Page 108 of The Dance

“She got worse after the first concert.”

“The concert where we were clearly more than high school friends,” I reminded her.

“Right.”

“But what are we now?” I crouched in front of her, grabbing her hands.

Stacey shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you want to be?”

“I want to pretend that shit with Karla never happened and go back to the plan for us to spend time together now that you’re not on tour.”

“I do too.”

“But.” I stood. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to Hawaii.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“While I want nothing more than to watch you lie on the beach in the smallest bikini possibly, I feel like it would be too much like the dream bubble we’re in now. Maybe we need to go back to the regular day-to-day grind and see how we handle real life.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“We have a plane to catch to San Francisco, so we better go.”

* * *

Throughout the hour-and-a-halfflight to San Francisco, Stacey’s leg bobbed up and down, and she wrung her hands as she stared out the window. I’d asked her a few times if everything was okay, and she’d assured me she was fine, but when we stopped on the tarmac, she was still a bundle of nerves.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I asked as we slid into the waiting town car.

“Yes. Flying makes me nervous.”

I hadn’t recalled her being nervous the first time we were on my plane, but again, that time was under a different circumstance and both of our heads were running rampant with the situation at hand.

“Should have taken your mind off of it then.” I winked.

“Too late now,” Stacey snickered.

“It’s never too late, sunshine. Just wait until we get to the hotel.”

* * *

I’d goneto my fair share of events where I didn’t know a single person. Going to the wedding of Stacey’s friends Brandon and Spencer was no different. We entered the Bently Reserve, which had white marble columns lining the entry staircase, and made our way to a couple of open seats in the sunken hall with high vaulted ceilings and intricate crown molding.

“Teal must be one of their wedding colors.” Stacey fingered one of the teal bows on the silver Chiavari chair in the row before us.

“I’m sure it is. What would be your colors?”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never thought about getting married.”

“Really?”

“Always been focused on my career.”

“I get that.” I slung my arm over the back of her chair. “But humor me.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lime green and hot pink.”

I balked. “Seriously?”