Page 45 of Save the Last Dance (Take the Backroads #1)

Chapter Eighteen

T he Harvest Dance was almost over, the end of the festival weekend imminent.

Nina double-checked the clock on the wall in the fairgrounds’ kitchen while she input some contact information into her phone.

During the dance tonight, she had made an appointment with her realtor to look at some other possibilities for properties to develop a farm-to-table establishment that really stressed locally sourced foods.

All the while, she’d been trying to distract herself from the inevitable goodbye to Mack.

Their last dance. If only she knew when he planned to return.

The waiting was killing her, each ticking second making her wonder if she could find a livable compromise, because the thought of losing him was tearing her up inside.

Strangely, her one nice moment this evening had been encouragement from Mack’s mother, who’d sought her out to apologize for “any unmeasured words” she might have used in their last conversation.

The embarrassment in Mrs. Finley’s eyes had been enough to tear at Nina’s heart and make her empathize with all she’d been through.

And Nina herself had wanted to apologize.

They’d parted, if not quite friends, at least as friendly acquaintances.

“Can I steal you away for a few minutes?” Mack’s voice called from the door.

She hadn’t expected him to find her for another half hour when the dance was scheduled to end.

“Certainly.” Tucking her phone into her purse which was hanging on a nearby hook, she gave Mack her full attention. “Although I think it’s a little early for our dance.”

She wanted to say more—something about how special the weekend had been for her—but the words stuck in her throat. They sounded too much like the goodbye she’d been putting off.

Mack looked so handsome in his gray pants and a dark blazer.

He must have found somewhere to change before the dance since he’d worn jeans most of the day.

A white dress shirt with no tie was casual enough for an event that was a glorified barn dance, but reminded her that he was an accomplished businessman with a successful track record.

A man who couldn’t wait to get back to his business, in fact.

“I know.” He stepped closer, the kitchen empty now that the dance was almost over. “I hoped you had time for a walk down the fairway first. We were both so busy, there wasn’t much chance to enjoy all the work we’ve put into the event.”

“I’d like that.” Nina grabbed her sweater, which Mack plucked from her fingers. Wordlessly, he held it for her so she could slip her arms in more easily. A gentleman. “I didn’t even get to try Frisbee tic-tac-toe, and I’m sure I would have aced it for sure.”

His palms lingered on her shoulders for a moment as he slid the red wool cardigan into place. Even with the barrier of her sweater, she still savored the stroke of his touch. She had to close her eyes to will away the urge to turn and press a kiss to one of his hands.

“With your killer competitive instincts? I’m sure you would have, too.” He held the back door of the kitchen open for her.

She hugged her arms around herself as they stepped outside into the night air.

It was cooler than she’d guessed—probably below sixty.

But she’d been hot indoors after spending much of the day in the steamy kitchen, so the chill in the air was welcome.

They strode past a huge rack full of carved jack-o’-lanterns lit with battery-operated candles.

Fierce faces stared down at them while the yellow-orange glow reminded her of the lights inside the dance.

“I was happy to hear a lot of the farmers sold healthy amounts of produce from their booths.” Nina had gotten a thorough report from Harlan Brady, who was never far from her grandmother lately.

“I think next year we should really gear the food to showcase the harvest crops. Maybe challenge the local restaurants to compete for most original squash dishes or invite some brewers in to taste test fall beer flavors.”

Her mind had been racing with ideas for foods and food related businesses all day, but that was partly in response to the fact that she was trying so hard not to think about Mack.

How could she be so certain and excited about a new path for her life when that path was also destined to bring her such heartbreak?

“Those are great ideas.” Mack seemed distracted as they rounded the ring toss.

He tugged her closer to the jack-o’-lantern display and toward a bench just behind the metal rack of pumpkins.

“Nina, I do want to hear your thoughts on next year’s festival, but I asked you out here because I… I want to talk about us. Now.”

Her stomach summersaulted. This was it. His ultimatum that would lead to a break. And how could she condemn him for it when she’d drawn lines in the sand as well?

He drew her down to the cast-iron bench beside him and kept her hand folded in his.

A few people still milled around out on the fairway, taking a breather from the dance.

Music from inside the venue spilled out onto the fairway, the muted strains of steel guitars drifting past her ears.

But back here, hidden behind an eight-foot wall of pumpkins, they were alone.

Private. She swallowed hard, unprepared for this, even though she’d known this was coming.

She wanted her dance, damn it. She wanted one last wonderful memory with him.

“Mack, I get it. I understand.” She’d recognized that a future together—unless she ruled out children and moved to Nashville—was an impossibility. “There can’t be an ‘us.’ But can’t we at least?—”

“No.” He shook his head. Firm. Resolute. “That’s not true.”

He readjusted his grip on her fingers and gazed at their joined hands.

The moonlight shone down, joining with a street lamp to cast a halo around them.

She stared at the back of his neck, at that vulnerable patch of skin showing a thin tan line from where he’d gotten a fresh haircut.

Why was it that something so inconsequential as a haircut tugged at her?

Was it the thought of him putting on his best face for this event for his family in spite of the fact he had a business and a life elsewhere?

Her fingers itched to sketch that thin, paler line of skin, to have the right to be a part of his everyday routine. And in that simple moment she got it. She realized what had been eluding her all along.

Just because Mack had moved didn’t mean he loved his family any less. He was finding a way to be a part of his family while still living his dream. Nashville wasn’t that far. He’d done a far better job at staying connected to his family than she had, in fact.

She could learn a thing or two from him about making compromises while still holding on to your dream.

And suddenly all the possibilities she’d been spinning in her mind this past week gelled together into a beautiful future. A future built with Mack.

“I’ve been thinking about your concerns,” she began, “and I’m sorry for not being more sympathetic before. And I’ve been wondering…” She swallowed hard, not from reservations, but with nerves and hope. “I’m wondering if you’re open to adoption.”

“It would work for me,” she continued. “I love kids so much that I’d take a house-full and be happy.

But I would be just as happy with one or two, as long as you were their father.

And am I wrong in thinking that might work for you, too?

Because I’m sure I would love our adopted kids as much as any we would make.

But I can’t just close the mental door on one day being a mom?—”

“Nina.” He gathered up her other hand now and held that one also, the rasp of his calluses against her skin reminding her of his bridled strength.

“Wait. Please. First of all, I can’t believe you’ve thought this through for me.

” He shook his head. “But you don’t need to shut any doors on my account. ”

Panic fluttered in her stomach. She tried to quell the rush of fear, to recalibrate her thoughts to what he was saying rather than rush to the wrong conclusion.

And the more she considered his words, the more she realized this could actually be a solution.

They could find a way to be together and have the whole dream.

“What do you mean?” She counseled herself to be cautious. To wait. And yet a rush of hope surged up anyhow, so strong she had to force herself not to scoot closer to him.

The music from the dance kicked into “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and the squeals and clapping got louder.

“I mean I’ve been holding tight to an old, wrong-headed idea that I came up with as a teenager.

” He let go of her hands now and stood to pace in front of her, the show of restless energy unusual from a man she was used to seeing so composed.

“I think I held on to it so damn tight because I made that decision at an emotional point in my life, after a particularly hellish day for me, for my family. And most of all, for my mother.” He paused in front of her. “Does that make sense?”

“Go on,” she urged, not quite sure what else to say. He seemed to need to get it out in his own way, and a communicative Mack was a man she didn’t see too often.

She’d love to see this side of him more. All sides of him, in fact. Brooding, silent Mack. Romantic Mack. And yes, this tense, restless yet determined Mack who seemed to hold the power to make or break her whole future.

“I hated what Mom’s illness did to her. And as a kid, the drug treatments were almost worse than the rest of it.

She’d be out of it for days. Tired. Miserable.

Not herself.” He thrust a hand through his newly shorn hair.

“It was as if she…disappeared for long periods of time and I hated it for her as much as anyone, you know?”