I let him distract me as Cooper piled a serving plate high with fluffy, golden pancakes, one after another, with a methodical grace that wouldn’t have been out of place in a dancer. A sudden urge to see him working on a car struck me. There had to be a rhythm to that, too. I’d never thought about it before—I didn’t even know how to drive—but it was another kind of physical skill.
And I couldn’t forget how good he was with his hands.
When he laid his palm on my shoulder as he brought the pile of pancakes to the table, I wanted to melt.
“Glad you came,” he murmured, lips so close to my ear his breath tickled the shell of it, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.
“Me too,” I said, turning to look up at him.
I loved him.
I loved sitting at a table surrounded by people who wanted me around, and I loved Benji’s smiling face, and the way his parents kept exchanging knowing looks. I’d never been brought home to someone’s parents before. I’d met Cooper’s before I even kissed him.
I lovedthis, and I loved him for giving it to me.
I wanted him to kiss me, but I understood why he didn’t. Benji was sitting right beside me, and he’d have questions.
“Benji tells you’re going to win this big competition,” Mrs. Richards spoke up from the other side of the table as Cooper sat down on my other side in the mismatched chair, his knee bumping against mine on account of the odd angle it was at.
“Mom,” Cooper warned, pushing the pancakes toward her.
Mrs. Richards laughed. “No pressure, of course.”
“I’m used to pressure,” I said, offering her a smile. “I can’t promise we’ll win. I think the important thing is that we do our best.”
Imight have been used to pressure, but I didn’t want to put that on Benji. He was lucky. He had all the love and support he could have wanted. Neither Cooper nor his grandparents were ever going to make him feel as though he had to be the best to be loved.
The fact that winning might mean the difference between Rising Up keeping its doors open or shutting down was my problem. I wanted to see Amelia succeed. More than that, I realized as the pancakes came to me, I wanted Benji to get to keep the studio. I still sent a Christmas card to my first ballet instructor back in Iowa every year, along with the program for every season I’d performed. She’d sent me a picture once of the studio noticeboard, where she’d pinned every one of them up.
It mattered to have a place to come from. My studio had been the one place I felt like I could be myself. It mattered to me that Benji—and all the other kids in his class, and the few older kids, and even the over 65s—had somewhere like that.
Aside from that, an early win like this—even, or perhaps especially, in a new competition like this one—could mean everything to Benji’s career, if he wanted one. Without the early awards I’d won, my own career would have looked a lot different.
Benji deserved it. He was putting in the work.
I had to match him.
“You okay?” Cooper asked, leaning close and keeping his voice low. I started, coming back to the breakfast table with a jolt.
“Lost in thought,” I said.
“That’s why I never think.” Cooper smiled one of his warm, gentle smiles at me. I was so busy enjoying it that it took me a second to register what he’d actually said.
“You do, though,” I murmured, leaning toward him. I bumped my knee against his on purpose, ignoring the way my thigh twinged. It still wasn’t happy with me since last night, but I still couldn’t make myself care, either. For the first time, what I’d been telling myself from the beginning really seemed true—it was just pain. “You’re one of the most thoughtful people I’ve ever met.”
His dad must’ve overheard that, judging by the way he chuckled. When I glanced at him, he met my eyes and gave me a slow, firm nod. Approval.
I nodded back, surprised by how much that meant to me.
Benji nudged me, offering me the maple syrup. It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but then I thought of the example that’d set. Of no ice cream since I was twelve. Of the look Cooper had given me when I’d told him that.
I took it and drowned my pancakes only a little less enthusiastically than Benji had, passing it on to Cooper next and thrilling at the brush of his fingers against mine. Just having him sitting next to me was enough to make my insides squirm, the memory of how good he’d made me feel last night lingering along with the ache I was clinging to.
The moment I took a bite of my pancake, I had to cover my mouth to stifle the sound I couldn’t help making.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled around it, looking to Cooper. He glanced away, cheeks coloring, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
“He makes them exactly like Mom did,” Benji piped up beside me. My attention swung to him, heart plummeting at the mention of his mom.
