On Dancer (An Annabeth Albert Christmas #5)

Chapter 1

One

Principal dancer: the most skilled dancer(s) in a ballet company, usually cast in leading roles.

Rudy: October

You need to get over your silly crush, I lectured myself even as I craned my neck, looking for the one and only Alexander Dasher, otherwise known as the source of my personal gay awakening and decade-long obsession.

No biggie. Certainly not a cause for stress.

This was simply any other country club party, not a reason to be weirdly nervous.

Our mothers were friends. Our paths should have crossed long before this.

Well, technically, they already had, but with any luck, Alexander wouldn’t remember my fourteen-year-old self, blushing and stammering when I met him backstage post Romeo and Juliet performance with my parents in tow.

Alexander had been a sweaty vision of perfection in ballet tights.

I had been fourteen and a short, skinny, pimpled mess of hormones.

No, better he meet me tonight as an adult.

A professional. A potential colleague. And I would get through the required introduction without even a hint of pink cheeks.

I exhaled hard, trying to come up with a use for all this jittery energy. Naturally, my older brother Waylon chose that moment to seek me out for a greeting and his typical brotherly hug.

“Nice shirt.”

As he released me from the hug, Waylon indicated the white dress shirt that had taken me far longer than hoped to iron.

I’d paired it with my nicest pair of slacks, which happened to be black.

I’d looked pretty sharp in the cracked full-length mirror some prior occupant of my apartment had left up, but Waylon didn’t seem inclined to agree.

Shaking his head, he snorted. “You look like part of the catering crew.”

“Mom said to dress professional, but not super fancy.” I tugged at my too-tight collar. I’d debated adding a tie, but I’d decided that would be overkill. Plus, my few ties were all super nerdy with the sort of inside-joke humor unlikely to go over well at this posh event.

“Well, you took the advice to heart.” Waylon patted my shoulder like he was fifteen years my senior rather than seven.

“At least it’s good weather for the party.

” He gestured beyond us to a large cement patio where several firepits had been set up along with twinkling white fairy lights.

“Probably last tolerable weekend till spring.”

“Yep.” October in Pennsylvania was a mixed bag, the last gasp of nice weather, complete with pumpkin patches and apple harvests, alongside shorter days and cooler temperatures that said another mid-Atlantic winter wasn’t far off. “The fire pits are a fun fall touch.”

“More like a liability.” Waylon’s eyes narrowed in the way only a seasoned litigator could pull off. “Thank goodness we’ve got a babysitter, or the kids would be all over the open flames.”

“You should have brought them.” I didn’t hate my high-achieving brother, or my equally acclaimed sister, for that matter, but I adored my nieces and nephews. Being a beloved fun uncle was far better than being the much-younger surprise brother who had yet to measure up.

“You sound like Mom.” Waylon released a groan as he rolled his shoulders. His dress shirt was light gray, and while we had the same dark-brown hair, pale skin, and short, skinny build, he managed to look far more stately. “Everyone needs an adult evening every once in a while.”

“Eh. Adulthood is overrated.” The two years since I’d graduated from college had hammered that home.

“Says the guy whose usual idea of a party involves dice and orcs.” Waylon laughed like he hadn’t been equally as much of a nerd once upon a time.

“You used to be that guy too.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Yep. And then I grew up.” Waylon shrugged as if he had zero regrets about leaving his character sheets, Odyssey cards, and dice collection to me around the time he met Shannon and became the most boring dude in existence. “You’ll see when you finally settle down.”

“I’m in no rush,” I said airily.

I was twenty-four. Plenty of time to figure myself out and find a use for my communications degree beyond serving as our mother’s assistant at the local ballet school.

Besides, Dungeons and Dragons campaigns and Odyssey tournaments were so much more fun than stuffy chamber music and forced mingling like this party.

“As we all know.” Waylon rolled his eyes in the way only an older brother could get away with before straightening back into his respectable civil rights lawyer self. “Oh, there’s Shannon with our drinks.”

“You should go help her.” I gestured toward his wife, who, while lacking even a hint of a nerdy bone in her tall, lanky body, was an otherwise lovely person currently toting two wine glasses across the crowded event space.

“Good call.” Waylon clapped me on the shoulder one more time. “I’ll catch up with you later. I want to hear how your work is going.”

“Sure.” I kept my tone as noncommittal as his.

I doubted he really wanted the latest ballet school gossip. Both Waylon and our sister Helen were only too relieved that I’d been available to step up and help during our mother’s recent health scare. And I’d been happy to do it, and a challenging job market had made my choice that much easier.

Ballet wasn’t my passion, though, my longtime crush on Alexander Dasher notwithstanding, and as Mom recovered, I found myself dodging more and more questions about what was next for me.

Not in the mood to socialize with Waylon and Shannon, nor to seek out Helen or our mother, I drifted out onto the patio, only to collide with a tall man lurking in the shadows near one of the fire pits.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” Understatement.

As I stepped back, the twinkling lights caught the legendary blond hair of Alexander Dasher. If possible, he was better looking up close and personal than my fourteen-year-old self remembered.

“No problem. I’m sort of hiding out.” Alexander shrugged. His voice was as cultured as his parents, not much trace of the Philly-area accent common around our suburb. “And my cup is empty anyway, so nothing spilled.” He held out an empty clear cup. “Are you collecting trash?”

“Uh. Sure.” The better action would have been to correct his assumption that I was part of the catering staff, but what popped out of my mouth was, “Can I bring you a refill?”

“And save me the trip back inside? Bless you.” Alexander smiled then, a broad, generous, elegant gift of a grin that made my impulsive offer more than worth a little embarrassment and mistaken identity. “Seltzer with lime, no ice.”

“Be right back.” I dashed inside to the bar, where, thankfully, the line for cocktails had died down. I was able to return in short order to present Alexander with the requested drink.

“Thank you.” He gifted me another smile, one I happily returned.

“No problem.” My fingers buzzed from the briefest of brushes as I handed over his drink. “I get wanting to hide, trust me.”

“Oh?” Alexander raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “At least you’re getting paid to be here.”

“Actually—” I opened my mouth to explain, but Alexander continued on with a flick of his wrist.

“I shouldn’t complain. My father deserves a good birthday. It’s not his fault my mother and sister keep trying to introduce me to every unpartnered adult at this thing.”

Ah. This would be a less-than-ideal moment to reveal I’d been angling for my own introduction. Instead, I made a commiserating noise. “Family setups are the worst.”

“Exactly.” Alexander took a long swallow of his drink, and my gaze locked on the long, lean muscles of his chiseled jaw and neck.

There was no mistaking him for a caterer as his light sweater looked to be knit out of something airy and expensive and was paired with a perfectly pressed pair of dark dress pants.

“There’s no easy way to extradite oneself. ”

“Your family undoubtedly means well though.” Yet again, I was about to explain our connection when Alexander shifted his weight from side to side. He winced, and months of looking out for my mother kicked in as I gestured at a nearby lounge chair near the fire pit. “You should sit.”

“Not you too.” Alexander laughed, a deep, musical sound, but his forehead stayed creased with tension. “You know you’re doing a terrible job hiding pain when a random server tells you to rest. No offense.”

“None taken.” I gave up on trying to correct him for the moment. Maybe we’d laugh about the misconception later. One could hope. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty about needing rest.”

“Guilt is my middle name these days.” Alexander took a few stiff steps over to the lounger to perch on the edge, extending one long leg out in front of him. “And it feels like all I do is rest. I’m tired of goofing off.”

“Listening to your body isn’t the same as goofing off.” I’d given my mother this same lecture so often I could do it in my sleep.

“Now you sound like my sister.” Alexander released a groan as he flexed his leg before draining what was left of the drink I’d brought him. “Listen to your body. Take your time. Come back slowly.”

“She’s not wrong.” I tried for the right blend of upbeat and soothing for this pep talk. “But you’ll make it back on stage.”

“You know who I am?” Frowning, Alexander sat up straighter.

“Of course—”

“Of course. I guess everyone here does.” He cut me off yet again before making an apologetic noise and softening his tone. “Sorry. I sound like an entitled ass. It’s been a long couple of weeks after the worst summer of my life. I was enjoying a brief moment of anonymity.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to your hiding.” My regret was genuine. Whatever brief moment of camaraderie we’d shared was gone, evaporated like smoke from the fire pit. I held out my hand for his now-empty cup. “Can I take your empty cup?”

“Sure. And now I feel bad, snapping at you when you were just trying to do your job.” He twisted his full lips into something between a grimace and a smile. “It’s not your fault I’m exhausted from the weight of all these questions and expectations over my recovery. My own included.”

“It’s okay. I know a thing or two about expectations.” I slipped back into pep-talk mode. “You need to give yourself a break. You don’t always have to be perfect, and certainly not right now when you’re still healing.”

“Don’t I?” Alexander gave a harsh laugh.

“Sometimes perfect isn’t possible.” I met his steely blue gaze, trying to leave him with the wisdom I’d gained over the last year. “Maybe this is one of those times.”

“You’re very wise for a caterer.”

“I’m not—” I was about to correct him once and for all when a tall, elegant woman I recognized as Alexander’s twin sister appeared in the nearby doorway.

“Alexander? We need you for a photo.”

“Sorry. I’m being summoned.” Alexander hefted himself out of the chair, and back perfectly straight, he strode toward the door, no trace of the earlier pain he’d let me see. “Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

I let him go. I remained on the patio for several long minutes, studying the flames in the metal firepit.

I’d finally met my crush as an adult, only to botch the whole thing with an embarrassing misunderstanding I was in no hurry to correct.

Eventually, though, the chill of the evening air pushed me back inside, where my mother cornered me near the bar area.

“There you are.” My mom greeted me with a big hug. She’d arranged her short, wispy hair in whimsical spikes that made her look younger, as did the pink that had returned to her cheeks.

“Here I am.” I managed a smile for her. She wore a seasonally appropriate rust-colored dress, and like Waylon, a wrinkle would never dare grace her wardrobe.

“You look nice.” She stepped back to look me over with the eagle eyes of a woman who’d spent decades straightening ballet costumes and wiping dirt off little faces before performances. “A bit too ready to go knock on doors or offer appetizers, but nice. New shirt?”

“Yeah.” My cheeks heated. I was never buying another white shirt.

“Oh, there’s Alexander. I wonder if Tavio’s spoken with him yet.” Mom gestured across the room to where Alexander stood with his sister and their mother. “I so hope Alexander agrees to help us out. Did you want me to introduce you?”

“Later.” I made a vague gesture with my hand.

At the start of the evening, I’d had every hope that Alexander would agree to my mother and Tavio’s bold plan to help the ballet school and struggling local company, but now, I was in the weird position of hoping Alexander declined.

The sooner he pliéd his way back to Seattle, the sooner I could get over the case of mistaken identity.