Page 32

When I enter the studio, Elsie is working with one of the teenage girls I recognize.

Her name is Maya, the one Elsie talks about a lot at home, the girl who reminds her so much of herself.

Looking at the determined expression on the girl’s face as she listens to Elsie’s instruction and then tries to correct her posture, I can see it too.

When we were in high school, I used to come to the studio on early mornings or late nights with Elsie to watch her practice and try my best to distract her.

It rarely worked, but on the few occasions I managed to snag her attention from dance, we made some memories in this studio.

But even during the times I didn’t manage to distract her, I was fascinated by watching her dance.

After we moved to Utah, I didn’t get to watch her rehearse as much, but I tried any chance I got.

I loved the way she transformed in the studio, in her pointe shoes, the way she’d become both fluid and controlled.

How she could make her body move in these intricate and incredible ways. It was mesmerizing.

She looks different now, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, attention fixed wholly on Maya and the way she works to nail the move.

She doesn’t notice me standing in the corner, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, but I can’t seem to tear my gaze away as her face transforms when Maya perfectly executes the pirouette.

She’s glowing in a way I’ve never seen before, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.

And when Maya squeals and throws her arms around Elsie’s middle, the look on her face transforms into something like awe.

I watch as she hesitates for just a moment, like she doesn’t know how to respond, before her body softens and her arms circle around Maya’s tiny form, wrapping her in a tight hug.

Her lips move, forming words I’m too far away to hear, but I don’t miss the way Maya’s arms tighten around Elsie’s middle, the way Elsie’s eyes squeeze shut, like she’s trying to hold back tears.

It makes my throat tight and my heart grow too big for my chest.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” someone says from beside me.

I look down to see Tonya. She’s hardly changed in the years I’ve known her, something I’ve always appreciated about her. She’s steady and unequivocally herself, a pillar of the community and a mentor to so many.

I nod and turn my focus back on Elsie, who is instructing Maya once more. “She really is.”

“I wish she’d take me up on my offer.”

This catches my attention, and when I look back at Tonya, she’s staring directly at me, assessing my reaction.

I don’t bother pretending I know what she’s talking about.

This woman has spent the majority of her adult life working with teenage girls; she can sniff a lie from a mile away. “What offer?”

Tonya sighs like she expected this. “I told her I want to sell her the studio.”

I quirk a brow, taken aback. “Really?”

She nods and allows her gaze to travel to the two dancers.

“I’ve been getting offers for years from people who want to buy the studio, but I’ve never really entertained them.

But now…I don’t know. This town is feeling a little claustrophobia-inducing, and I think I’m ready for a change.

I want to get out and travel while I’m still able to enjoy it, you know? ”

“I understand,” I tell her and mean it. I’m at a point in my life where I’m putting down roots. She’s at the place where she wants to rip hers up.

She looks at me again, brown eyes serious. “Despite all that, I wouldn’t sell it to anyone but her. That girl is my legacy.”

I wish Elsie could hear this, that she could see how plainly her teacher and mentor and boss is proud of her, that she would only trust her business with one single person.

I’m not sure if she would believe it, if she’s ready to see herself that way yet, but I wish she could know.

I wish there was a way to show her, to make her believe in her worth.

“She won’t take it, though.” Tonya sighs. “Thinks she’s not capable.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I just follow the direction of her stare and watch my wife until she finally notices the two of us standing near the door.

When Elsie’s gaze finally catches on mine, a startled expression crosses her features for a moment before morphing into a smile that makes my pulse beat wildly.

She turns her attention back to Maya, saying something to her that makes Maya roll her eyes before heading to where her stuff is spread across the floor next to the barre.

“It was good to see you, Beau,” Tonya says, patting me on the arm. “Take care of our girl, okay?”

“I will,” I promise.

She nods like she believes me before turning on her heel and disappearing into her office and shutting the door behind her.

When I turn back, Elsie is making her way to me, and I can’t help but let my eyes drift to the way her rounded stomach pulls tight against her leotard.

Elsie has always been beautiful to me, since that very first day, but there’s something primal inside me that loves seeing her pregnant with my baby.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, smiling, a little out of breath.

I want to pull her to me, press a kiss to her cheek, but I hold myself back. We’ve been making progress the last few weeks, and although I want to push us the last little bit, I don’t want to spook her.

But damn it, I really want to kiss my wife.

“I wanted to see you,” I say with a shrug, and something pinches in my stomach when her smile widens. I want to press my fingertips to the edge of that smile and feel it.

“I wasn’t staying late tonight,” she responds. “I would have been home in a half hour.”

“Too long.”

Her smile turns sly, the kind of smile that used to mean things I really, really shouldn’t think about right now in a dance studio for children. “That so?”

I force my heart to slow from its wild gallop and say, “I like watching you teach. You’re good at it.”

A pretty blush stains her cheeks, and she looks down, sliding her ballet flat against the floor. “I like doing it.” She’s quiet for a moment before her eyes return to mine. There’s a shyness in them I’ve so rarely seen. “I didn’t expect to, but I really, really love it.”

Before I can respond, Maya slips past us. “Bye, Elsie. See you tomorrow.”

Elsie’s face transforms into something soft, a wistful smile lifting her lips. “Bye, Maya. You did great today. I’m proud of you.”

I tear my gaze from Elsie in time to see Maya’s cheeks turn pink.

She looks at my wife like she’s her hero, like she’s everything she wants to be when she grows up.

I wonder if Elsie sees it, if she’s realized that even though she’s not a professional dancer anymore, this teenager still looks at her like there’s no one she’d rather be like. My guess is no.

“Thanks, Elsie,” Maya says and hurries out of the studio.

Before she can let herself out the door, Elsie calls, “Eat some junk food and watch a movie tonight.”

I don’t miss the way Maya’s eyes roll, but I think she’s going to listen anyway.

When Elsie finally returns her attention to me, I say, “You know she wants to be just like you, don’t you?”

A shocked look crosses Elsie’s face, proving my point. She shakes her head. “She doesn’t want to be like me,” she says, her gaze returning to the polished floors. “I’m a wash up.”

Before I can think better of it, I tip her chin up with the pad of my thumb. Her skin is so damn soft it makes my mind feel fuzzy, and I allow my hand to linger for just a second, reveling in the feel of it. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

That exposed look flashes over her features again, and to my surprise, she doesn’t try to hide it. Her delicate shoulders lift in a shrug. “I don’t regret how things have turned out,” she says slowly, deliberately, like she wants me to understand. “But yes, as a ballerina, I’m a wash up.”

My brain zeroes in on the first part of the sentence, something that’s been tight in my chest finally uncoiling, because I did worry that she regretted all of this.

I know she’s happy about the pregnancy, that she’s excited about becoming a mom, but I haven’t been able to shake the fear that this entire last year has been cloaked in disappointment—that she regretted moving back here after her injury instead of trying to continue dancing, that she wished she hadn’t invited me in that night, that she wished she could take back everything that came after.

That if things had been different, she never would have let me come home or begun working on fixing things with me.

That she’s only doing it because we’re having a child together.

But I force myself to store all that away for future examination and focus on the last part of what she said.

“Elsie, you’re not a wash up.” I let out a sigh, wishing she could see herself the way I see her.

“You got hurt, but you’re so resilient that you picked yourself back up again.

You started teaching this sport you love, even though it has to be hard being here every day when you’d rather be there .

” My breath heaves out of me, and I push my hand through my hair.

I want to mention what Tonya just said to me, but I’m scared to push her too much, to bring up something she’s not ready to talk about.

So instead, I say, “And the way that little girl looks at you? You’re changing her whole life. That is not being all washed up. It’s just…” I stare at the ceiling, searching for the words. “Using that passion you have in a different way. Different, but just as meaningful.”

When I look back at her, her blue eyes are tipped up to mine, contemplative, like she’s never once considered this point of view. She’s quiet for so long, the only sounds in the room that of our breathing, that I almost think she’s not going to respond.

But she finally says, “Maybe.”