The corners of my mouth lift. “I’d love to come more often. I don’t get to see much of a range.”
“You should,” he says. His eyes are earnest, like he’s concerned that I don’t get to come to the ballet enough. It’s almost like I can’t look away from him. I’m trying to place him, but also, his deep blue eyes feel almost hypnotic.
“But you weren’t next to me during the first half,” I say, glancing down at my program. Fifteen dollars is a lot of money for a keepsake, but this once-a-year New York trip is all about indulgence.
“No,” he says. “I wasn’t.”
It’s not an explanation. “There were other people here.”
“Would you like to grab a drink?” he asks, his gaze intense, like he’s studying me. “I’d love to discuss the performance with you.”
“Are you here alone?” I ask.
His eyes narrow a little, like he’s thinking about the question. “I brought my mother. But she’s heading back with someone.”
My gaze dips to his mouth and his perfect Cupid’s bow, the defined line that separates his lips from the rest of his face, the fullness. It’s a really pretty mouth. “Your mother?”
“Or I could walk you back to where you’re going?” he suggests.
“Do we know each other?” I ask.
“No,” he says, a little breathlessly. “But I’d like to get to know you a little before you disappear into the night like… Cinderella.”
I can’t stop my smile. I’ve never been likened to Cinderella before.
Maybe I got it wrong and I haven’t ever seen him before. I can’t imagine forgetting a man like the one in front of me.
I should make my excuses and go back to my hotel. I’ve taken three classes today at the Joffrey Ballet School and I’m out of shape. I spend far too long at my desk these days. I’m tired, and I should draft an email to Oxburg before I go to bed tonight. But there’s something about the man in front of me that makes mewant to say yes to anything he asks. It’s like he might be part of my fantasy weekend, where I pretend it’s still possible to live out my dreams as a principal dancer for one of the big ballet companies across the world. In my fantasy, maybe this Jack could be my supportive, devoted partner.
“A drink?” he prompts.
My heart flutters against my chest. I raise my shoulders in a little shrug. “Sure. Why not.”
We make our way out. He towers over me as we walk side by side, or me before him when the corridors become too narrow. I’m in flats, but even if I was wearing my one pair of heels, I’d still be almost a foot smaller than him.
“Where’s Jack?” I hear someone ask.
I turn toward the voice and see the woman who was rude to the restroom attendant during the interval.
Jack looks at me and his eyes flash and a mischievous grin unfolds on his face.
“Your mother?” I ask.
He takes my hand and pulls me in the opposite direction of the woman’s shrill voice.
As we file out of the door, he drops my hand, and I wonder if he’ll touch me again. And do I want him to? This man is a stranger.
We make our way out of the theater and down the steps toward the fountains. I take a deep breath in. It can’t be just the pollution, but the New York air smells different—like we’re on a completely different planet. It’s so heavy, I can almost scoop it up in my hands.
“How often do you make it to New York?” he asks, as if he hasn’t just ignored his mother.
“How often do you ignore your mother?” I ask.
He laughs. “More often than she’d like. But don’t worry. She had someone else with her who told her I was leaving separately.”
“But were you sitting with her for the first half of the performance? In the box?”
“Wow, you saw me?”
