“Should we go check it out?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean what else are we going to do?” He shrugs.
We finish crossing the street and arrive at the door of Pirouettes and Plies. The exterior is painted a light pink, and the trim is a shade slightly brighter. Above each window is a small white and pink striped awning.
“We don’t have a key,” I say, laughing and moving up to one of the windows. Placing my hands above my eyes to block the sunlight, I peer into the dark studio.
“I’m sure there’s a spare somewhere around here,” Everett says, digging in one of the small potted Christmas trees that frames the door.
“And if there isn’t?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Then I’ll break a window,” he deadpans.
“Right. Because breaking and entering will surely help us here.”
Shaking my head, I try to channel where this version of myself would’ve put an extra key, but I’m not sure. I know nothing about the me who lives here other than she is married to Everett and owns a dance studio. Neither of which I ever saw myself doing.
“Is it under the doormat?” he asks.
“Do you really think I would leave the key where anyone could find it? The New Yorker in me knows better than to put it there.”
He glances around the street. “I mean, I can’t imagine this town is full of hard criminals.”
“We still don’t know that.”
He chortles.
Poking and prodding around, we try to find a trick rock or lock box or literally any place a key might be, but there’s nothing.
“What are you two up to?” a voice says from our right.Whipping our heads in the direction of the sound, we find Cami standing with a foldable chalk board outside the doors of Citrine Brews.
“Claire wanted to dance today,” Everett explains, gesturing in my direction. “But would you believe that she can’t find her key anywhere?”
Cami giggles as she begins to set up the sign she’s holding. “Is the spare you keep under the doormat not there?”
A snort erupts from Everett, and I cut my eyes in his direction. “Yeah, babe. Did you check under the mat?” he asks, trying to hold back more laughter.
“How could I forget,” I grit out through a forced smile. Swallowing my pride, I bend down and lift the doormat, revealing a small silver key.
Dammit. Apparently this version of me has absolutely no safety awareness.
“You two have a good day,” she calls, disappearing back into the shop.
“The New Yorker in me would never leave the key under the mat,” Everett mocks as I unlock the door.
“Stop it,” I warn, spinning around to face him with my hands on my hips.
“Say it with me,” he quips. “Everett. Was. Right.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, I told you I’m right about a lot of things.” He steps toward me. My breath hitches as he bends down and his lips tickle the side of my neck. “You starting to come around to my idea yet, Sugar?”
Breathing in deep, I push him away. “The only thing you were right about was suggesting we check out the dance studio.”
My stomach dips as his mouth breaks into a grin, and I turn around, pushing the feeling away.
