In The Between

✧･Chapter 23 Dance With Me?

It's been a week.

A week since that night with Mae.

A few days since I was in my grandma's kitchen and said things out loud I didn't even realize I was holding in until they came spilling out. A full week of me trying very hard not to spiral completely, so I did what I always do when I don't want to think.

I worked.

I threw myself into setting up this fundraiser with barely any room to breathe, let alone think about the one thing that's been sitting in my chest like a weight I can't shake. Every checklist, every vendor call, every last-minute change - anything that kept my mind from drifting back to her.

I even avoided Helena's dinner invite. Told myself it was because I was busy. Because I had to prepare, but the truth was simpler.

I was afraid. Afraid Mae would be there. More afraid she wouldn't be alone. Afraid I'd see her and Chris together and realize there was nothing in me that had actually calmed down in the last week.

So instead, I stayed away, and now I'm here, inside the venue.

And it's perfect.

The building itself is one of those downtown spaces Helena always manages to get her hands on - high ceilings, warm lighting already dimmed to a golden glow, polished floors that reflect every movement like it's intentional.

There are floral arrangements on every table, soft ivory and deep green, and string lights woven along the edges of the room like someone actually cared about making this feel more than just an event.

Which, of course, it is. It's a fundraiser, it has to matter.

I got here hours early, making sure everything was exactly where it should be. Checking seating charts. Rechecking seating charts. Fixing things that didn't need fixing just so I could keep moving.

The band is already set up near the far end of the room, tuning quietly. The bar is fully stocked and staff are circulating, finalizing details, smoothing over the last edges of chaos before the doors open.

Everything is ready, everything is controlled, and everything is exactly how I like it.

"Is everything at the entrance set up and ready to go?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at one of the coordinators.

She nods quickly. "Yes, ma'am. Check-in tables are ready. Guest list is finalized. We're good."

"Good," I say, exhaling a little as I smooth my hands down the front of my dress.

It's black, simple in theory, but anything but in execution.

Off-shoulder, sculpted at the waist, the fabric falling clean and elegant down my frame like it was made to make a statement without trying too hard.

The neckline is subtle but intentional, the kind that makes people look twice without immediately knowing why.

The back dips lower than expected, revealing just enough to feel dangerous in a room like this, while still somehow staying impossibly refined.

My hair is pinned up loosely, soft strands falling on purpose around my face like I didn't spend an hour making them do exactly that. Minimal jewelry, just thin gold accents that catch the light when I move.

I look... put together. That's the point, because if I stay put together, I don't think about Mae. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I adjust the cuff at my wrist, scanning the room again as more staff move into position. The guests will start arriving any minute now. Cameras, donors, sponsors - people who expect a polished night with polished speeches and polished smiles.

I can do polished, I've been doing polished my entire life.

"Claire," someone calls from behind me, and I turn quickly, already slipping into the version of myself that knows exactly what to say.

But the words don't come out immediately, because it's Helena and June is with her.

Helena is already dressed for the night too, elegant in a way that looks effortless but never is, her posture calm, composed, eyes scanning the room like she's taking inventory of everything I've been obsessively double-checking for the past three hours.

June stands slightly beside her, quiet in the way she usually is, hands loosely folded in front of her.

She looks comfortable here in a way that feels almost grounding, like she doesn't need noise to understand what's happening around her.

Her gaze shifts across the room, then settles briefly on me, soft and observant.

Helena steps closer first.

"There you are," she says, like she's been looking for me specifically. Her tone is light, but her eyes are sharper than her voice lets on. "I was starting to think you'd hidden yourself in a supply closet somewhere."

I let out a short breath that's almost a laugh. "Tempting, honestly."

"That bad?" She asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Not bad," I correct quickly, because it isn't. Not really. "Just busy."

Helena hums like she doesn't fully believe that, but she lets it go, for now. Her gaze flicks over me, slower this time, more intentional.

"You look... good," she says finally.

I blink. "That sounded like there was going to be a 'but.'"

"There isn't," she replies smoothly. "You just look like someone who's been running on adrenaline and spite."

I huff out a quiet breath. "That's not inaccurate."

June steps a little closer then, her attention settling on me more directly. She doesn't say anything immediately, just looks at me for a moment like she's reading something I'm not saying out loud.

Then she signs.

You look tired.

I exhale through my nose as I speak and sign back. "Thanks. I feel incredibly seen."

June's expression softens faintly, and she signs again, slower this time.

You don't have to do everything alone tonight.

Something in my chest tightens at that. I look away for half a second, forcing my attention back to the room instead of whatever that is trying to become.

"I'm fine," I say automatically while signing.

Helena doesn't respond right away, which is her way of not arguing but absolutely not agreeing either. Instead, she shifts slightly, folding her arms.

"Everything set?" She asks, changing direction but not tone.

I nod. "Yeah. Check-in is ready, seating's done, band's set, bar's stocked. Staff know their roles. Sponsors are prepped. We're just waiting for doors."

"Good," she says, then pauses. "And you're sure you don't need anything?"

"I need everyone to show up on time and behave," I say immediately.

Helena's mouth twitches slightly. "That might be more difficult than your emotional avoidance strategy."

I shoot her a look. "My what?"

She just smiles faintly. "Nothing."

June watches me again, quieter now. Her gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, then she signs something small.

You're doing that thing again.

I blink before speaking and signing. "What thing?"

Helena raises an eyebrow. "Where you look like you're holding your breath and pretending you're not."

I don't answer immediately, because that's annoyingly accurate.

A beat passes and then I force a small exhale and straighten slightly, adjusting the cuff at my wrist again like it suddenly needs fixing.

"I'm fine," I repeat, softer this time.

Helena studies me for a moment longer, then gives a small nod, not convinced, but accepting the answer anyway.

"Okay," she says. "But if you're not, you say something."

"I will," I lie immediately.

June glances between us, then gently nudges Helena's arm, as if to shift the mood back into something lighter. Helena responds with a quiet sigh, but there's a hint of fondness in it.

The room behind them starts to shift slightly with more people arriving, movement building, the low hum of an event about to begin filling the space.

Helena steps back half a pace, scanning the room again. "It's going to be a good night," she says, more to herself than anyone else.

I nod once. "Yeah," I agree.

And then the doors open. Not quietly or subtly and the shift is immediate.

The low hum of preparation turns into something alive as people begin to filter in, voices layering over one another, heels clicking against the polished floor, the faint clink of glasses as staff step in with trays of champagne.

I straighten without thinking, rolling my shoulders back as I step forward to meet the first wave.

"Good evening," I greet, offering an easy smile to the couple approaching the check-in table. "Welcome, we're so glad you could make it tonight."

They return it warmly, already looking impressed as they glance around. "It's beautiful in here," the woman says. "You've all done an incredible job."

"Thank you," I reply smoothly. "We've been looking forward to this one. Please, make yourselves comfortable. The bar's open, and we'll be starting the program a little later."

They thank me again before moving on, and just like that, it begins.

It always starts like this, with small interactions and polite exchanges, but within minutes the room fills, voices growing louder, laughter easier. I move through it all without hesitation, slipping into something practiced, something automatic.

"Claire, right? I've heard your name a few times already."

I turn toward the voice, smiling as I extend a hand. "Hopefully for the right reasons."

"Only good ones," the man replies with a grin, shaking my hand. "This place looks incredible."

"I'll take that compliment on behalf of about twenty people," I say lightly. "But thank you."

"You're being modest."

"I'm being honest," I counter, just enough humor in my tone to keep it easy.

He chuckles, and the conversation flows for another minute or two, about his work, the sponsor he's connected to, how long he's been attending events like this. When he moves on, someone else steps in, and then someone else after that.

I make my rounds, checking in with the bar.

I pause near the band as they transition into something smoother, something that settles into the background just enough to let conversations breathe.

The lighting dims slightly as the room fills, everything softening into warm gold tones that make the space feel more intimate than it actually is.

At one point, I catch sight of Helena across the room, already deep in conversation with a group of donors. June stands beside her, quiet but present, her gaze moving occasionally, observant as always. Helena glances up briefly, finds me in the crowd, and gives a small nod.

Everything's running exactly how it should, which means I don't have to think. Not about anything that happened a week ago. Not about her.

"Hey there."

I turn again, this time finding someone new stepping into my space.

"Hi," I say, smiling easily.

"Hi," he returns, a little more casually. "I was starting to think I'd have to compete for your attention all night."

I let out a soft laugh. "You might. It's kind of the job."

"I can respect that," he says, extending his hand. "Daniel."

I take it, his grip firm but relaxed. "Claire."

"Yeah," he says, like he already knew that. "I've heard."

"That's always slightly concerning."

"Should it be?"

I tilt my head, considering him for a second before letting my smile return. "Depends on who you've been talking to."

"Fair enough," he says, glancing briefly around the room before his attention settles back on me. "Either way, I can confirm they weren't wrong. This is... impressive."

"The event or me?" I ask, just lightly enough to blur the line between teasing and something else.

He smiles at that. "Can I say both?"

"You can," I reply, lifting my glass slightly, "but it might not help your case."

"And what case is that?"

"The one where I decide whether or not you're worth continuing this conversation."

He laughs, a little surprised but clearly enjoying it. "Wow. High stakes."

"I like to set expectations early."

"Well," he says, shifting just a bit closer, "I'd hate to lose this early on."

There's a moment there, a choice. I could pull back and keep it polite and distant. But instead, I let the smile linger, let my posture relax just enough to signal I'm staying.

"Then I guess you should say something interesting."

"That feels like a trap."

"It probably is."

He exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand along the back of his neck. "Alright. No pressure."

"None at all," I assure him.

And then we fall into it. Conversation that doesn't require anything real. He tells me about his work - something in finance, something stable, something that doesn't ask anything of me beyond polite interest. I ask questions when I should, nod in the right places, let my responses come easy.

He makes a joke at one point, something self-deprecating and harmless, and I laugh, reaching out without really thinking, my fingers brushing briefly against his forearm.

"Okay," I say, shaking my head slightly, "that one was actually good."

"I'll take that," he replies, glancing down for half a second before meeting my eyes again. "I was worried I was losing ground."

"You were close," I admit.

"Good to know I recovered."

"You're holding steady," I say, and there's a softness to it now, something easier, less guarded.

And that's the thing, this is easy. There's no weight here. No history pressing in from the edges. No memories tangled up in every word or every look.

I don't have to think about what this means, and I don't have to wonder what happens after. I can just stand here, laugh at the right moments, let someone look at me like I'm something uncomplicated.

Like I'm available. Maybe this is enough, maybe this is what it's supposed to feel like. Maybe I can actually...

A soft touch brushes the back of my shoulder, causing me to lose my train of thoughts. It's light, almost hesitant.

But it cuts through everything.

My breath catches, the sound of the room dulling just slightly as my body stills, every part of me suddenly aware in a way I haven't been all night.

I turn slowly, already feeling it settle somewhere deep in my chest before I even fully see her.

And then, "dance with me?"