Page 67 of Takes Two to Tango

Rayne pressed her hands to her stomach and tried to grasp the magnitude of his words.

“I write the Buttontown Boys series under the name B.J. Hamm.”

Rayne felt as though someone had hit her with a golf club. Brent was a writer? He was apublishedwriter? He was the writer whose books Henry had been devouring? Good Lord.

She knew her mouth had fallen open. She looked out at the audience. Most of them now had their mouths open, too. A few people’s eyes bulged.

But Brent's parents, well, they appeared gobsmacked. Like heart-attack onset shocked. His dad turned to his mom and the look they shared was almost comical.

Brent, with a natural instinct for timing, allowed a moment to pass. He pulled a book from his jacket pocket. It was a copy of one he'd not yet loaned to Henry. He held it up so the audience could see it.

"This was my first book. It's about a boy who tries so hard to be a good basketball player that he nearly misses the opportunity to learn to play the guitar and find his true talent. I had seventy-three letters sent to me by boys and parents who told me how much my story had meant to them, how many found the courage to try what they really wanted to do. I find this much more satisfying than someone telling me how great the catch I made in the Texas A&M game was or how cool it was when the Longhorns won a National Championship. I mean, yeah, that was cool, too, but I love writing stories that help other people be brave, learn lessons, and overcome obstacles.”

Brent paused, refolding the letter. “So my message to you tonight is to not let anyone hold you back in following your dreams, least of all yourself. If you want something, have the courage to go and get it."

With those last words, he looked at her, and she felt the weight of them. Felt that he wasn't talking about writing or football. He was talking about her.

Brent's parents still looked astounded. Donna had her head cocked and a bewildered expression on her face. But then as Brent stepped back from the podium, his mother smiled. It was the biggest, proudest smile Rayne had ever seen a woman wear. In fact, it was catching. Like the flu, that smile spread throughout the recreation center. Rayne couldn't stop her own lips from turning up in sheer wonder.

Then Donna stood. And she started clapping. Rayne didn't fail to notice the tears streaming down her face. She was joined milliseconds later by Ross, who seemed a bit choked up himself.

Then the rest of the attendees rose with a clamorous scraping of metal chairs and clapped not for Brent Hamilton, the guy who broke records and put their town on the map, but for Brent Hamilton, the writer.

Rayne felt frozen in place. Brent looked flabbergasted at the response. He glanced at her with a “what-do-I-do?” look. She shrugged, stood, and clapped.

Henry whooped. 'That's so cool! I love his books!”

What a secret to keep all those years. Pride flooded her as the impact of Brent's achievement crept in. Brent had spent many years among people who expected very little of him, and yet, he'd been successful. Secretly following his dream. But why had he kept being a published writer a secret? One would think Brent would want the people around him to know he'd done something so... amazing.

She didn't understand. Maybe because everything she'd done had been out in the open, heavily promoted by first Phillip and now her agent along with everyone else in her company. She’d had someone to push her, hold her feet to the fire, catch her when she fell short. No bones about it, Rayne had pursued opportunities like a tenacious bulldog which was why the New York deal was so important to her. Two times before she'd been turned down. The networks’ refusals had only made her more determined. Perhaps she should be content with all she’d accomplished. She had a successful restaurant, cookbook, and apron line, not to mention the soon-to-be-opened inn. No one would look askance at that measure of success. But getting a show into production would be the feather in her cap.

Brent shook Griffin Doyle's hand again and made his way to the chair beside her. The audience sat and Griffin made a fewparting comments about how the season had progressed so far and a plea for parents to stop parking on the new sod they'd planted.

But Rayne couldn't focus on Griffin's words. Her mind spun, trying to wrap itself around what the man beside her had revealed. An author. Rayne tried to beat down the twinge of hurt that he hadn't shared his secret career with her, but what right did she have to know? His own parents hadn’t a clue.

"Why did you hold out on me?" she whispered. "This is a big deal."

"I don't know. Why are you still holding out on me?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.

"What do you mean?”

Erma Doyle frowned in response. Rayne made an apologetic face, but Brent plowed forward. "You hold back. You won't let yourself jump over the fence you've built between what you want and what you’re afraid to have.”

Rayne sank back in her chair.Fence?She wasn’t holding back. “I’m not. I walked through your door, didn’t I?”

“Did you really though?” He whispered before smiling as Doyle once again congratulated him on Coach of the Year honors. He even held up his hand and mouthed, "Thank you," before leaning back in his chair once more.

Rayne straightened. “I did. And it’s more than just a black and white issue. I’m not …” She stopped talking as the others sitting at the table began to rise. People around the room followed suit, some making their way toward Brent, including his parents. No time to explain where she was in her life. Which was a crossroads, not a stupid fence.

But maybe it was a fence. She’d have to think about that.

Later," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and rising with a smile. "Meet me out back tonight?"

She barely had time to nod before Brent got surrounded by well-wishers, leaving her feeling discontent with his words.

She glanced at Henry who looked fully immersed in some sort of dessert with crumbled chocolate cookies and gummy worms. He crammed the chocolate pudding into his mouth like a contestant in a pie-eating contest …or before his mother could stop him eating something that probably had more chemicals in it than a swimming pool.

Here was her focus. Henry. Not to mention her career, her employees, a house in Austin, a line of hand sanitizers, and polka-dot rubber dish gloves. She couldn't toss her life to take a chance with Brent. People only did that in chick flicks, and half of those ended with moviegoers crying in their popcorn. Real people had real repercussions. They couldn't chase waterfalls and rainbows. Or handsome old flames.

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