.”

  What was his older brother doing here? And how? Running a hand through his hair, Sean scrambled for a brain cell. “Wha… how…?” He shook his head.

  Simon snorted. “I saw the wedding announcement for Alan James. Hard to forget the only person who tried to save Dad.” Emotion clogged his brother’s words. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he told me where to find you.” His brother looked down at the parking lot. “I brought you something. Wanna come check it out?”

  Mind reeling from the sudden reintroduction of his brother into his life, Sean glanced over the flimsy iron railing and saw a red Dodge Ram with a tarp-covered trailer. “Yeah, sure. Let me grab some shoes.” When he emerged a few minutes later with running shoes on, he spotted his brother unhooking the tarp. Sean hustled down the steps. “So, what is this?” Man, his brother looked like their dad. Spitting image. Creepy.

  “Had it sitting in a shed at the back of our property. Lynette wants it gone.” His brother lifted a shoulder. “When Alan said you lived here, I thought…”

  He whipped back the grungy covering—

  Sean sucked in a breath at the motorcycle anchored to the flatbed trailer. “Where did you get this?” He ran his hand along the seat, eyeing the body. Adrenaline surged as he realized what this might be. Bending, he eyed the stamps. “Good night! This is a 1962 Panhead FLH Duo Glide.” His gaze shot to his brother. “Where did you find this?”

  With a smile that faltered, his brother broke away. Tucked his head.

  Sean hesitated, wondering what he’d said wrong. How did he manage to mess up—

  “It was Dad’s.” Drawing up his shoulders, Simon turned, his eyes wet. “You’re so much like him.”<
br />
  Sean gritted his teeth. He’d heard that all his life, along with a string of curses from their mother. “Yeah, Mom made sure I didn’t forget that.”

  “No.” Vehemence coated his brother’s words as he clamped a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Dad… Dad came back from ‘Nam different. But he was a good man. You were too young to see what was happening, but being like him—it’s a good thing.” He squeezed the shoulder muscle. “A really good thing, little brother.” His brother’s eyes glossed. “I’m sorry, Sean. Sorry we left you behind. Sorry for all the things I said back then. I was angry at life.”

  Burning at the back of his throat kept Sean from replying.

  “Mom…” Simon swallowed. “She was certifiable, literally. I went into the Navy as soon as I could get her to sign the early entrance papers.”

  “I remember when you left.” It was one of a handful of painful memories locked in Sean’s mind.

  Harry’s blue antique Ford rumbled into the parking lot severing the tenuous moment.

  “Anyway,” Simon said, swiping his eye with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve kept this in the shed—for you. It was Dad’s pride and joy. Mom told me to run it off a cliff when I was fifteen.” He grinned. “I ran it all right—straight into hiding.”

  Sean stared at the beauty. “Why? Why’re you giving it to me?”

  “I think he would’ve wanted you to have it—you used to always squat next to him when he’d tinker on it, and he’d talk, explain what he was doing as if you understood.” Simon smiled. “I know you don’t remember much, but he was really proud of you. Lynne helped me see that Dad probably saw you as a chance to start over.”

  Sean grunted. “Some start.” It ended in suicide. “Do you remember the day he died?”

  His brother sobered. “Every day.”

  Surprise lit through Sean, his gaze snapping to his brother. In that moment, he realized he didn’t even know the man before him. “Lynette—she’s your wife?”

  “Yeah, married twenty years. Met her right after the Naval Academy. Our son, Will, is eighteen, got an appointment to West Point, and our daughter, Lori, is fourteen.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “I am. He’s a good kid,” Simon said. “Listen, Will’s graduation is coming up. I’d like you to join us. If you want to. I know… what we did, me, Jen, and Catherine, well—”

  “I’d like that, get to know my nephew and niece. Maybe I can give Will some advice on avoiding IEDs.”

  “That how you got those scars?”

  “Yeah. Came with traumatic brain injury and a medical discharge.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “No worries.”

  Hands on his belt, Simon cocked his head. “What about you? Got a wife?”

  Sean looked down as a pair of brown eyes flashed before his mind’s eye. Jamie. Wearing the coin. The very coin that held the Wolfe legacy and promise of love never failing. When it did fail. With regularity in his life. “No.” He looked at Simon. “No wife. Or girlfriend.”

  “That sounded like a painful answer.”

  “Getting a Dear John letter while at war…”

  “Yeah, sounds like you haven’t found the right girl yet.”

  Oh, I found her.

  Then what’s the problem?

  I am.

  The truth rankled him as he and his brother rolled the 1962 beauty into the back of the shop, to the rear bay Harry had set up for Sean. After exchanging phone numbers with his brother, Sean promised to see them for Will’s graduation party.

  A new goal, new energy surged through him at the thought of restoring the bike. First thing, he’d give it a solid looking over, record the stamps to see if the parts were original—wow, the thing would be worth a pretty penny in pristine shape. But the bike held a greater value. Sentimental value. It felt like he’d gotten back a piece of his life—one of the few good pieces.

  It was the only way to get Sean Wolfe to stop avoiding her.

  Armed with the coin pendant and floundering courage, Jamie stalked up the drive to Harry’s Garage. The distinct odor of grease and oil assaulted her as she stepped into the bright fluorescent light of the work bays.

  A man in coveralls approached, rubbing his hands on a gray rag. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Sean Wolfe. Is he here?”

  With a lecherous grin, the man glanced over his shoulder and hollered, “Wolfe!”

  “Yeah?” The shout reverberated off the metal ceiling but seemed to originate from the back.

  “Visitor.” The man bobbed his head to the back. “Go on.”

  “Thanks.” No doubt her pale pink pea coat stood out among the smelly coveralls, oil pits, and dirty mechanics. Two heads popped over the engine of a BMW as she made her way toward the back. What were they staring at?

  She rounded the corner—and stopped short, barely avoiding a collision with a wall of muscle. Her gaze rose and slammed into Mediterranean blues.

  Sean’s eyes widened. “Jamie.” He scowled as he looked around then motioned for her to follow. “What do you want?”

  “Be brave. Be strong.” That’s what Monet had said after their prayer and before she set off. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sorry, I’m backed up.” Sean indicated to the half-dozen waiting bikes.

  “Then we can just talk here.” She tugged out her cell phone. “I’ll order some pizza or Chinese.”

  Sean tore his gaze away, irritation clawing through his face. His jaw muscle popped and bounced beneath the scarring. “Look, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Smile. Just be calm. “I know, but I do.”

  Whoops and hollers from behind them turned her cheeks—and Sean’s—red. He slammed down the wrench. Stuffed his hands on his hips. “Fine. Let’s go out.”

  She told herself not to take his frustration and terse words personally. “Okay, whichever.”

  He turned away, hunched over a counter, and grabbed something from behind it. When he pivoted toward her, hand extended, Jamie stilled. Looked at him. Then at the motorcycle helmet he held. An accident on a bike could wipe out her entire career and dreams. “No way.”

  He smirked. “Then no dice.”

  Heart thumping, Jamie took a cursory glance around his work area. The motorcycles were sport bikes. Which meant they were fast.

  “The red one,” Sean said.

  Her gaze lit on a sport bike in a deep crimson color propped near the rear door. Before she could answer, Sean stepped forward and slid the black dome over her head. He popped up the visor as he snapped the chin strap. He tapped it. “Looks good.”

  Mouth dry, she silently chided Monet for not predicting this. “What if you pass out?”

  He grinned. “Only when I’m stressed. You planning to stress me out?” He took her hand. “C’mon.” Helmet on, Sean straddled the bike and glanced back to her.

  Jamie swallowed—hard. On a bike there was no room for ladylike distance. “No.” Not being able to afford The Juilliard would be a moot point if they wrecked. She shook her head, palms clammy. “One crash—”

  Sean took her hand and drew her to the bike. “Trust me.”

  Oh, Lord… why did he ask me to do that?

  Tucking her messenger bag around to the back, she licked her lips and climbed on. Arms wrapped around his waist, she tensed as the engine roared to life. Hoops and hollers followed them out of the garage and onto the congested four-lane road. The two-minute ride to Luigi’s proved terrifying… exhilarating!

  Weaving through the lot, Sean aimed the bike toward the front. They parked in a narrow slot by the door, and Sean helped her with the helmet.

  “What’d you think?”

  Jamie looked into the eyes that could convince her to walk off a cliff, and right now, those beautiful irises sparkled. Alive and vibrant. He was monitoring her, gauging her reaction. In that moment, she realized he’d shared something special with her. She had to admit both the ride and the man before her were th
rilling. “It’s fantastic!”

  His smile could light the night! Slowly, still watching her, he nodded. “Yeah.”

  Inside, they sat across from each other in a small window table and ordered. Jamie set her messenger bag on an empty chair between them. “Thanks.”

  Sean paused in wiping the condensation from his glass of water. “For what?”

  “Coming.”

  He hesitated then nodded.

  Food delivered, they bypassed awkward conversation and dug into their meals—he a bowl of fettuccini Alfredo, her a Cobb salad. After twenty minutes of avoiding each other’s gaze and pretending their food to be gourmet, Jamie couldn’t take it any longer.

  Quietly, she set down her fork, took a sip of water, then opened her messenger bag. She rummaged through it, searching for the pendant. As her hand dug deeper, the bag slid….

  Thunk. It landed next to Sean.

  Groaning, Jamie noticed several papers skidded under his chair. “Sorry.”

  Sean retrieved them. Holding the small bundle, he tapped them into line. He cocked his head, reading. “What’s this?”

  Jamie reached for them, but Sean plucked one out as she did and let her take the rest. But her focus rested on the one he scanned.

  Her heart seized. The Juilliard application. “Can I have that back, please?”

  Sean’s gaze bounced from the paper to her. “The Juilliard?”

  Anger skittered around the edges of her composure as a blush heated her face. “Please, let me have it.”

  “I thought you gave up on this?” His gaze narrowed. “Are you going to turn that in?”

  When he wagged the paper in front of her, she snatched it back. “No.” She stuffed it back in her satchel and refocused on finding the pendant.

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  She bit down on the snide comment she wanted to make. “I can’t afford it.”

  “Get a loan.”

  Her fingers grazed the metal piece. Ahh, success! “Here. At the wedding, Gail—Mitzi—gave me this.” She lifted the coin pendant from the front pouch. “And I know it really upset you that I had it, so I want to return it to you. I know it’s important to your family.” No, she really didn’t, but more than that, she didn’t want grief between them. She wanted to get back on that road to beautiful exploration of life with the man before her.