Chapter Fourteen #2
“Ahh, yes, I just wanted to be sure that you saw my memo that the Hoffermans are going to be out of town during the performance. Shame, really.”
I . . . did not know that. The Hoffermans are the second top donor each year.
My stomach sinks. Something about this year has felt extra challenging.
Dance isn’t a priority for everyone, and sometimes, it feels like an uphill battle convincing the town to ensure our dance studio survives.
First, we lost the sets I used to use for the holiday production to water damage after they were accidentally left outside during a snowstorm, then we lost our original set designer, and now, we’re losing the influence and generosity of one of our best financial supporters.
I don’t know how to make it the best show ever this year, not when so many things seem to be falling out of place, but I still have to try.
The Hoffermans are the type to want people to know about their support.
So, if they’re not concerned with being here, I have even more reason to be concerned about the survival of my livelihood.
But I can’t say any of that out loud. “I appreciate the update, Mr. Collins,” I begin. “It was kind of you to travel all the way here just to tell me.”
His feet shift at the compliment, but he doesn’t smile. I know he means well, and I’m confident my appreciation was genuine.
“Well, I just hope there are enough scholarships after the holidays to keep you going, is all,” he says ruefully.
We both know the importance of this performance is about more than the scholarships.
It’s about Piper, whose father was laid off.
She dreams of being a principal dancer like I was.
It’s also about Bennett, who is being raised by a single mom.
She works two jobs and believes he should pursue dance if that’s what makes him happy.
When I was coming up, my parents always provided.
For the most part, I never had to worry, but I remember slow seasons during which my parents’ inn struggled and stress over the cost of my dance costumes was high.
As soon as I could, I scooped cones at Bette’s Ice Cream in the summer to make sure I had the money to pay for all my shoes and uniforms throughout the year.
And Mom once admitted that she wanted to dance as a child, but her parents couldn’t afford it.
That broke my heart, and that’s why I am passionate about making sure everyone has the opportunity to pursue their dreams.
Because dance shouldn’t be optional for people.
As much as it’s hard to hear, I know Arthur is trying to look out for me.
He wants me to manage my expectations and plan ahead.
But right now, I need a little less realism and a lot more hope.
Looking at Jace hammering away at something that I think is going to be a box for one of the dancing dolls in The Nutcracker, something that feels a little like potential nestles into the center of my chest.
“I think we’re going to be okay, sir,” I say firmly. “I love dance, but my students mean the most to me. I will do everything I can to ensure that everyone who wants to dance in this town continues to be able to do so.”
Arthur’s eyebrows lift. He seems uncertain as to whether I just denied his doom-and-gloom outlook.
“Right. Just wanted you to know.” He turns to my students, who have now transitioned into hopping while meowing like cats.
I stifle a laugh. They’re adorable. “I’ll leave you to whatever this is.
” With that, he turns and heads to the door backstage.
“Okay, thank you so much!” I call with an overly dramatic wave, even though he doesn’t see it.
“Tough crowd,” Jace says.
He’s beside me again, towering over me like before. I’m surrounded by his presence, and I don’t hate it.
“He means well, even if he didn’t bring . . . the best news.”
My watch beeps, alerting me that it’s time to begin our actual rehearsal. I’m focused on our time together today. It may be work to corral a whole herd of littles, but it’s the most enjoyable environment I’ve ever encountered.
“What can I do?” the manly voice beside me speaks again.
My heart warms at the fact that he’d even want to do something.
Yet, this isn’t his fight. Although, I guess he does have Emmy, who happens to remind me of myself when I was her age; her love for dance is as enthusiastic as my own.
Jace’s arms hang loosely beside him, my own also extended at my sides.
Casually, I reach my hand ever so slightly and nearly gasp when I feel the tips of his fingers brush against mine.
My skin flashes with heat. He’s meeting me in the middle.
And that quiet sign of connection expands my lungs.
“Build things?” I wish my question held a little more confidence, but it’s all I’ve got right now. With his help, we have more of a chance at a successful production, no matter how many tickets we sell.”
“And that I can do.” With that, Jace strides the length of the stage in four steps and is back to working on his box situation.
I shake my head. The weirdness of how . . . not domestic, exactly, but how normal it feels for him to be here is not lost on me. While I’m surrounded by people during my classes, I’m rarely with other adults at my studio besides Harlow.
“Okay, my darlings! Allons-y!”
Immediately, my class laughs, familiar with my random terms of endearment or greetings in French. In addition to universal ballet terms, Sparrow taught me a few useful phrases.
“Let’s practice for our Christmas performance!”
∞∞∞
Later that night, when I’m lying in bed, reading, Resin tucked under the covers beside me and his head lying across my stomach, I hear the familiar ting of an incoming message on my phone.
I forgot to turn off my notifications before settling in for the night.
Picking it up from the bedside table, my screen lights up with a message from an unfamiliar number. My heart changes rhythm.
Unknown Number: Hi, Starlight.
The simple greeting is enough for me to smile and settle deeper into my pillows, my phone hovering over my face while Resin nestles in closer.
Of all the messages I’ve received on my phone—factoring in apps and various dating attempts—this, by far, is my favorite one.
I take a screenshot and then decide to have a little fun.
Me: Who is this?
I know it’s Jace by the nickname, no question. I’ve already added his contact info into my phone. But I’m curious to see his reaction. The dots on the screen appear and disappear.
Jace: I’d better be the only one who calls you Starlight.
His slightly possessive tone, while brand new to me, I don’t hate. I find I don’t even want to tease him anymore.
Me: You are.
Jace: Good. Your gram gave me your number. Hope that’s okay.
Instantly, I have so many questions. My grandmother is notoriously bad at technology, so the fact that she not only gave him my number but also figured out how to provide it is enough of a Christmas miracle for the season.
Me: You saw her again?
Jace: I think she’s a fan.
Me: Wow, an endorsement from Gram is worth a thousand others.
Jace: I’m honored.
Me: So, what are you going to do now that you have the power to write to me at any time?
The little dots once again appear and disappear, and I’ve never been so riveted by my phone in my life.
Jace: First, I’m inviting you to go sledding.
Jace: Tomorrow.
Jace: With Emmy.
Jace: Emmy and me.
Jace: Both of us.
Jace: And you.
Jace: It’s my Christmas wish.
Jace: Well, one of them. *wink-wink*
I laugh. Turns out that the man has zero chill tonight.
Jace: Sorry. I’m nervous, and my thumbs are clearly unhinged. Don’t hold it against me.
Jace: Please.
I squeal. Resin groans.
“I’m disrupting your slumber, I know.” I pet his head before typing as fast as my fingers allow.
Me: It turns out I’m free for a sledding adventure. Can’t wait.
Jace: Me too. I’ll text you the time tomorrow. Goodnight, Starlight.
Me: Night, Jace.
I switch my phone to silent, turn off my bedside lamp, and nestle into the covers, wrapping Resin up in my arms and enjoying the weight of him and the sound of his even breaths.
“I feel so light, buddy. I think this might be what happiness feels like.” I confess the words into the darkness of my room, the silkiness of Resin’s ears a comfort between my fingers. And, for the first time in a long time, I dream.