“Okay, thank you so much!” I call with an overly dramatic wave, even though he doesn’t see it.
“Tough crowd,” Jace says.
He’s beside me again, towering over me like before. I’m surrounded by his presence, and I don’t hate it.
“He means well, even if he didn’t bring . . . the best news.”
My watch beeps, alerting me that it’s time to begin our actual rehearsal. I’m focused on our time together today. It may be work to corral a whole herd of littles, but it’s the most enjoyable environment I’ve ever encountered.
“What can I do?” the manly voice beside me speaks again.
My heart warms at the fact that he’d even want to do something. Yet, this isn’t his fight. Although, I guess he does have Emmy, who happens to remind me of myself when I was her age; her love for dance is as enthusiastic as my own. Jace’s arms hang loosely beside him, my own also extended at my sides. Casually, I reach my hand ever so slightly and nearly gasp when I feel the tips of his fingers brush against mine. My skinflashes with heat. He’s meeting me in the middle. And that quiet sign of connection expands my lungs.
“Build things?” I wish my question held a little more confidence, but it’s all I’ve got right now.With his help, we have more of a chance at a successful production, no matter how many tickets we sell.”
“And that I can do.” With that, Jace strides the length of the stage in four steps and is back to working on his box situation.
I shake my head. The weirdness of how . . . not domestic, exactly, but how normal it feels for him to be here is not lost on me. While I’m surrounded by people during my classes, I’m rarely with other adults at my studio besides Harlow.
“Okay, my darlings! Allons-y!”
Immediately, my class laughs, familiar with my random terms of endearment or greetings in French. In addition to universal ballet terms, Sparrow taught me a few useful phrases.
“Let’s practice for our Christmas performance!”
∞∞∞
Later that night, when I’m lying in bed, reading, Resin tucked under the covers beside me and his head lying across my stomach, I hear the familiar ting of an incoming message on my phone. I forgot to turn off my notifications before settling in for the night. Picking it up from the bedside table, my screen lights up with a message from an unfamiliar number. My heart changes rhythm.
Unknown Number:Hi, Starlight.
The simple greeting is enough for me to smile and settle deeper into my pillows, my phone hovering over my face while Resin nestles in closer. Of all the messages I’ve received on my phone—factoring in apps and various dating attempts—this, byfar, is my favorite one. I take a screenshot and then decide to have a little fun.
Me:Who is this?
I know it’s Jace by the nickname, no question. I’ve already added his contact info into my phone. But I’m curious to see his reaction. The dots on the screen appear and disappear.
Jace:I’d better be the only one who calls you Starlight.
His slightly possessive tone, while brand new to me, I don’t hate. I find I don’t even want to tease him anymore.
Me:You are.
Jace:Good. Your gram gave me your number. Hope that’s okay.
Instantly, I have so many questions. My grandmother is notoriously bad at technology, so the fact that she not only gave him my number but also figured out how to provide it is enough of a Christmas miracle for the season.
Me:You saw her again?
Jace:I think she’s a fan.
Me:Wow, an endorsement from Gram is worth a thousand others.
Jace:I’m honored.
Me:So, what are you going to do now that you have the power to write to me at any time?
The little dots once again appear and disappear, and I’ve never been so riveted by my phone in my life.
