“Step-two-three, step-two-three—twirl!” She called, clapping her hands. “Good! Keep the arms soft, like you’re floating from the sky.”
One of the smallest girls, Lila, stumbled into Charlie, the tallest girl beside her, and they both dissolved into giggles.
Daphne stopped the music and crossed the dance floor to adjust their hands. “Try again, ladies. Like snowflakes on the wind, not bumper cars.”
The girls reset with serious faces and dramatic breaths, and she pressed play on the speaker again. TheWaltz of the Snowflakeslifted into the air once more, lush, whimsical and familiar.
She turned toward the mirrors, her own reflection ghosting back at her. Her pink leggings dusted with glitter from a tutu mishap, her white sweater pulled off one shoulder, her hair in a tight ballet bun, and her feet in soft ballet flats instead of pointe shoes.
Her toes curled inside the worn leather. Somewhere deep in her dance-trained brain, her muscles remembered every step of the full en pointe choreography. The urge to move with the girls hummed beneath her skin.
But she didn’t. She only danced en pointe in private now, when no one could compare her current self to her past prima ballerina self.
When the music faded, the girls collapsed dramatically onto the floor, some stretching, others flopping like wet snow balls.
“Okay,” Daphne said, crouching down to their level. “Let’s review stage formation. You’ll enter in two lines from either side, and then we build the circle. Got it?”
Lila raised her hand. “Will you be the Snow Queen and lead us on stage? You were such a beautiful Garland Queen last summer.”
A chorus of “Yes!” and “Please, Miss Daphne!” echoed around the room.
Her throat closed up, and she sat back on her heels. “This is your moment.”
“But during the summer performance,” Mary said, “you looked like a real princess. My sister cried.”
Daphne stood and searched for her water bottle. She’d been suffering from headaches lately and was trying to stay hydrated. “Mary, your sister cries at dog food commercials.”
More laughter. Yet the question lingered like icy drifts that refused to melt. Daphne could lead them. Her body knew the movements because she’d been practicing on her own. But the thought of stepping into that spotlight again, even in a modest Christmas Eve pageant at Kingsmill’s old barn, gave her migraines.
“I’ll think about it,” she offered. “But only if you promise to rehearse your hearts out while I’m gone for the next few days.”
She finished her water filled with electrolytes and turned toward the studio’s big picture window… and froze.
Outside, Milltown—the town on the other side of the mountain from her new home in Kingsmill—reminded her of a Christmas postcard. Wreaths hung from every lamppost. Snow dusted the eaves of the bookstore on the corner. Colored Christmas lights lit up the dark December night. People bustled past with shopping bags, hot cocoa, and dogs in sweaters.
Across the street, her boyfriend Abe stood next to his truck, talking to his twin brother Luke.
They weren’t smiling. Their arms moved in sharp, deliberate gestures. Luke pointed toward the truck. Abe said something that made Luke’s brows lower. They were either arguing or having one of those intense, brotherly talks that carried weight beneath the words.
Abe’s gaze lifted to her window. He saw her, and his expression softened.
A warm knot of emotion curled inside her chest, a combination of comfort, nerves, affection, and the echo of things unspoken.
For the past few weeks, he’d erected a wall between them. It wasn’t a wall made of steel and concrete, just a distance she’d not been able to breach. Although with her weekly physical therapy appointments in New York City, teaching ballet, and spendinghours training at the gym and Pilates studio to regain her strength, she’d been too busy to try.
She turned back to the girls. “While I’m gone, Charlie’s sister, Miss Tess, will help you rehearse. When I return, I expect all of my snowflakes to be?—”
“Perfect, Miss Daphne?” Lila asked.
“Not perfect, Lila.” She met the gazes of her dancers who had the same dreams she’d once had of becoming a Prima Ballerina. The same dreams she’d achieved through hard work and lost in a terrible car accident. “Just your best.”
Snow clungto the edge of Abe’s truck like icing on a day-old gingerbread house while his twin brother Luke leaned against the passenger door, drinking coffee from a to-go cup as a defense against the bitter air.
The courthouse letter, folded in the inner pocket of Abe’s jacket, felt like a stone pressing against his ribs.
“So that’s it,” Luke said, his breath clouding. “Dad is contesting grandad’s will again. Full petition this time.”
Abe nodded, jaw tight. “Dad says Caleb wasn’t of sound mind when he changed the will.”
