Epilogue
In much the same way that I’d poured myself into solving the mystery of the missing money at Blancbourg, I also work tirelessly to get my new business up and running.
Madam Tissot, the former owner of the ballet school, was incredibly gracious and relieved she wasn’t letting all of her dancers down after years of teaching.
She passed me the keys to the studio along with her client roster when she retired.
How to run the place is another story, but so far the transition has been relatively seamless.
In fact, only a week after Madam Tissot passed the torch, I’m hosting an open house in the old/new studio so Madam Tissot’s former students can get to know me and find out more about the classes I’ll be offering. I want to act fast so I don’t lose the interest of the previous students and families.
I’ve been busy all morning preparing, but I take a few minutes to freshen up before everyone arrives.
I wear a simple pair of black leggings and an off-the-shoulder pink sweater.
Even though I want to look the part of a serious teacher, for once, I leave my hair down.
I’ve been gradually feeling my way into the new version of myself, which has all the grace and poise of my old self, but I want to convey to my new students that ballet can be fun too.
My mission is to instill the love of dance in my students first, and then the rigor can come later if that’s the track they want to pursue.
When I get back to the studio, a massive bouquet of flowers sits in the entryway. There’s no card, but it’s windy today. Perhaps it blew away.
I string up pink balloons outside the door and get bonked in the face a few times. I’ll let the kids know they can each take a balloon when they leave. Inside, I hang other ballet-themed decorations. By the door, I set up a table and fluff the tablecloth skirt that looks like a tutu.
Hildie offered to bake ballet slipper cookies and is showcasing her new pretzel samplers. Gemma is bringing her twin girls and told me they made what she called chocolate berry pops for the occasion. I’m also serving pink lemonade with pink and white striped straws.
Arthur and Mrs. Fitzgerald are the first to arrive and others filter in moments after I open the doors.
I greet them and say, “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald wears a confused smile. “I was going to thank you for the flowers while I was at home recovering.”
“No, I mean those flowers.” I point to the bouquet of pink and white roses. “They’re beautiful and smell heavenly.”
Arthur shakes his head. “My apologies for the confusion, but we didn’t send those.”
My eyebrows knit together as I look around at the people gathered—mostly families with daughters and a few sons interested in dance, former students, and of course, the Fitzgerald.
I welcome everyone and thank them for coming. I tell a little bit about myself, my background, and what kinds of classes I’ll be offering, then I open up for questions before we do a mini-lesson.
The kids love it and I feel at home back in the studio, but on the other side of the dance line. I encourage the kids and have a feeling it’s going to be rewarding to watch them learn and grow in ballet.
Afterward, I chat with the parents and everyone enjoys the refreshments. With only a few guests remaining, I finally have a chance to chat with Gemma. I ask her about the flowers.
“Who could they be from—?” Then I fall silent.
A large, imposing figure stands in the doorway. Connor’s hair is trimmed, his face clean-shaven, and his eyes are the copper-brown embers that make my heart pirouette. He wears a black T-shirt, sweats, and an enormous pink tutu.
The little girls giggle.
The mothers ogle Connor from the waist up.
I stare, slack-jawed.
“I heard the best ballet teacher around just opened a studio and I’d like to sign up for my first lesson.”
I rush across the wood floor and leap into Connor’s arms. He picks me up and squeezes me tight. I plant a kiss on his lips.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had training.”
“I did. I do. But I couldn’t miss opening day. Declan let me jet over here. Literally. While I wait for mine to come from the factory.”
I nearly choke on my lemonade. “Your what from where?”
“I bought a private jet so I can see you whenever I want and vice versa.”
“Connor,” I stammer, shocked at the extravagance.
Now that we’re married, I’ve had a glimpse into his finances.
Despite his reputation as being a bad boy football player, the man hardly spent a cent in the last eight years of earning the kind of annual income most people are lucky to see in their lifetimes, but this seems extravagant.
“And here I can only offer you some fruit, lemonade, and cookies.”
He leans close, “No, Cateline, you offered me a future together that I could never have fathomed.”
I bite my lip, suddenly feeling shy in front of anyone close enough to have overheard this conversation. Then again, they’ve all probably seen his #BruiserButt.
Taking me by the hand, he says, “Come on, let’s see what you’ve been doing for the last eight days and four hours.” He glances at his watch. “And twenty-three minutes. I want all the details.” He smiles wide.
I introduce him to Gemma and then lead him into the main room, telling him all about my vision for the school.
“It isn’t super strict like the academy I went to.
However, I’ll teach the classical style, but there will also be modern and formal dance options, games, parties, and pizza nights.
..this program may not be for dancers who desire to join the national tours, but for those who dance for the love of it.
Then again, I could train someone to become a professional if they desire to do so. ”
“I’m so proud of you,” Connor says.
I beam. For years, I’d yearned to hear those words. They never came, not even when I’d made it to the premier stages in France, did my parents tell me that I was good enough.
“I want my dancers to feel the joy, day after day, even when it’s hard sometimes, rather than end up walking away as I did.”
“But you found your way back.”
“It’s all because I followed my heart.”
Connor kisses me on the forehead and together—with him in the hilarious tutu—chat, with the remaining visitors. He is sure to let everyone know that ballet even benefits football players like him.
We’re at the studio until well after nightfall. After locking up, Connor leads me in the opposite direction of the village.
“Where are we going?” I ask because it seems like Connor knows his way. “Are you hungry?”
“Not especially. I had quite a few of those cookies Hildie made. They were delicious.”
“Me too.”
“But I would like to take you to dinner if you’d care to join me, Mrs. Wolfe.”
“It would be my pleasure, though we should probably change.” I giggle and tug on the tulle of his tutu.
“First, there’s something I’d like you to see.” Connor’s voice is as velvety soft as the night sky.
The glowing lights from the village fade at our backs as we reach a clearing atop the bluff. The sky is clear and the stars start to blink on like little individual lights.
“Funny, I never came up this way past the dance studio. It’s beautiful.”
Connor wraps his arm around me, pulling me close even though the summer night is warm. “When we were camping, I’d gaze at the stars after you fell asleep. It was then that I realized how truly, deeply I loved you. How I’d do anything for you.”
In the distance, little pinpricks of light dance along the horizon. They’re brighter than stars and seem to be moving closer.
Reminding me of the fireflies we saw in the field, I watch with curiosity.
In a matter of moments, hundreds of illuminated bamboo lanterns light the night sky and float toward where we stand on the bluff.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s for you. I can’t move mountains, but I can cross them and oceans. I can’t grant you wishes, but I can bring down the stars.” Connor’s voice is rough yet poetic, and mine. All mine.
The lanterns float closer as though pulled by invisible threads.
“You did this for me? For us?”
Connor nods. “I did this because, for the next year, we’ll be like these lanterns, lighting up and drifting in and out of each other’s lives.”
My shoulders drop a notch. Because of my new business and his career, we decided we’re going to win at being in a long-distance relationship. Still, it’s hard.
He smooths a piece of my hair between his fingers. “But after the season is over, I’m retiring.”
I gasp. “What? You can’t do that.”
“I seem to remember a certain headmistress asking me about longevity and my long-term career goals.”
“Yes, but you’re—”
“I’ll be thirty on my next not birthday. That’s getting old for a safety. But don’t worry, I have plans for a football-adjacent empire. But first, we have to start building our team.” He winks.
“Can’t wait to hear about it. But I thought we were going to have a ballet company.”
“Maybe a little of both.”
I shake my head. “We can’t have twenty kids.”
He winces. “That might be a tad out of reach.”
We both laugh.
“So what’s your football adjacent business plan?”
“Still working out a few details, but it’ll involve kids, Concordia, and the best game on earth.”
“Do you mean like a summer camp?”
“Yep. There will be football, of course, but also a zip line, lake activities, hiking, biking, and a footrace. It’ll be challenging and character-building, but also fun. Maybe a little muddy, though not as intense as the Enduro.”
“Will there be tutus?”
“If you’re asking whether I thought it would be cool for you to offer a ballet day, then yes.”
“I’ll bring my black and blue tutu,” I say.
“You have one of those?”
I wink.
Connor squeezes me close in a side hug. “For now, I want us to enjoy this.” He gestures to the lanterns.
“It’s beautiful.” I turn in a circle, marveling at the light all around us.
“And so are you, Cateline.” Connor adjusts his position to face me. The backs of his fingers brush my wrist, arm, shoulder, and then he caresses my jaw.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you too.” His voice is low and true.
Pippa’s warm fluffies that Gemma described fill me up.
Connor leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek before kissing me once on the lips. Then he curls his fingers around mine, gazing intently into my eyes.
His are lit by the glowing light, all copper-brown and sparkling.
He tips my chin up and my throat bobs as I swallow.
The wind sweeps through my hair and my cheeks feel rosy.
“Cateline, would you like to dance with me?”
“There’s no other dance partner I’d rather have.”
As the lanterns envelop us in warm, glowing light, Connor tilts his head back and howls, then kisses me, sealing the moment.