Holly’s mom.
Not smiling politely. Watching like awitness. Her gaze locked straight onto him with that scary-mom precision that could’ve stopped traffic, and Nate’s entire system short-circuited because it felt like she could see everything at once: the boy in the crinkled photo, the man who’d built his life out of punishment,the idiot who’d almost lost the best thing he’d ever touched. Her expression wasn’t soft. It was…knowing. Like she’d been measuring him all season and had finally decided he was worth a damn.
Nate?Jesus.he almost choked on it.
The weight of it. The gift. The miracle of getting to stand here, heart in his throat, hand in Holly’s, and have everyone who mattered watching him choosesomething other than violence. Watching him chooseher. Watching him fly without being afraid of the fall.
His eyes snapped back to Holly, and when she met his gaze it steadied him like a hand on the back of his neck. Like she was saying:Breathe. I’ve got you. We’re done, now. We did it.
Then, becauseTake the Floornever let a moment breathe for long, the host burst onto the stage.
Indie Clarke arrived in a storm of sequins and unstoppable enthusiasm, heels clicking like gunfire and her grin dialed up to weaponized. She slid between them with the energy of a woman who had personally manifested this finale into existence.
“Well,” she gasped dramatically, fanning herself with a cue card, “I hope everyone at home has filed the appropriate paperwork becausethatwas a full-blown event!”
The audience started up again. Nate laughed under his breath, still trying to regulate his heartbeat, while Holly pressed her lips together to stop the smile threatening to take over her entire face.
Indie turned to them with shining eyes. “Holly. Nate. A waltz in the finale is a bold move. Elegant. Romantic. Risky. Judgingby the reaction in this room, you may have just committed national emotional terrorism.”
More laughter rippled through the crowd as Nate ran a hand through his damp curls. “We were only aiming for mild devastation.”
“Mission accomplished,” Indie shot back, before pivoting toward the judges. “All right, my glitter-covered council of chaos. Finale vibes. The stakes do not get higher. Chantreuse Devayne, I’mbeggingyou… tell me you’re still capable of speech?”
Chantreuse sat poised like a queen who had just witnessed a coronation. She exhaled slowly, her hand pressed to her chest as though steadying her soul.
“My darlings,” she said, voice velvet and drama. “You trusted the music. You trusted each other. And most importantly…” She leaned forward with a knowing smile. “Tonight, you gave me mastery. Ten.”
The audience lost its mind as Indie squealed. “Atenfrom Chantreuse in the finale! I feel faint. Someone bring me electrolytes, STAT! Muffy Duncan, please tell me you’re psychologically intact!”
Muffy was already blotting under her eyes with a tissue that had clearly given up halfway through its job.
“I’m absolutely not okay,” she sniffled. “I’m spiritually rearranged. That felt like watching the last scene of a movie where the couple finally gets it together and you ugly-cry into your snacks and pretend to your friends it’s just allergies.”
Holly bit her lip but her grip tightened on his. Nate refused tolaugh at a judge before all the scores had been given, so he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth instead.
“You didn’t oversell it,” Muffy continued. “You let us fall in love with you both all over again. Ten for me, kids.Obviously.I’m not a monster.”
The cheers turned feral. Indie wheeled around, eyes wide. “Two tens in the finale! Stan Mahoney, the nation needs to know if you are about to ruin everything.”
Stan leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression thoughtful in that terrifying, calm-before-the-verdict way.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I hate finales. Everyone gets sloppy and sentimental.” He glanced at them. “Everyone except you two.”
The room held its breath.
“For me, dance has to be about the dancerfeeling the momentand then conveying that emotion to the audience.” He shrugged with a smile working its way onto his cynical-looking face. “Tonight? You made us feel it with you, and I’ve got nothing left to complain about. It’s a ten for me.”
Indie screamed into the mic as the audience went crazy. “A perfect score for Holly and Nate in the season finale ofTake the Floor, folks!”
The sound that followed was pure stomping, screaming joy that shook the stage beneath their feet. It was like standing at center ice after a buzzer-beater, when the arena erupts but all you can hear is your own pulse.
Indie beamed at them, voice softer now, warmer. “Holly and Nate, whatever happens tonight, you’ve just given us all the ending we deserved. How are you feeling?
He looked at Holly instead of at Indie or the cameras, watching the way the spotlight caught in her hair, the way her shoulders had finally dropped like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world alone anymore. Win or lose, this was the moment he’d wanted. Where she stood beside him not out of obligation or necessity, but because she wanted to.
And for the first time since the music stopped, Nate squeezed Holly’s hand and let himself smile for real.
“Ready.”
