Page 48 of When Hearts Ignite

Staring at a little girl with pigtails and her dad playing frisbee on the grass, her giggles filling the air, my heart clenches, the old ache resurfacing. “The difference is, I make money because I want to move into a better neighborhood and to go to Paris.”

And pay off the loan, Taylor’s tuition, find the identity of my father, and ask him why he left us.

But I don’t tell him that because even to me, it sounds so sad, so pitiful, and I don’t want sympathy from him.

I add, “Because I want to enjoy life, not slave away for the sake of making money.”

Steven is silent as a soft cool breeze flitters by, much welcomed in the sweltering heat. The smooth notes of jazz music carry through the air, and I turn, seeing a street musician playing his saxophone by a stone bridge, the sultry sounds echoing in the short tunnel, lending an air of romance to the park.

The high notes mingle with the low chords, the music ebbing and flowing in a sensual rhythm, reminding New Yorkers to slow down and take a breath, that amidst the chaos and commotion in the city, we should all take a few moments to relax and enjoy these little moments in a beautiful park and celebrate the joys of being alive.

I see four people slowly rising to their feet—one elderly couple, a thin old man wearing red suspenders, clutching his wife or lady friend to his chest, the other a younger couple looking to be around my age, twin smiles on their faces. They twirl on the pavement, moving their bodies to the smooth notes of the music. Worries seem to elude them, and their life is not about the past or the future, but only about the present and these magical moments spent in your lover’s arms.

I smile, a sudden wistfulness creeping inside me, a different ache forming in my chest. Romance, when it works out, is beautiful. It’s the reason I keep flipping the pages of my books in pursuit of the elusive happily-ever-after.

Too bad reality is often uglier.

Clearing my throat, I look away, finding Steven’s eyes on me, his brows crinkling at whatever he sees on my face. His gaze trails over to the dancing couples and I see his throat rippling as he swallows. He balls the hot dog wrapper in his fist, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“What?” I whisper. The whimsical wings of unrealistic dreams beat harder inside my chest as a sudden heat spreads to my cheeks.

“You don’t ask for much.”

A statement, not a question. His words are a quiet murmur, a heaviness lacing through his voice. His beautiful hazel eyes ensnare mine, holding me captive as the magic of the jazz music swirls around us, threading the sweet, scented air with a dash of enchantment. For a moment, I want to ask him to dance, to let our bodies guide us into a world without troubles, without storms and winds, without sleepless nights.

Instead, I give him a shaky smile as my heart clenches, a slither of pain snaking its way through me.

If I don’t ask for much, I never get disappointed. And life, oftentimes, is one giant ball of disappointments.

I can’t look away.

Instead of staring at the giant screen in front of us, watching the classic The Sound of Music, while we lounge on my suit jacket, which no doubt will be ruined after tonight, I’m watching her instead.

She huddles close to me, our bodies not touching, as we sit next to hundreds of strangers at Pier I of Riverside Park South. I remember how her lips curled into a smug smile when she told me she’d bet I didn’t know you could watch movies for free in the city, before whisking me here to take part in my first Summer Nights on the Hudson: Movies at Pier I.

After my birthday dinner of the atrocious hot dog, we took a stroll around Central Park, walking past Belvedere Castle, the granite tower and parapet walls sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the metropolis yet somehow blending in seamlessly all the same—one of the city’s magical abilities. We stopped by Turtle Pond, watching the little suckers swim in the dark waters or sunbathe on rocks.

For once in my life, I didn’t feel the itch to return to work, to bury myself within the world of dollars and cents, where winning was everything that mattered. My mind wasn’t occupied by thoughts of TransAmerica and my father.

As the day bleeds into the night, the sunset washing the skies in a brilliant array of colors, I find myself raking in the sweet scent of jasmine with each breath, my lungs expanding with air with each inhale.

I can finally breathe.

And the irony of it is, it hasn’t cost a thing.

The last few hours spent with Grace, wandering the city like tourists, I wonder if the emptiness inside me has something to do with my relentless pursuit of success, to climb higher on Mount Everest, to be the first person to ascend to the top.

And for what? So I could wake up in the dark, staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night?

Grace lets out a sigh, drawing my attention away from my thoughts, and I glance at the screen, watching Captain von Trapp dancing with Maria in the dark gardens, where anyone can tell love is brewing in the air, that the normally stoic man is falling for the charms of his sweet governess.

My chest clenches, and a heat unfurls in my gut, spreading to my loins. My skin feels warm as I sneak a glance at the beguiling woman next to me, who, without an ounce of artifice, without beautiful clothes or fancy hairstyles, shines brighter than any woman I’ve ever met.

Grace’s eyes take on a dreamy gleam, her body swaying softly to the music as if she’s dancing alongside the couple. I remember seeing the wistfulness in her expression when she saw the couples dancing on the lawn at Central Park earlier. My fingers twitch, an irrational impulse burning through my veins. I want to tug her in my arms and swing her in circles to the sound of the music.

I want to see how the violet of her eyes sparkles under the moonlight.

I want to see how she looks when she melts in my arms.

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