Soaking their feet into a small tide pool below the falls, Frankie and Charlie enjoyed a light lunch. They munched on sandwiches with turkey bacon and egg that he’d cooked that morning. Droplets of water rained down on them, cooling down their overly-warm bodies. Small fish swam near her feet, tickling her toes. To this point, they’d tried to keep their discussion centered on neutral topics.
Frankie mulled over her next words carefully. “Charlie, I was thinking. Would it be for the best if we reevaluated our long-term skating goals?”
He chewed slowly before he said, “And by that you mean . . .?”
“I still want us to skate together,” she threw out quickly. “Just maybe we should consider pursuing something safer than pairs skating, like ice dance. I don’t need to take my senior test.”
“No.” His shoulders became rigid.
“Hear me out.” She finished her sandwich, brushed her hands against her leggings, and brought her knees to her chest. “I really don’t think it’s worth the risk of taking any chances that you might suffer another concussion.”
His nostrils flared. “I’m tired of having the fear of another concussion rule my life. Ice is slippery. Every time I step out there, I take the risk of suffering another concussion.”
“Charlie, I didn’t mean it—”
He stood and walked away. “Are you worried about my ability to be a competent partner?”
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off again.
“I had a full physical and psychological evaluation from my doctors over the weekend. They gave me a clean bill of health.” His brows knitted together. “If for a single moment I felt I was putting you at risk, I wouldn’t take the ice with you. I’m not that stupid.” His chest heaved up and down.
“Charlie, I trust you.” She slowly pulled her feet out of the water, and approached him with even, steady steps, placing a hand on the crook of his elbow. “I’m only bringing this up because I care. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“I’m sorry if I overreacted.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve had several conversations similar to this one. I don’t like being given any special treatment because of what happened.”
I’ll try my best to remember that for next time.
“Okay.”
Frankie walked over to the tide pool to retrieve her shoes and socks. Charlie did the same. She hoped the space would give him time to collect his thoughts.
* * *
Charlie remained semi-quiet on the ride back to Grizzly Springs. As he pulled up to the parking lot in front of the Miller School of Dance, she’d nearly forgotten that it was still Sunday.
“I’m exhausted from the hike, and I bet you are too. Are you sure you don’t feel like skipping our ballroom class and grabbing a bite to eat instead?” Charlie said.
“We’re doing this. We made a commitment. You’re the one who wanted to pay for the full twelve-class package in advance to get the ten percent discount.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I’m regretting it.”
They climbed out of the truck. Frankie walked ahead of him and pulled the door to the dance studio open. “After you, Mr. C.” She gestured for him to enter just as two couples walked out and thanked her.
He grumbled under his breath and walked inside.
“You don’t see me complaining,” she whispered behind him.
Once in the lobby area, they checked in with the receptionist. Frankie plopped herself onto the ground and exchanged her street shoes for a pair of ballroom dance heels. “You’re lucky that men’s ballroom shoes are comfortable.” She pointed to the two-inch heels. “These things are torture devices.”
“It can’t be all that different from wearing a skate boot, can it?”
She stood and winced. The leather on the front of the shoe was stiff and not yet broken in. It put an uncomfortable amount of pressure on her pinky and big toes. She should’ve listened to her gut instinct and ordered a half-size larger. Oh well, it was too late now.
“You can try my heels on after class, then tell me what you think.”
He zipped his mouth closed. They tucked their belongings and shoes into the storage cubbies and walked out onto the dance floor. The room was similar in size and shape to a ballet studio. Three walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The fourth wall contained the studio’s sound system. The floor was made of polished cherry hardwood.
“Welcome back, everyone.” Madame Miller, the studio’s owner, clapped her hands together. “Let’s get right to work. Last week, we started learning the basic step, the chase step, and the proper posture for ballroom dancing. Has everyone been practicing?”
