“Did you know it was my studio next door?” Reese asked.
“I did, yeah. I went down a big old Sugarville Grove rabbit hole too. Googled the studio and you—learned about your career and your return to Vermont. Truthfully, I could have found another building, although the place was already outfitted for a gym, but I decided not to.” He shook his head. “This will sound crazy, but I thought maybe it was God’s way of telling me to try and reconnect with you.”
“Oh, Roan, is that really what you thought? Because, if so, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not creepy?” He smiled as he leaned closer to wrap a finger around a lock of her hair.
“Most people would say it’s a little weird, but they wouldn’t understand what we once meant to each other.”
“No, they would not,” Roan said.
Reese looked back at the fire, the warmth of the moment fading slightly. “You know, your mom saw you clearly. Saw who you really were.” She paused. “My father never did that for me.”
Roan’s hand stilled in her hair. “What do you mean?”
“He had this image in his head of who I should be. The perfect ballerina. The perfect daughter.” She took a breath. “Dancers are expected to maintain a certain weight, a certain look. And my father was constantly monitoring what I ate, commenting on my body. I developed some pretty disordered eating patterns.”
“Reese, I’m so sorry.”
“It got worse after I went professional. The pressure was constant. I was either restricting or bingeing, always feeling guilty about eating, always worried about my weight.” She set her nearly empty drink on the coffee table and shifted to face him.
His hands found her ankles, drawing her legs across his lap, just watching her as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.
“When I retired and came home, I realized I didn’t know how to have a normal relationship with food. I was terrified of eating, but also resentful that I’d spent so many years denying myself.”
“Is that still something you struggle with?” Roan asked.
“Some days more than others. But last Christmas, Mia offered an Italian cooking course for beginners. I decided to take it, mostly to see if I could change my relationship with food.” Reese closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her calves. “It might sound silly, but it was transformative. Learning to cook for pleasure, not just fuel. Allowing myself to enjoy food without guilt. Mia made it feel like cooking was an act of love, not punishment.”
“That doesn’t sound silly at all.”
“I’m still working on it. But I can eat cookies now without spiraling. I can enjoy a meal without calculating calories. That’s progress.”
“I get it. The thing you loved was actually hurting you. It was the same for me.”
“That’s right. I loved dancing. But the culture around it—the perfectionism, the body standards, my father’s pressure—it did damage. Just like stunts gave you an incredible career but also nearly paralyzed you.”
“We’re quite a pair.”
“Broken but healing?”
“Something like that.” Roan brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “So what do we do now? Will you give me a second chance? Even though I hurt you so badly?”
She looked down at her lap. Was this insane? Diving back into a relationship with the man who broke her spirit and her heart? She should be cautious. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t quite bring herself to be so. She lifted her gaze. “I’d like a second chance with you. More than anything.”
“I’d like that more than anything too,” Roan said. “And right now, all I want to do is kiss you.”
She drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I also want to do this right. Not rush it. Not mess it up.”
“How would kissing me mess it up?”
“Because we’ve been drinking. And it’s late. Our guards are down. I don’t want you to regret it tomorrow.” His thumb grazed her cheek. “But heaven help me, you’re so beautiful.”
Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “I would like a kiss. If that sways you one direction or the other.”
His eyes darkened, intent on hers. “It might.”
