I laughed as he prodded the noodles with the same wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the sauce, poking them under the water.
“You don’t break yours in half?”
Cooper turned to look at me, scandal written all over his face. “I can’t believe you’d say that to me.”
I laughed again, swinging back on the bar stool while gripping the edge of the counter for balance. Cooper’s shocked look melted into another one of the shy smiles I was collecting from him.
“You teach Benji how to do ballet, I’ll teachyouhow to make spaghetti. Oh my God,breaking the noodles?”
“I don’t actually break them!” I defended. “I don’t really cook,” I added, realizing as I said it how pathetic it sounded. I was a grown man, around Cooper’s age. What would he think of me?
“Sounds like you’ve had more to worry about than the finer points of making spaghetti,” Cooper said. “How old were you when you started ballet?”
“Five,” I said, looking down at the counter, tracing my finger over a faint scratch in it. “My mom took me to my first lesson when I was five years old. I danced every single day of my life after that, until…”
A lump swelled up in my throat and I couldn’t swallow it down right away.Until the accidentwas as close as I could get—I hadn’t had to explain it to anyone. They’d all heard about it before I regained consciousness in the hospital post-surgery. I’d never had to tell anyone what actually happened.
Cooper nodded, letting me off the hook. “Wow.”
I shrugged. “It’s what you do. I bet Benji doesn’t go a day without practice.”
“He doesn’t,” Cooper confirmed. “I’ve never been that committed to anything in my life. I haven’t gotten out ofbedevery day of my life since I was five. The rest of us must seem… I don’t know. A whole lot less dedicated.”
“I don’t think that,” I said, meeting Cooper’s eyes again. As far as I could tell, he’d uprooted his entire life for Benji’s sake. I’d only been doing what I’d been trained to do since I was too young to make the decision myself. It was easier to keep going along the path I’d been set on.
Cooper had decided for himself, because he loved Benji.Thatwas dedication.
“So you and Amelia… worked? For the same company?”
“Danced for. We don’t call it work,” I said wryly. Itwaswork, but we were all supposed to believe it was a privilege to have it.
And it was. It was a privilege.
Had been.
“But yes,” I continued. “She’s a very accomplished dancer.”
Cooper nodded. “She’s been great with Benji. Took him in mid-term, no issues. But you’re taking over the class now?”
“Just for the competition,” I said. “Since I’m doing the choreography.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
I knew it was just a polite question, but I couldn’t help the ripple of defensiveness it sent running through me. “I choreographed the youth company’s production ofThe Nutcrackera few years back. Amelia thought it was good.”
Cooper looked away from the sauce he was still breaking up bits of anchovy in, brow raised. “I’m sure it was?”
I glanced down at the counter, tracing a knot in the wood with my fingertip. “Sorry. Choreography is hard to get into. Hard to even get experience in. It’s… it’s what I want to do next,” I admitted. “If I can’t dance anymore.”
Cooper wouldn’t understand what a big admission that was for me. Both wanting to do choreography next, and that I knew I couldn’t dance anymore.
I didknow. Accepting it was a different thing altogether.
“Then I hope it works?—”
“Coop!” Benji interrupted, tiny voice calling out before he came into view, the pounding of his feet announcing his arrival. He tore past me and crashed into Cooper’s legs, hugging him tight while Cooper laughed and ruffled his hair.
“All clean?” he asked, glancing between the pot of spaghetti, the pan of sauce, and Benji’s face.
