“Got her.” The medic scooped Daphne up and hurried down the steps. “Storm’s worsening. We’ve gotta move.”
Another medic paused at Damian’s side. “Can you walk?”
Damian nodded.
Abe sprinted back into the house to grab their things. The power hadn’t come on, but it didn’t matter. Light had returned. They were going to be okay.
Onboard the helicopter, wind roaring and morning breaking around them, Damian nudged Abe’s shoulder. Just a small, silent tap.
Abe met his gaze. Gave him a nod.
No words were necessary because they were brothers.
Above the storm, with the world waking beneath them, Abe let himself believe that this wasn’t the end of his future with Daphne… it was the beginning.
CHAPTER 8
A few days later,on Christmas Eve, the dance studio’s Marley floor felt different beneath Daphne’s feet. Warmer. More lived in and creakier. Just another reminder that the new owners, who were taking over in January, would have to replace it.
One more reason she was glad she hadn’t bought the studio.
She stood at the barre, practicing relevés in first position. Slowly, she rose to demi-pointe, then eased back down with control. Her calves burned slightly, but it was the right kind of ache. Familiar.
She transitioned into rond de jambes à terre, letting her hips open with fluid, circular motion. But the girls weren’t paying attention. They giggled in the corner, stretching in pink tights, the air buzzing with the kind of hopeful chaos only children could bring the day before Christmas, just hours before they’d take the stage in Kingsmill.
She pressed a palm to her ribs and inhaled.This is home now.
The last seventy-two hours had been a blur of hospital lights, scans, and arguments. No one—not even Holly, Luke’s doctor girlfriend—had believed her collapse was just adrenal fatigue.But after fluids, rest, and a lot of reassurance, they’d released her this morning.
Abe hadn’t let her out of his sight, either. He watched her like she was fragile glass, reminding her to eat, to hydrate, to breathe while she rehearsed with the girls.
Finally he’d finally gone off to do some secret Christmas thing.
Tess, Daphne’s assistant teacher, stepped beside her and bumped her shoulder. “Have you told the girls yet?”
“No.” Daphne lowered her voice. “Has my costume arrived?”
She’d asked Bella, her best friend and a ballet teacher from Sleepy Hollow, to overnight a Snow Queen costume to the studio.
Tess nodded. “It came this morning. How are you feeling?”
Daphne gave a wry smile. “My head doesn’t throb when I plié, so… progress?”
Tess’s laugh was warm and gentle. “We were all terrified. Both Kingsmill and Milltown heard about your collapse. One minute you were outside with Abe, the next—bam. Snow, blood, ice. It sounded like something out of a Christmas horror movie.”
“It wasn’t that dramatic.” Daphne hesitated. “But I’ve been pushing too hard. I was teaching and working out fourteen hours a day. Skipping meals, hiding bruises. Pretending I’m invincible.”
“You’re not.” Tess touched Daphne’s hand. “None of us are. But you came back to your students. And I heard you’re dancing professionally again? But as a freelance principal instead of with ABT?”
There was no judgment in her voice. Just kindness.
“Yes,” Daphne said, exhaling. “I spoke with the studio’s new owner. I’ll teach here when I can.”
“Every ballet student within six counties will want to train with you.”
Daphne shook her head. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Don’t discount yourself.” Tess nodded toward the cluster of girls stretching. “Those girls adore you. Milltown and Kingsmill need someone like you. Not just because you’re one of the most famous ballerinas dancing right now?—”
