By the time parents start arriving for pickup, the children are pink-cheeked and chattering, clearly pleased with themselves.
“Mr. Malachi!” Amelia tugs on his sleeve. “Are you coming back next week?”
“That depends on Miss Isadora.”
“Please?” This from Charles Jr., who has apparently decided Mal is the height of cool. “You’re way better than Miss Bianca.”
“Charles.” I try to sound stern and fail miserably. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“It’s true though!”
Oliver is the last to leave. His mother appears at the door, looking harried, and he runs to her with an enthusiasm I’ve never seen from him.
“Mom! I danced with a partner and I didn’t mess up!”
“That’s wonderful, sweetie?—”
“And Mr. Malachi said I was a natural!”
Oliver’s mother looks over his head at us, eyebrows raised. Mal raises a hand in acknowledgment.
“He was excellent,” he confirms. “Best partner I’ve had all day.”
Oliver beams. His mother mouthsthank youand leads him out, and then the studio is quiet.
I turn to Mal. He’s standing near the windows, afternoon light catching the planes of his face, and he looks... tired. Rumpled. More human than I’ve ever seen him.
“That was...” I search for the right word. “Unexpected.”
“The children?”
“You. With them.” I shake my head slowly. “I thought you’d cause chaos. Turn the whole class into bedlam. Instead you were...”
“Adequate?”
“Wonderful.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “You were wonderful with them. Patient and kind and?—”
“Careful.” His voice is light, but something flickers in his eyes. “You’re dangerously close to giving me a compliment.”
“I give you compliments all the time.”
“You give me constructive criticism. It’s different.”
I want to argue, but he’s not wrong.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “For today. All of it. The pipes, the phone calls, the class...” I gesture vaguely at the chaos around us. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“No.” He moves closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “But I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because you let me.” His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Because for the first time, you actually asked for help. Do you have any idea how much that means?”
I don’t know what to say to that so I don’t say anything. Instead, I reach up and touch the bracelet on his wrist. Four rubies now, glowing softly in the afternoon light. Four invitations. Four steps closer to his freedom.
“Three more,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
