Chapter 8
Ledger
There’s a part in the dance Kaisa is teaching me that we skip over every time.
She keeps telling me not to worry about it yet, but I think it’s a lift. There’s a whole eight count in which we just stand there and Kaisa counts and pantomimes through something, like she’s imagining the steps in her head.
“But wouldn’t it make sense, since it’s difficult, to start working on it right away?” I ask, amused at her over-the-top concern.
“We’re not ready yet,” she insists again and then changes the subject. “Lower your shoulders, Ledger. And watch your heel on that one-and count after the Cucaracha, okay? It’s a bit clonky.”
“You mean, clunky?”
She mutters something in Finnish, and then her smile lights up her whole face and I forget for a second everything I thought I knew about ballroom dance. Kaisa is mesmerizing.
“Clonky, clunky…same thing!” she says and shakes her head.
“Is ‘clonky’ Finnish?”
She bursts out a laugh. “No.”
“Teach me some Finnish. How do you say ‘clunky’ in your native tongue?”
“When your body is fluent in ballroom dance, I promise you I’ll teach you some Finnish.” She steps towards me and her brow furrows. I know that look. It means she’s ready to stop talking and get back to dancing.
I don’t mind. I get to touch her while we’re dancing, so it’s pretty much a win-win…except for when I mess up or forget something or step on her toes, which, I’m proud to say, is happening less often.
“I’ll never be fluent in ballroom dance!” I counter as we hold our opening positions as the music starts. “My body is fluent in being the posterchild of all things you shouldn’t do onstage.”
Her brows go up. “Guess you’ll never learn Finnish then.”
“I’d settle for some of those Finnish Christmas Stars.”
“You’ll have to go to Maija Whittaker for those,” she retorts, but then she softens. “Nothing reminds me of home and Christmas more than those treats.”
“You know what’s sad?” I say. “I probably won’t get any this year because we don’t have a game on Christmas day.”
“That’s a tragedy,” she mocks in a saucy way.
The music starts—that stupidly sexy music—and this time she actually smiles at me when we finish.
“I see that smile,” I say.
Kaisa clamps her mouth shut and turns it down into a frown, but she can only hold it there for a second before she laughs. “I was smiling because you did okay.”
“Okay?” I take in an exaggerated breath. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She just lifts a shoulder and takes a sip of water out of her water bottle. Then, “You’re working hard and it’s starting to show.”
I lap up her compliment like a bowl of cream.
I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from making that terrible comment after our crushing loss.
How could I have said I didn’t have time for the kids’ charity?
If I hadn’t said that, I’d be home in San Antonio with my team, getting ready to head to Indiana to be with my family, embarrassed only about juggling and dropping the ball.
But since time travel hasn’t been invented yet, I’m here, and I can admit that I’m invested now. I’m still not a good dancer, but I have enough of a working knowledge about most of the steps now that…I don’t know…I can sort of see why people dance.
It’s not without its charm.
Turns out, neither is Kaisa--when she’s not being strict about how my fingers need to move a half-inch to one side or I’m letting my shoulders creep up.
I like leading her in the steps. I like holding her and when her body is pressed up against mine, and we lock gazes?
Wow. It’s powerful.
“How was your experience at the VIP thing yesterday?” she asks when we take a short break.
“When I’m out with the public, there’s usually at least one hater, someone who gives me commentary about how they think I need to improve my game. But for the most part, they were great yesterday. Not a single armchair quarterback.”
She sits on the floor, stretches her legs long, and leans back against the mirror. “Are you the quarterback for the Wolves?”
I shake my head. “I play for the offense, like the quarterback, but I’m a tight end.”
“Then why the armchair?” She unscrews the cap off a packet of applesauce and squeezes some in her mouth. “Want an applesauce?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
She tosses me one from her bag and I open it. I ease myself onto the floor, relieved my muscles aren’t as sore as they were yesterday, and sit across from her. “Oh, it just means that they think they know how to improve your game, even when they’ve never played in the NFL themselves.”
Her look is still quizzical.
“Do you ever get people commenting on your dancing, even though they don’t know much about dance?”
Her face dawns with comprehension as she takes a sip of the applesauce. “Oh! Of course. I made the mistake of reading a Reddit thread about the show.” Her lips press together. “People were so mean. I’ll never do that again.”
My chest burns with the injustice. How could people insult her like that? “I can’t imagine anyone complaining about your dancing. I think you’re a phenomenal dancer.”
She places a hand on her hip. “But you haven’t even seen me. Not really. You haven’t seen what I can do.”
“I want to watch the show.”
“You should watch the previous seasons, if you have the time. It could help you understand some of the mechanics of what we’re trying to do here.”
“Okay.” I’ve purposefully avoided watching it. I don’t know why, but it might have something to do with maybe the more I see of her, the more I like what I see.
I’m interested in her. But she clearly doesn’t like me. She’s probably only interested in guys who are good dancers.
“And anyway,” she continues. “The haters? They’re usually not talking about my dancing.” She purses her lips together tightly and then finishes off her applesauce packet.
Gloom wrenches my middle. I can guess what she means—and it’s not good.
She flings her empty packet in a nearby garbage can. “They either call me a bad word, or they mention my body like I’m in a meat market.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
My throat burns like lava. “That’s not okay.”
“There’s nothing I can do besides avoid Reddit and Googling myself.” She gives a faint laugh.
“Same. Coach has a strict no-social-media policy during the regular season. He doesn’t want anything from the outside world getting in our heads.”
She nods. “Smart. I should do the same.”
“Sounds like we have something in common.” I gently tap her shoe with my own and am rewarded with the echo of a smile. Which reminds me.
“Hey, I saw you with that girl yesterday. The one in the wheelchair.”
“Sydney? Wasn’t she the cutest eight-year-old you’ve ever seen?” Kaisa’s face lights up. “She was so nice. And witty! She is a force. And she has excellent posture and good arms.”
I laugh. “In football, having a good arm means something else.”
“I’m sure it does.” Kaisa gives a tinkling laugh. It’s like the gentle splash of raindrops on the pavement, light and sweet. “I just mean she’s graceful.”
“Well, it was good to see you enjoying yourself so much.”
She chews on her bottom lip, then, “I was not enjoying myself before that.”
“Why not?”
She turns away from me and adjusts her hair. “We don’t need to get into my social anxiety stuff right now. We need to rehearse.”
I would have never guessed she struggled with that. It would explain a lot.
“I didn’t know you had social anxiety. You always seem so confident.”
Her brows bob up and down. “Dancing is acting. I have to pretend a lot of things.”
“Like, the whole ‘conversation between two people who are trying not to fall for each other’ thing?”
“Yes, yes.” Her mouth draws up into flower bud—pink and lush. Something is happening between us…some sort of non-verbal communication I can’t begin to understand.
It’s not the normal connection I feel with an attractive woman I’m getting to know. I’m drawn to Kaisa in so many complex ways. There’s a fire between us and I’m like a moth to the flame.
Kaisa drops her head back as she leans against the mirror, and now I’m waylaid by the sight of her long neck.
“Sydney, the little girl, made it all worth it, though. She’s watched every episode of the show and wanted to talk details.
But what about you? You were good with the people you were talking to…
” She clears her throat and tips her head forward to look at me again. “I mean, from the little I saw.”
“Everyone was nice. It’s good to be here, away from the cities we go to for games. Winterbrook reminds me of Shelbyville.”
Because I can’t stop staring, I point to her outfit, a teal blue, full-body spandex thing with striped leg warmers and a matching headband. “I like the dancewear today.”
“Thanks,” she says, flipping her long braid over her shoulder and eyeing me warily. I don’t blame her. I haven’t complimented her much since we met.
“I used to wear leg warmers a lot back in Finland.” She bends forward to adjust them along her calves. “Haven’t needed them much in LA, that’s for sure.” She laughs.
“I don’t think my sisters ever wore leg warmers when they danced.”
“Your sisters danced? How many sisters do you have?”
“Yeah. Some ballet and tap. I have three sisters and two brothers.”
Her eyes widen. “You have five siblings?”
“It’s a lot, huh? But it made growing up fun. Do you have any siblings?”
“A brother.” A smile curls her lips. “He’s seven years older than me. He’s in Helsinki like my parents.”
“Are you going to be able to see them at all during the holidays?”
She shakes her head. “I was going to. I’d purchased my plane ticket and everything. But then Wynn asked me to be in charge of the Peppermynt Twist Showdown, and it was too big of an opportunity to turn down.”
“That’s too bad you won’t see your family, though. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” She gives a resolute nod. “My mother was upset when I told her. I wanted to fly all three of them out to be with me here for a few days, but my father had surgery recently and can’t fly.”
“That means you’re not getting those Finnish Christmas Stars, huh?”
“Hopefully next year.”
“So what are you going to do for Christmas then?” I ask.
“Enjoy the warmth of California and see some friends. It’s fine.” But there’s something in her eyes that belies her words, a flash of grief. “What about you? What are your Christmas plans?”
“Sometimes we have a game on Christmas day, so since we don’t this year, my mom has a big thing planned back home. All my siblings and their families will be there.”
Her smile wobbles before growing. “That’s so nice. I bet that will be amazing.”
“It will be. When’s the last time you got to go home to Finland?”
“About three years ago.”
“And you moved to the States when you were fourteen?”
She chews on her bottom lip and nods. “The Finnish Dancesport Federation awarded me a scholarship, which helped me train to win gold in the Latin World Youth Dancesport Championships. After that, I got some offers to come here and dance.”
“Wow. Did you move here by yourself?”
“My mother came with me. She was here until I turned sixteen. She sacrificed a lot for my dance career.”
“You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen?”
“Sort of. But I lived with fellow dancers in the companies I’ve worked for. And I’ve traveled a lot, competing and touring. It’s been exciting.”
“Sounds really great. And tiring.”
“Says the professional football player! That sounds tiring.”
“But it won’t be forever. Eventually, I’ll retire. I can stand the exhaustion because I know when it ends, I’ll miss it.”
“That’s kind of how I feel about dancing.” She curls one leg in and bends forward to stretch. “What will you do after football?”
I hesitate, dropping my head back against the wall. “I don’t know if I should say.”
“What? Why not? You can’t just not say it now.”
“It’s just that…I used to tell people my plans after football, but the reaction usually wasn’t great.”
“Okay, now I’m really curious.”
I lift my shoulders. “I want to be a chemist back in Shelbyville.”
Her eyes grow wide.
I press out a palm. “I know, I know. It’s not glamorous. But my parents own a big farming operation out there and my uncle owns an agricultural sciences company. So I want to work in corn genetics. And then I’ll help my dad at the farm on the side.”
“Wow. You really are a farm boy.”
“The Bishops have been farmers for centuries. And I know it’s weird to want to go back to that life after football. But you know what? It’s okay. I don’t expect anyone to get it.” I sniff. “I’m fine with people thinking I’m weird.”
“I don’t think you’re weird, Ledger.”
She switches the leg she’s stretching and I’m hung up on how flexible she is. Her nose can reach her knee.
“I think you’re really smart,” she continues. “Like, smart enough to get your degree in chemistry. It’s cool, Farm Boy.”
“I do know my chemistry.” I lift my brows. Am I flirting? I think I might be flirting. And why is her voice so cute when she calls me “Farm Boy”?
She gets up off the floor and steps to me, taking my hands in hers and pulling me into a standing position. “Oh really? Knowing chemistry can be quite helpful.” Her gaze is trained on mine as she guides my hand around her waist and holds the other one so that we’re in closed position.
I breathe out, finding it hard to concentrate as my fingertips slide along the slickness of the LYCRA leotard she’s wearing. “And how is it helpful?”
“Because…” She pauses to do a quick turn under my arm, gliding her feet along the floor in a slow roll. “We need to have chemistry onstage, Ledger. This is the most intimate dance in all of ballroom.” Her blue-eyed gaze moves over my face. “We need the audience to feel the chemistry between us.”
She continues with her sultry moves, bringing one tanned arm up in the air and drawing the other to the base of her neck, bringing my hand with it.
And now I’m touching the base of her neck.
Her hair brushes against the back of my hand.
The spark between us is palpable. “Rock back and hold and…” she guides me with her words.
I’m drinking the Kool-Aid of Kaisa Halberg.
She can be demanding and rigid. But also kind and witty and so beautiful it stops my heart. When I’m dancing with her, I feel something I’ve never felt before.
I think maybe I don’t want to stop holding her in my arms.