She grins. “Unless I get fired!”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
We get to my truck and I pull off a crate and hand it to her, taking another for myself.
“I was hoping I’d run into you, actually,” she says, leading us back to the kitchen. “From what I’ve heard, people think we’re still close. I’ve spoken to a few who think you came out to visit me in Vegas.”
My cheeks burn hot, and I don’t know what to say. I’m such a horrible liar. If I deny it, my blush would be enough to give me away.
“Oh, yeah,” I say.
Stephanie puts her crate next to my first one in the store room. I slot mine on top.
She stands, looking at me, waiting for me to say more.
I take in a breath and try not to wince. “I’ve told people I go and visit you in Vegas once a year.”
She lets out a small laugh. “Okay,” she says. “So I’ve acted as a cover without even knowing it.”
“I didn’t expect you’d be back in town, given your entire family left.”
“Apparently not. Well, I’ve managed to give vague responses, so I haven’t blown your cover. But now I’m intrigued.”
I head out first this time. There are two crates left in the truck.
“I just need a weekend to myself,” I say. That’s the truth. Sort of. “I always thought I’d leave Star Falls after high school, then my mom died and I ended up staying. I just take a weekend every year to… I don’t know. Spread my wings or something.”
She leans against the truck, ready to chat rather than reach for the last of the crates. “I heard about your mom. I’m sorry. She was always really kind to me.”
I smile, genuinely thankful for her words. It’s been a while since I’ve had condolences for my mother’s death. “Thanks.”
“You were going to go to ballet school, weren’t you?”
“You have a good memory,” I say.
“You were obsessed. When you weren’t training, you were watching ballet.”
“Not much time for any of that now.”
“You don’t dance at all?”
“Nope,” I say, and pick up one of the last two crates and head back inside.
Once a year in New York doesn’t count.
“Do you miss it?” she asks from behind me.
We stow the last of the crates and I pull out the delivery note from my back pocket. “I don’t have a pen.”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pen and takes the delivery note from me, before signing it and giving it back to me. I give her a copy.
“I allow myself to miss it once a year,” I say, standing as straight as I can. “I go to New York. Watch the New York City Ballet. Take a class or two at Joffrey Ballet School and then I put it away for another year and come home to the farm.”
Her eyebrows pull together and pity fills her face.
I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. “The look on your face right now is why I don’t tell anyone where I’m going and what I’m doing.”
“You don’t want anyone to feel bad that you stayed?”
