Jane and Austen (26 page)

“Go ahead,” I said.

“It’s just that . . .” his hands caught mine like before, and my knees went weak all over again. “When we talked about being cursed earlier, you acted like I thought being in a relationship would be a bad thing, but this feels great . . .”

“Oh.” The word came out with my breath. Austen was declaring his feelings for me. My worries over my predicament with Dancey took a smaller role as I tried to enjoy the moment for what it was.

“If you could forget those five suitors while I’m here,” he said, “and just concentrate on me, I want to make everything up to you. I won’t make fun of how you see things just because I think differently. To be honest, Jane, I’d like to give you everything you want.”

“Oh.” I struggled to find something more meaningful to say, but everything got lost in my feelings. I just wanted to stay here with Austen forever.

“There you are!” Taylor rushed into the room, and we stepped back from each other, seeing Taylor’s beseeching eyes. “I hoped you’d be down here. Did you talk to Dancey, Jane?”

I stared at her. I thought she didn’t want me involved with Dancey. “Uh, no, not yet,” I said. “Why? Did he say something?”

“Yes!” she shrieked out happily. “He agreed to sing at our bachelorette party. I’m annoyed that you ignored my advice . . . but I’m still glad that you can get him to do anything you want.”

“Can she?” Austen asked. His eyes probed mine.

Taylor’s interested gaze went to him, and I knew that she was looking for any signs that he was taking this relationship more seriously than before. “Yes, he’s a really good guy. Dancey has charities. He worked closely with the victims of that last hurricane. He’s great like that, but he can be stubborn, and Jane has a way with him. I think he really likes her.” Her eyes had a hard glint, and I knew the speech was entirely for Austen’s benefit. “So thank you, Jane.” She hugged me. “I thought he wouldn’t do it.”

I met Austen’s eyes over her shoulder and pulled back.

“Austen.” Taylor turned to him. “Has Dancey talked with you about the bachelor party yet?”

“It looks like he’s been busy with other things.”

“Well, Dancey can’t be in two places at once, Austen, so that means that you’ll have to head up the party on your own tonight.”

Austen looked annoyed. “What a surprise.”

Taylor cringed under his sarcasm. “Oh, Austen, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened around here, and I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so Bridezilla lately. It’s just pre-wedding jitters. Will you forgive me?”

Austen didn’t answer immediately, and I hurried to cover up the silence. “Of course,” I said, “it’s just that—”

“Your groom isn’t acting like a groom,” Austen finished brutally for me. He crossed his arms. “How well do you know him, Taylor? Tell us why you’ve been so unhappy. Does it have to do with your fiancé?”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “No, none of that is Chuck’s fault. Didn’t Jane tell you? I put him up to what he did last night.”

I wanted to run away at the repeat confrontation, but I knew Austen was better at handling this than I was. His arm went around her and he patted her back. “Then tell us what’s wrong.” Taylor’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. Austen changed tactics. “We’re asking as your friends because we care about you. We trust your judgment, and if you tell us to leave you alone, then we will, but last night Chuck wasn’t acting like the guy we thought he was.”

“Jane told me that he had been drinking. We already talked about this.” Her eyes searched mine out. “Jane, tell him.”

“We did talk,” I admitted begrudgingly.

“You see?” Taylor nodded. “And no, Chuck isn’t perfect. He’s really good at putting on a pleasant face around strangers, but he has problems. The drinking, certainly. You’ve seen his mom. So controlling. And sometimes he really drives me crazy. I drive him crazy, too—I can be bossy and demanding, but—but we have an understanding . . .” Her eyes shot to us like she was afraid we’d judge her for what she was about to say, “We’re happy together and we’ll work it out eventually. But thank you.” Taylor’s hands found both mine and Austen’s. “I appreciate good friends like you . . . and now I’m respectfully telling you to go take a running leap off a building, okay?”

I laughed uneasily. Austen nodded, but I could tell that he wasn’t happy. Taylor smiled at him. “Did you finish those party favors?”

I picked up one of the glittery masterpieces to show Taylor in an attempt to ease the tension. “Here they are!”

“Thank you!” Taylor kissed me on the cheek and then gave Austen the same treatment. “I don’t deserve the two of you. You’re wonderful!”

I felt unsettled. Taylor seemed too calm—as if she was getting ready to play martyr. “If you need us, Taylor,” I said, “we’re both here for you. We’ll do anything for you.”

She cracked a smile. “Anything?”

I remembered Crawley. “Within reason.”

“Oh good.” She patted my cheek. “There’s my Jane. I was starting to get worried.” Her phone buzzed, and she slid it out of her purse to check it before putting the phone up to her ear. “Hello Elly, is your husband at the church?” She waved distractedly at us, and we listened to her iron out more wedding details on her way out the door.

“I guess she knows already,” I said.

“And this is how chick flicks ruin lives,” Austen said, shaking his head. “What is sensible about waiting until after a wedding to iron out differences? The guy
won’t
change for you.”

My mind went immediately to my relationship with Austen. I wanted him to make more commitments—not so that I could fulfill some strange, romantic fantasy, but so I could be sure that I wasn’t resting my hopes on nothing. Was it unwise to bank a future on Austen if he didn’t do that?

 The clock against the wall ticked out its unmerciful passing of time. The morning was going by too fast, and I needed to get some errands done before I met Dancey for lunch. “If Taylor changes her mind, she knows we’ll help her out,” I said. Austen wasn’t pleased by the verdict, but there wasn’t much either of us could do. “I’m off to pick up the food for our bachelorette party.” I brushed past him.

“Hey.” He found my hand and forced a smile just for me. “You forgot something.”

“What?”

“Me.” He pulled me back to him and then surprised me by kissing me. His arms held me tightly and his lips found mine. I clung to him, not wanting to let him go. If this was the passion Austen was hiding, it was worth the wait. I felt his lips turn into a smile, and he pulled back. “Have you figured out your favorite flower yet?”

“Just the one you gave me.”

“Cornflowers,” he murmured. “Beautiful like you. Of course, you know I won’t be happy until you come up with your own, right?”

“There are too many to choose from.” I shrugged, realizing Austen knew everything I did about myself, and grinned. “You like my favorite soda. That’s a good start.”

He moved my hair from my eyes. “I want to talk to you again today. Are you sure you can’t slip away for lunch?”

I couldn’t take the guilt anymore. My breath wouldn’t come out right. “I can’t do lunch because I have to talk to Dancey.” There, it was out.

If Austen was disturbed by the revelation, he didn’t show it. “You’d better not talk to him like I talk to you.” He said it lightly.

That forced an awkward laugh out of me. He didn’t know how right he was. I wondered if the reporter had destroyed those photos yet. I’d make that one of my first demands. “You see, Bigley wasn’t too far off,” I started to explain, “uh . . . about me and Dancey. We . . .”

Austen put a finger to my lips. “You don’t have to confess anything to me. All I care about is what you do now.”

That made me feel tons better, except I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do now. What did I have going with Austen anyway? “Yes,” I said, “but best friends don’t fall for each other. You said it yourself. Men aren’t secretly in love with you, they don’t just fall for you when you haven’t flirted with them, and there are no love-hate relationships.”

I could have gone on, but Austen had gone stiff. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “if that’s my voice in your head telling you that we won’t work, I prefer you exorcise it out.”

“Then you were wrong?”

He took a deep breath and changed the subject. “So what are your plans with Dancey?”

“The usual. I’m just getting rid of any baggage we might have, and I’m clearing up tragic miscommunications, like you suggested.”

“You need to stop listening to me. I’m the naysayer and you’re the romantic. Let’s keep it that way. Besides, didn’t you say that we need to throw everybody off their script? This lunch is starting to sound way too close to that scene when Darcy proposes for the second time.”

The proposal scene had been the last thing that Austen had watched when I had interrupted his Jane Austen fest this morning. Now that he mentioned it, Taylor had just cleared up a lot of things about Dancey. What if Dancey did the same when we talked? Was I falling into a second proposal trap? The way things kept happening around here, I couldn’t guess what I would feel from one second to the next. Only one thing gave me comfort—Austen’s logic. “You said that all of that was in my head,” I said.

“And now I’m saying to take my voice out of your head and listen to your own.”

“Does that count for what you just said now,” I attempted to joke, “or . . . ?”

“Jane! Just promise me that whatever decision you make will be based on how you feel and not how you
think
you should feel.”

He didn’t know what he was asking. It could completely turn on us in the end.

I held his hand hoping it wasn’t for the last time. “Thank you for your trust in me.” Because I didn’t trust myself.

Chapter 22

“He had suffered, and he had learnt to think, two advantages that he had never known before . . .”

—Jane Austen,
Mansfield Park

I sat down at the table in Churchell’s Shack,
waiting for Dancey to arrive. The ocean crashed against the beach, mingling with the voices from the lunch crowd. As far as meeting times, this was as safe as I was going to get. I refused to fall for a classic Dancey seduction.

Dancey pushed open the saloon-style doors and came in swaggering, looking exactly like the rock star he was. He would’ve fooled me into thinking that he didn’t have a care in the world, but when he reached my table and took off his shades, the imploring look in his eyes went straight to my heart.

“Jane.” He sat down on the opposite bench from me. “Can you please forgive me for how I behaved?”

It wasn’t quite what I had expected, but I was grateful for the apology. I nodded. “I have to apologize too. I went into survival mode. Bargaining with Taylor’s wedding was probably a bad idea.”

He shrugged. “We’ll do it. Nothing newsworthy is going to happen there anyway. Jennings contacted me. She sent me the photos.” His contrite gaze wavered on me, and he broke into a grin. “They were pretty good.”

I blushed, not understanding his change of heart—I suspected it had to do with Taylor. “What did Taylor say to you?” He affected a look of unconcern, but I knew he cared more than he let on. “None of this makes a lot of sense. I mean,” I spread my hands out, “I still can’t figure out why the reporter went for it.”

He took a deep breath, and I realized that he knew why. Dancey looked to the side. His publicity manager, DeBurgy, had taken up residence in the corner next to a potted palm. The man took advantage of the fresh air by lighting up a cigarette. Dancey reached a hesitant hand out to touch mine. “There are too many people here to talk. Can we go someplace a little more private?”

As long as I could withstand his charms—I studied his face: the classic profile, his sapphire-blue eyes, the lips that I was far too familiar with. I had to at least hear what he had to say.

“Jane, is he bothering you?”

I swiveled and found Colin—a perturbed expression on his face. His gaze ran over Dancey and he jumped back, startled. “Oh, I didn’t know it was you.” His mouth turned up into a goofy grin, and he bobbed his head, not meeting Dancey’s eyes. “At last, I meet the famous singer. I’ve heard your songs on the radio. They’re all right. In fact, I have been known to sing a song or two. My mother told me that I should’ve gone on to be a singer myself.”

He sang a few warbled phrases to prove it. It felt like a bad serenade. It definitely caught DeBurgy’s attention from across the shack. The man dangled his lit cigarette while he stared at us. Ash dripped to the ground. It gave me an idea.

“You know, Colin,” I said. “DeBurgy is the man who made Dancey who he is now.”

Dancey cocked his head at me, his eyes widening in confusion. “Yup,” I said. “I bet you could just go up to DeBurgy and see if he’s interested in signing you as his next star.”

Colin held his heart. “I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t I need an introduction?”

Dancey bit down a smile and managed a “No.”

Colin left us immediately.

“Genius, Jane. Let’s go.” Dancey took a proprietary grip on my hand and, with his eyes on Colin while the man accosted his publicity manager, he led me carefully to the door. I met Junie’s disapproving eyes as we passed the counter. Great. I hadn’t planned for any witnesses, but as long as we had one . . . I ordered two sandwiches from her. I wasn’t facing this on an empty stomach.

Dancey came behind me and threw some cash down, mumbling something to Junie about keeping the change. We took our bounty outside in its neatly wrapped paper. A last glance behind me found Colin still pestering a harassed-looking DeBurgy.

The warm sand slid through my flip-flops. The palm trees swayed in a breeze that wrapped my white skirt around my legs. We walked until the crowds started to thin and the water became unfit for surfing and swimming, with too many rocks to disturb the waves.

Still, it wasn’t far enough for Dancey. He kept on doggedly until we reached an alcove shielded with boulders and washed-up debris. Dancey kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the sand next to a patch of weeds choked with wild California poppies and blue cornflowers. Dancey patted the sand next to him, indicating that I sit down beside him. I hesitated a millisecond before joining him, but I kept my flip-flops on.

“I never meant to hurt you, Jane.”

I tensed. This sounded like a break-up speech, and even though I had half expected this meeting to end that way, serious talks always made me nervous. “I’m sorry for my part in this too,” I said. “At least we figured out we wouldn’t work before you wrote a song about me.” I smiled to cover up my lame joke.

He looked stunned. “Jane, I didn’t say anything about us not working. We fought—that doesn’t mean I want to end it.” My hand rested on the sand next to his, and he laced his fingers through mine. I hadn’t realized we had been sitting so close. “Before you say anything, let me explain. I’m not used to women like you.” He laughed self-consciously when I felt my face redden. “You say everything that’s on your mind. So, I think it’s only fair if I return the favor. I didn’t want to come to this wedding.” He breathed out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think that I wanted to try for love again. But when I met you, I realized that I could still feel. I could love again. I just want the chance to do that with you. I want to get to know you, Jane.”

I didn’t know what to say, or even what to think. Dancey had the ability to steal any girl’s heart that he chose, and he picked me? Not to insult myself, but I felt like an unlikely target—especially since I hardly knew him.

“Why didn’t you want to love again?” I asked.

He gave me a rueful look. “Your heart can only break so many times before it hurts to think about love again. And the last one . . . ?” He sighed. “It almost ruined me. Jane?” He reached up and rubbed his thumb across my cheek. “You and I aren’t so different. And I don’t think you’re immune to me, either. We can make each other happy.”

There was one benefit Dancey had from his rash of broken hearts—he had more experience with getting into trouble, because that’s what this felt like to me. Austen came up in my mind as a barrier between me and Dancey’s charm, but my doubts were eating away at that too.

Just like Dancey, Austen would be gone from North Abbey. Austen could hardly wait to leave the miles of sand behind him. At least Dancey had invited me to come with him. Austen had left me before. Logically . . . logically, he would do it again.

But logically, Dancey would also dump me. And that was the problem with having Austen’s reason invade my mind, because according to him, nothing would work—nothing that I wanted, anyway. But I couldn’t control the future, so why think about it too hard? I just had to figure out what I wanted.

“Ann-Marie was crying last night,” I said. “Do you know why?”

“I was comforting her, but it only made her cry harder. She likes some fellow on your staff.”

Austen.
“Yeah, he’s a heartbreaker,” I said.

Dancey drew back from me, his hand brushing over the bed of weeds next to us. A few orange poppies stood out from the green. They were Taylor’s favorite. It was a shame she didn’t use them for her wedding—there were plenty here. He plucked out one of them and gently slipped it into my hair. It made me breathless.

“I’ll cover you with poppies if they gave your heart to me,” he said.

I recognized the lyrics from his latest heartbreaking song. His eyes warmed on me, and his hands trailed through my hair. “We can do anything we want together. We have a future. I can feel it.”

This was what I had always wanted—before I was old enough to read and appreciate Jane Austen. It was the romance that I had dreamed about. My whole life was spent living in my dreams rather than real life, and now real life was calling to me; life could be better, perhaps, than what I imagined.

Seeing Dancey’s earnest gaze, the way he leaned, I knew that all I had to do was surrender my worries and enjoy being with him like I had before. This was the romance that I felt would last forever . . . but I didn’t want it from Dancey. I wanted it from Austen—simple, down-to-earth, definitely not-smooth-talking, commitment-phobe Austen. Tilting my head at Dancey, I remembered the first time we had kissed. There had been a moment when I’d known that he couldn’t see me. Not really.

“Who broke your heart?” I asked him.

“What?”

“Whoever it is, she still holds the pieces. You never got them back from her.”

He traced my lips with his finger. “That would make perfect lyrics for my next song.” He took a deep breath and dropped his hand. “She . . . it’s over between us. She wanted to play it safe, and I’m definitely not safe. We’re still friends, and I can’t see her without wishing that things had been different.”

Sudden understanding washed through me. I knew why Dancey didn’t want to go to Taylor’s wedding. The reporter’s talk about that other sassy American girl who’d broken her camera; why Jennings now wanted exclusive pictures of Taylor’s wedding. I knew what the reporter hoped would happen. She wouldn’t get it . . . unless I helped it happen.

I slipped the California poppy from my hair. Dancey had written them into his song. “These are Taylor’s favorite.” I put it back into his hand. “They would look beautiful in her black hair.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticcing involuntarily. I was fascinated—jaw clenching seemed so novel-like. “Does she know how you feel?” I asked.

He looked miserable. “When we first met, I was so taken by her. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful girls, Jane, so this wasn’t purely physical. I mean, it felt physical but also spiritual.”

Those were definitely the words of a poet. Austen would never put it like that, but he didn’t need to. I nodded for Dancey to continue.

“Chuck couldn’t make it to the airport to pick her up. He asked me to do it. It was freezing outside, so I put on a wool cap and sunglasses—I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. She was wrestling with her bags. I didn’t know such a slender girl could carry so much; the straps were all over her. She was so organized about it. A little girl mouthed off to her mom, and when Taylor was through with them, they were both smiling—it’s funny what I remember. When I came up to her, she thought that I was Chuck. I don’t even know how it happened, but she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. And just like that, she had my heart.” He flushed guiltily. “I kissed her back.”

Of course, they had the perfect meet-cute.

Dancey covered his face and groaned. “She was there for my best friend, and we were all over each other. I still feel terrible about it.”

I recalled Taylor’s bridal shower when she’d said that her first kiss with Bigley had been by a soda machine at one of Dancey’s concerts. It made sense that she would remember who had really kissed her at the airport.

 “When I told her who I was, she was so mad. But,” Dancey laughed at the memory, “I was so stupid that I couldn’t stop making it worse for myself. And you know what happens to Taylor when she gets all worked up; her nose wrinkles like . . .”

I listened to Dancey go on about Taylor. He talked about the foosball championship where Taylor had begun to thaw towards him. He’d ruined the moment when he’d stolen another kiss. “It made sense when she told me that poppies were her favorite flower. You know the word ‘poppy’ where I’m from also means a smart and hot girl?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I listened to him talk about the song he’d written for Taylor—it was after she had accepted Bigley’s marriage proposal. His emotions had bled onto the paper as he’d tried to make the words purge her from his life. When Bigley had started acting up—drinking and flirting with other women—Dancey had discounted his anger at his best friend as just wanting Taylor to be happy. But he had been jealous. Terribly, terribly jealous.

I had misjudged Dancey. We all had. My prejudice had marked him as a player, but his romantic streak ran just as deep as mine. He actually had a list of things that he loved about Taylor. Her flashing eyes. Her temper. Her throaty laugh.

Yeah, I was the rebound. At the same time, I was relieved to be free. Thankfully, I had listened to my gut instincts before this had gotten out of hand. I picked a blue cornflower from the weeds and rubbed the soft petals between my fingers. They reminded me of Austen.

Dancey stopped talking as if he had just realized what he had done. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.

I turned to him. “Dancey, I’m glad you told me.”

Remorse stole through his expression. “I’m sorry, Jane. I didn’t know how deep I was. I thought that I could move on. I have to move on . . .”

I shook my head. “You can’t do that. Now that I know how you really feel, you owe me.”

He looked wary. “How?”

“I want you to steal Ms. Taylor from Mr. Bingley.”