“That’s the army for you. Our job is to keep order and do what we’re told by the higher ups.”
Hearing what Sam has to say reminds me so much of ballet company life. As a dancer in the corps de ballet, we were expected to do what we were told and not deviate from our scheduled classes, rehearsals, and shows.
Even when it comes to a performance, the corps is the heart of the company. You’re not supposed to be a dancer who stands out. It’s all about fitting in, unless you’re a soloist or principal. You need to be one of the many. A faceless and nameless background character. A cog in the machine that supports the rest of the company.
“You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
Sam glances at his watch and inhales sharply. “Gah, it’s already eleven! I didn’t mean to keep you out so late.”
I blink slowly. Where has the time gone?
“It’s fine. I just hope you’re not too exhausted.”
He flashes me one of those grins I’m beginning to recognize as his signature. “I can manage. My body is used to keeping odd hours. As long as I can catch some shut-eye, I’ll be raring to go when we meet for coffee in the morning. Should we still have a go for eight, or push it back a little later?”
“Eight’s great.”
We stand. I collect my purse and shopping bag from the Apple Store, and make sure I’m not leaving anything else behind.
“I’ll send a text off to the guys letting them know to bring the car over to us.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, I can get a cab.”
He shoots me a stern look. “No need, a trooper always follows through on his promises.” He winks. “Besides, I’d like to spend a few more minutes with you.”
“OK,” I manage.
As I liein bed later that night, I still have a wide, brimming smile on my face. Tonight has to have been one of the most magical dates I’ve ever been on. Yes, I’ll admit it. It was indeed a date.
Sam is thoughtful and considerate, but there is also something about him that is mysterious. He reminds me so much of Mr. Darcy fromPride and Prejudice. He wears a mask when he’s out in public doing his duty, but underneath it all is a man with a heart of gold.
How has it only been twenty-four hours since I went from an all-time low moment to riding high? I relive our date in the pub, recalling all the different expressions he made. When he’s thinking, he tends to rub a hand over his strong jaw. When he’s flustered, his ears turn a light shade of pink. When he’s worried, the folds of his eyes crinkle.
One of the benefits of being a former ballerina is that I’m a quick study when it comes to noticing a person’s body language and their mannerisms. No movement is too small or subtle. If you know what you’re looking for,reading a person is as simple as reading a book. Except when Sam dons his mask. He’s mastered the art of stoicism when he needs to be in soldier mode.
I try and catch a few hours of sleep, but give up around three. My mind is too full of excitement for what the morning will bring. I need a distraction. I decide to sketch. Locating my fuzzy pink bathrobe, I bundle myself in, plop myself down in my vintage moon chair by the window, and let my creativity flow.
I start with a circle, then add a few lines to it. Slowly, I build up a few layers and add some color. When I finish, I laugh to myself. I’ve managed to draw the Mona Lisa version of Sam, complete with eyes and lips hiding a secret behind him. They’re smizing.
Since I’m on the Sam track, I continue to run with it and take a stab at what he might look like in his summer uniform. By six in the morning, I’ve drawn three portraits of Sam, a horse, and a mini collection of three outfits that are inspired by the colors of his uniform. They’re red, navy blue, and white, with silhouettes that are an updated take on 1950s apparel.
In fact, I’m so pleased with my designs, I’m ready to start bringing them to life and begin drawing out the pattern for the dress. It’s been months since this feeling has come over me. That spark I’ve been missing has returned. Maybe Sam wouldn’t mind a trip to the fabric shop after dinner tonight.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Minerva.”
I drop the tracing paper. “Sam!”
“Er, I was just wondering, are you on your way to Barbican?”
I gasp as I take note of the time my Totoro clock displays. “I’m running out the door now! I’m so, so, so, so sorry. I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine. The conservatory is actually closed. It doesn’t open until half nine.”
