Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Ivy looks toward me, her eyes slightly wide, unmeasured emotion in them, while she scans my face.
One of her legs has regained the highest level of the barre.
Her body is still facing the barre, but when her arms rise and trail over her head toward her extended leg, she peeks at me from beneath the arch of her arms, eyebrows lifted.
I sigh and nod, wishing I could tell her just to ignore me, but I can’t seem to get the words out.
I probably shouldn’t even be here, but I can’t bring myself to leave her alone tonight.
We’re in a sort of magic land with the fairy lights woven throughout the space, the music drifting through the air, and the warmth after the chill of the outdoors wrapping around us.
I lean back against the wall, allowing my eyes to close and the memories of our first moments to float through my mind.
I’ve tried to hold them back, afraid that the resurgence of them would drown me rather than free me.
But it’s time to honor the moments—even through the fear, the disappointment, and the decisions I made following our ill-fated acquaintance.
Running from those memories all this time has been exhausting, and if anyone is going to help me through to the other side, it’s Ivy.
The light patters of her slippered feet brushing and lifting off the floor soothe and calm my nerves.
My courage lifts with every beat she moves to, so I open my eyes to take it in.
Her body flows to a song featuring a cello, the music uniting with her in a way that’s magnificent to behold.
Her whole body moves and flows with the soul of the sound, and I’m captivated.
Once, she told me she’d been injured in New York, but the way she moves speaks of her determination to do what she loves without apologizing for it.
Before I can overthink it, I rise to my feet, slowly removing one shoe and then the other.
I don’t want to startle her, so I stand at the edge of the studio floor with socked feet, waiting to make sure she even wants me in her space.
After pirouetting a few times, she stops, and her eyes catch mine.
Gracefully, she glides to the center of the room, her short tutu hugging the top of her waist. Her gaze shifts to my feet, and she smiles.
To my surprise, her eyes brim instantly with unshed tears. I hope my gaze conveys my request.
Then Ivy nods, and I walk toward her, the sensation of my feet on the spongy floor bending beneath my weight a contrast to the feeling of my heart pounding within my ribs.
When we’re only inches apart, I go still, unsure what to do next.
We’re in the middle of the studio, but we might as well be in the middle of the ocean.
I want to hold her, touch her. And I want what I’ve believed about myself to be rewritten.
“Dance with me?” Ivy asks, and the music stops, making the last word louder than the first. She looks at the remote under the barre and moves toward it, holding up a hand to temporarily pause what was between us.
Soon enough, she’s back in the center of the space, and I smell the vanilla radiating off her with a hint of amber, the scent reminding me that this isn’t a dream. I can never smell her when I dream.
“I will dance with you. I want to dance with you,” I add as our eyes connect. “But I want to do your kind of dance.”
“My kind of dance?” Ivy asks breathlessly, searching my face. I let her search, knowing that she’ll find the truth.
“How would someone . . .?” I clear my throat as the thought of how many times other men have danced with her clenches my heart. I want it to be my turn. “How would a man hold you to support you while you dance? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Jace, they’ve had years of training. And it’s an act, a show. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t have a problem teaching me.”
“No!” she says firmly, and I feel my spine stiffen. “No, that’s just it . . . if you danced with me, it would mean everything.”
A tear escapes from her right eye, and I reach up to wipe it with the pad of my thumb. More tears fall, and my hands act like windshield wipers to gently clear them. Her hot-chocolate irises are hazy, the warmth in them increasing and steaming with emotion.
“I want to hold you, Ivy. I want to support you while you do what you love. And I promise you that I’m doing everything I can to fight what’s in my mind. I don’t want to leave you alone in the cold this time.”
In response, Ivy turns to the barre, using her fingers to lightly brush any remaining tears from her face. Her face is flushed, her eyes are glassy, and her lips are slightly open as she takes a deep breath.
“Okay, then,” she says, twirling toward the front of the room, her eyes now facing forward.
I follow the direction of her line of sight until our gaze clashes in the mirror.
To my delight, a slight grin lifts one side of her pouty mouth.
The urge to kiss her just to make sure this is real overwhelms my senses.
She motions with her head to encourage me to move, and I stand behind her, waiting for my next instructions.
“I wanted to kiss you.” I let out an exhale. “I feel . . . almost desperate to kiss you again.” With a tentative chuckle, I shake my head. “But that’s me, ever the romantic.”
Ivy turns to face me, her eyes wide as she watches me silently.
“I know we said we’ve changed, and it’s true. But right now, it’s like . . .” Once again, my words get caught.
“Is it like you’ve never wanted anything more?” Ivy asks me.
“Like I’ve never been so hungry for something in my entire life.”
“Jace,” Ivy says into the space between us, the lights that shimmer like stars surrounding us. “Don’t go hungry. Not when I’m right here.”
She rises on her toes, and I focus on the smoothness of her skin, the flush in her cheeks, and her eyes trained on my lips expectantly.
I don’t want to keep waiting. I’m tired of waiting.
For the first time in a long time, my desire to show affection silences the lies I’ve believed.
So, I close the distance between us, and suddenly, her soft, warm lips are pressed against mine. And my heart thinks: This, I remember.
She hums. A sigh escapes from the back of my throat, the controlled humming in my palms the only indication that I haven’t actually left my body.
It feels too good to be real. Ivy’s mouth moves over mine, as gracefully and elegantly as she moved earlier, dancing over the doubts I’ve carried with me since we last saw each other.
All I know is that I haven’t felt this level of peace since we last kissed.
The calming sensation pulsing through my system brings emotions to the surface that I’ve never before felt.
It’s all the tears I never allowed myself to shed.
It’s the understanding that all the heartbreak was worth it if Ivy is the one to mend it.
The anger and the disappointment melt in the electrical shock of her desire for me.
It’s like being near the fire while a storm rattles the windows.
It’s the exquisite quietness of freshly fallen snow.
It’s the miracle of recognizing that we’re so small in this world, and yet, somehow, we each matter deeply.
I reach up to nestle my hands in her hair, the softness of her skin and the silkiness of the wispy bits of her ribbon-tied hair twirling around my fingers.
Ivy shifts in my arms, and I let her take the lead, losing myself in the release of the tension that’s been building since we reconnected.
The feeling of wanting to be even closer to her is overwhelming.
I have an urge to immortalize the moment and forget the cold that hovers on the edges of my consciousness and the sadness that’s been weighing on my heart for ages.
I feel her hands move into my hair too, and I hum in response, enjoying the pressure of her touch now cradling my jaw.
Those soft hands move to my neck, her slight but strong frame complementing my sturdy one, both of us steady in our own strengths.
Her kisses flow like the beloved river in this town, dancing rapidly on the surface but running smoothly as it’s pulled by the current.
I’m filled to the brim with peace, and yet, I feel as though I already miss her.
We’re only brought back to reality by the sound of a clock chiming at Town Hall.
I break the kiss, my lungs heaving. I’m nearly out of breath, but my eyes diligently scan every detail of her face, searching for answers. “Did you—Was that . . .?” I start to ask, barely getting the words out.
The furrow in her brow and the uncertainty in her expression cause a slight shiver to run down my spine.
This woman. If she needs reassurance, I’m happy to give it to her.
Not only because she should have it, but also because I respect her.
And I make a vow in that moment, no matter what happens, no matter her response to our kiss, that I’ll never be the one to leave her wondering about her worth.
“Was that even better than I ever could’ve imagined?
Do I already wish we were still kissing?
” She grins, and in the soft golden glow of the twinkle lights, I see when she feels the way my hands are shaking, still wrapped around the curve of her waist. She covers my hands with her own.
“You’d better believe it.” Relief overwhelms me as I lean down to gently tap my forehead against hers.
“Was it everything you’ve dreamed?” she asks quietly.
“Ivy,” I plead, releasing my hands from her waist to cradle her face.
I begin leaving a soft trail of kisses—one on her forehead, one near the height of her cheekbone, and one at the corner of her mouth—before placing a searing kiss on her lips.
Like we’ve done this a thousand times before, but with a change of choreography and location, it all feels new again.
Ivy holds me close and then turns back to face the mirror.
Her lips are slightly swollen, the lip gloss she had on now slightly blended along the edges.
She reaches back toward me, focused on our reflection, and I extend my hand to reach hers.
With that, she reaches for my other hand and then slowly, almost painfully, places them on the sides of her waist. My fingers are on fire as I swallow.
I’m water with a current. I’m a radio that found a frequency.
I’m a lost ship that’s sighted a lighthouse.
“Do you still want to learn my kind of dance?” she says softly, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality, hazy at the edges.
I nod and am riveted as Ivy’s smile softens and widens slightly. Her hands cover my own before she drops them, her arms smoothly moving to a position arched above her head.
“Okay, Jace, I’ll teach you.”