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I laughed. “So not a thing anymore?”
“God, no,” she said emphatically. “We’re barely friends. We tolerate each other because we’re both stubborn jackasses who hate unfinished business.”
I grinned wider. “Good to know.”
Teresa narrowed her eyes at me, suspicion darkening her expression.
“Not that it matters. Good luck getting that man out from behind a screen long enough to notice anyone. Elias doesn’tdate. He obsesses over code, computers, encryption. Real romantic.”
My heart gave an annoying little skip, which I immediately ignored.
“Maybe he just hasn’t met the right problem yet,” I said innocently.
Teresa gave me a look. “You’re going to break him. Or he’s going to break you. Either way, I want front row seats.”
I was about to push her for more when the front door banged open, the morning breeze whooshing in ahead of Lena and Marisol.
Both looked disgustingly fresh and chipper for seven a.m., their hair slicked back into neat ballet buns, dance bags slung over their shoulders.
Lena spotted me first and made a beeline, dropping her bag with a thud.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the adrenaline junkie herself,” she teased. “What mischief did you get into last night, Vivi?”
Marisol plopped into the chair beside me, swinging her legs like a kid.
“Let me guess. Wrestling gators?”
I laughed, holding up my hands in mock surrender.
“Nothing too crazy. Jessa and I went kayaking.”
Lena groaned. “In the harbor? At night?”
“Is there another way?” I deadpanned.
Marisol shook her head like I was a hopeless case.
“You’re going to get eaten by a bull shark one day and we’re all going to have to perform a tribute show in your honor.”
“Speaking of performing,” Lena added, pulling a water bottle from her bag, “don’t forget we have that thing this weekend.”
It wasn’t a full production—thank God.
In the summer, the Crescent Ballet kept things lighter, hosting smaller events to keep donors happy and the community engaged.
This weekend’s gig was one of those: a private matinee for a group of major patrons and their families, held at the old Dock Street Theatre downtown.
Air-conditioned, elegant, and about two hundred seats max.
Low pressure compared to the brutal winter season, but still important.
The program was a sampler—a few classical pieces, a modern number or two, and a closing ensemble we’d been hammering out all month.
Polished but not perfect. Designed to look effortless, charming, accessible. A soft pitch for fundraising in the fall.
Normally, I didn’t mind these things.
Performing for moneyed donors meant smiling until your face hurt and clapping politely at awkward standing ovations, but it also meant staying visible, staying wanted.