“What?” Charlie asked, eyeing her fingers gripping tightly around his arm.
Just then, the front door swung open and some moms and little kids entered. But Jane didn’t let go. In fact, she tightened her grip.
“I…” Charlie said. “I won’t.”
Jane dropped his arm, batted her lashes, and smiled up at him. “Good,” she said sweetly, as if nothing had just happened, “because Stephanie called in sick.” She looked past him and waved. “Hi Brooke, hi Maggie. You look adorable.” Her eyes shifted back to him. “So it seems I’ll need your help after all. Big strong guy like you.”
“Uh, sure,” Charlie said, getting that meat-in-the-window feeling again. “Anything I can do.”
Jane walked behind the desk and pulled out a big box with some kind of pink netting spilling out. It was puffy and out of control. “Take this upstairs to the costume room,” she directed, unloading the stuff from the box and shoving it into his arms. It wasn’t heavy, but he couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it, either. “Not so tight. You’ll smash it.”
“Okay,” he said, a little dazed, trying to see over the netting that seemed to be expanding in his arms.
“Hurry.” Jane waved toward a hallway. “They’re up there sewing now. Drop this off then come straight back.”
“Right.” Charlie nodded. “Upstairs.” As he turned to head in the direction of the stairs, he almost ran over a tiny girl dressed all in pink. “Oops,” he said. “Excuse me.” He stepped around her just as another wee girl ran across his path. He almost tripped over her, too. Suddenly it was like the lobby was swarming with little bodies in curly pigtails. Solely so he could see where he was going, he held the netting high over his head and weaved his way through the lobby.
There was less traffic and noise in the hallway, and he felt relieved the second he started up the stairs. He didn’t know where the costume room was, but he was pretty sure he could figure it out without a map.
As he walked down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway, he passed by an alcove that looked down onto the dance floor from the second story. There were a few women—mothers of the students, he assumed—sitting on a row of benches in front of the glass. Maybe ten girls, older ones and dressed in black tops, were in a straight line, holding onto a shoulder-high bar that ran the length of the room. They were bobbing up and down, doing some kind of routine. Charlie had no idea. He’d never dated a ballet dancer, and Tess was into music growing up.
“Hey. You.”
Charlie peered down the hall at a woman’s head poking out of a doorway at the end.
“Is that the tulle?”
“Um.” He lifted the stuff in his hands as if displaying it. “I don’t know.”
“Get it over here. We’re waiting.”
“Yep.” Charlie hustled down the hall and skidded around the corner, entering a large room with a row of sewing machines, about a million racks of puffy dresses and sparkly skirts and two women standing before a half-dressed mannequin.
“You’re not Stephanie. Where’s Stephanie?” one of them asked. She had pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth like tiny silver cigarettes.
“Called in sick,” he answered, a little out of breath and more than a little disoriented. “I think I’m Stephanie today.”
“Fine,” the woman said. Thankfully, she relieved Charlie of his load and carried the netting to a long table. “We need Emily and Melissa up here.”
“Who?” Charlie cocked his head.
When he didn’t move farther, she glared at him impatiently. “Emily and Melissa,” she repeated, pointing at the door. “Go.”
Charlie glanced at the other woman for any kind of explanation, but she was scowling at the half-naked mannequin while tapping her chin. “I…I don’t know who those people are,” he finally said, almost laughing, and not sure if he should look for hidden cameras in the rafters.
The woman with the pins stomped over, put her hands on his shoulders, and turned him in a very neat, though rather impatient, about-face. “Down there.” She pointed in the general direction of the stairs. “All the girls need to get fitted today. This is the last time before the recital.”
“Oh.” He nodded, pretending to understand. “Okay, so—”
“Emily and Melissa are first. Their mothers are in the bay.” She gestured toward the alcove area. “They’ll point them out.”
“Right.” At least those instructions made sense, and Charlie was no slouch when it came to following orders. So he hurried down the hall, nearly banging his head on a low-hanging pipe. “I need Emily and Melissa,” he said, once he’d reached the alcove.
Six heads turned around. “Who are you?” one of the women asked.
Charlie spread his hands. “Stephanie.”
“Did they make you the runner?” another woman asked.
Charlie rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure what’s going on. She, uh, Jane told me to drop off some netting stuff and come right back, but the costume ladies told me to get Emily and Melissa, so…”
“I’ll get the girls,” one of the mothers said after a snicker. “You’d better get back to Jane.”
“Great.” He almost saluted. “Thanks.” He made it back down the stairs and into the lobby. It was even more crowded now. More mothers, more curly pigtails. Jane sent Charlie up and down the stairs four more times, laden with different boxes of what he assumed were costume supplies.
By the time he came down after his final load, the lobby had cleared out. Only a few parents sat in the chairs along the wall, either silently watching the flat screen monitors or occupied with their phones. Jane sat behind the reception desk, tapping on a computer. The place was surprisingly quiet, except for a piano playing from inside the studio and the soft murmur of one voice.
Charlie wandered toward the glass door that led into the studio. Three groups of four little girls were standing in circles holding hands, Ring Around the Rosie style. One by one, they let go, held their hands above their heads, and did a wobbly twirl.
Then he spotted Ellie. She was decked out in a zebra-print top, black tights with no feet, and a little black skirt. Her long red hair was in a knot at the back of her head and she was twirling one of the little girls under her arm. She was grinning, wide-eyed, encouraging.
After a moment, Charlie realized he was staring and snapped out of it. He didn’t want to look like a creeper, gawking through the window at a bunch of four-year-olds. Although that was definitely not the subject of his gawking. He left the window and wandered into the lobby, checking out the posters and pictures on the walls. One in particular caught his eye.
It was Ellie at about eighteen. She was dressed in a fancy ballet outfit, the one with the poofy skirt made from that netting stuff. Tulle. She was up on one toe and the other leg was out behind her at a straight line, her arms extended.
Charlie felt like a stalker again as he drank in the picture, the muscles, the curves, the strength he knew had to come from holding a pose like that. He wondered if ballet had competitions like any other sport. The only thing he really knew about ballerinas was they seemed to wear a lot of tulle. Had Ellie been a competitor? Had she won anything? By the number of images of her on the wall, it seemed like she must have.
After a while, he pulled himself from the pictures and moved toward the reception desk. En route, he glanced into the studio again. The pint-sized pupils were in a line, hands on the shoulders of the girl in front of them, like a conga line. Ellie was at the lead, snaking the line of girls around the room, all zigzagging and windy turns. Even through the glass, he could hear the giggles—even Ellie was laughing, almost uncontrollably at times.
“Are you surviving?” Jane asked, suddenly right beside him.
Charlie laughed under his breath. “It’s different.”
“Yeah. Men just love this place. Thanks for your help earlier.”
“No problem.”
Jane nodded at the glass. “Ellie’s a great teacher, one of the best.”
Jane didn’t answer for a few moments, still gazing through the glass at Ellie. “Yeah,” she said at last, her voice strangely solemn. “She was a big deal.” She looked at Charlie. “But you’ll have to ask her about that.”
Chapter Six
After promising to wear her red leotard to their next class, Ellie waved good-bye to her last students. She saw Hunter through the glass, standing by the door, Jane beside him. They were both looking at her, but the moment Jane met her eye, she wheeled around and was gone.
What was up with that?
Ellie grabbed a bottle of water and walked to the door that Hunter was holding open. “Hi,” she said after taking a sip.
“Hi. You were having fun in there.”
“We can’t all shoot guns for a living,” she said, then took a deeper drink.
Hunter laughed. “Yeah, that’s all I do. But hey, thanks for inviting me. It was quite an education.”
“An education?” She gave him a look over her shoulder. “Well, that’s nice, since I’m all about higher learning.”
So, her plan had pretty much backfired. She hadn’t been trying to trick him or anything by inviting him to the studio. Though, honestly, she kept waiting for him to wave at her through the window, point at his watch or something, and bolt. Instead it kind of thrilled her to look up at the alcove and see him watching. Something in his smile made her feel validated.
“I’m done here, so why don’t we—” She cut off, noticing Jane’s head tilting their way, trying to listen in. Ellie walked toward her private office, hoping Hunter would follow. He did. It wasn’t as if she cared that Jane overheard; she just didn’t like being spied on.
“I just have to change, then we can go back to the WS.”
“There’s no hurry,” Hunter said. “Why don’t we grab lunch before we head over? Not a date, of course,” he added before she could properly turn him down. “Just two hungry people.”
It seemed kind of ridiculous to turn down the offer. He wasn’t hitting on her, plus, she was starving. “Okay. Give me a few minutes.” He left her while she slid back into her “civilian” clothes. Her hair was still up in a bun, so she pulled out the pins and it dropped to her shoulders.
Hunter met her at the front door and they walked to the parking lot.
“Still won’t drive with me?” he asked, pausing by his car. It really was gorgeous, all black and shiny. He obviously treasured the thing. She read once that with bachelors, their cars are as important as their future children. Well, he had called it his “baby.”
Ellie glanced through the driver’s side window, curious to see if the upholstery was as well maintained as the outside. But being in the car might not be the best idea in the world. She had a weakness for sexy guys in sexy cars. Now was not the time for weakness, not with twenty-three man-less days to go.
“Yeah, no, I’ll take my own.”
Hunter gave her a long look. “Where would you like to go?”
“We can always eat at the WS,” she suggested. “That’s easy, since we’re headed there, anyway.”
“I don’t know.” He leaned against his car, looking rather Dean Winchestery. “I was craving something sweet. Where’s the best ice cream around here?”
“Ice cream for lunch?”
“I’m on leave. I’m allowed to indulge.”
Ellie didn’t have to think twice about it; she could already taste the hot fudge on her tongue. “Phoenix,” she answered.
Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a pretty long trip for ice cream. Are you going to tell Sam or should I?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “The Phoenix is a diner.”
“I think I’ve seen it. Never been there, though.” He cocked one eyebrow, Winchester-brother-sexy again. “Ice cream?”
“Only the best ever,” she replied, feeling a different kind of hunger stir inside. After a slight hesitation, she quickly circled around to her driver’s side door and yanked it open before she changed her mind. “It’s not far. Follow me.”
Hunter was already at the front door of the Phoenix by the time she arrived. They grabbed a booth by the window and both reached for the dessert menu at the same time. “This is so funny,” Ellie observed.
“What is?”
“I’ve been craving ice cream all day, even though I shouldn’t have any.”
“Why not?”
“Have you seen what I wear to work every day? My leotards have gone up two sizes in the last year.”
“You looked amazing. Well, you know, for my best friend’s sister.”
“Are you and Sam best friends?” she asked. For some reason, she’d thought Charlie Johansson was her brother’s closest comrade in the unit. She’d kind of gotten that impression from his e-mails. But now that she thought about it, Sam never mentioned Charlie. Why was that? Maybe they weren’t as close as she’d assumed.
“Sammy’s like a brother to me,” Hunter said, holding her gaze for just a moment before looking down at the menu. “So, what’s good?”
Ellie stared at his bent head, his lowered eyes, examining him with new interest. Maybe he was a big player, but if he cared about Sam that much, he must’ve been a better guy than she’d given him credit for.
Directly on the heels of acceptance was another jolt of emotion, though much more raw. Why did it feel like she was being unfaithful to Charlie?
“Everyone loves their strawberry malts,” she said, trying to concentrate on the lists of desserts she’d read a hundred times.
“Naw, I’m all about the hot fudge, like you.” He closed his menu and his blue eyes met hers from across the table. “I mean, I picture you as a hot fudge lover. Am I right?”
Tingly goose bumps spread up the back of her neck…the words “hot fudge,” “Hunter,” and “lover” swirling around inside her head. “Good guess,” she said after a subtle swallow. “Though I’ve never put it quite like that.”
“I’d suggest we split one, but I think I know what your answer will be.”
Ellie laughed. “I’m much too selfish with my ice cream. But I will propose we split a burger again. They’re huge. Should probably have protein with our dessert, right? We’re adults, after all.”
“Sounds good to me.”
While waiting for their food, they talked about the WS, laughing about what hideous projects Chick would have them doing that afternoon. After Ellie’s third bite of burger, Hunter changed the subject completely.
“I couldn’t help noticing there were a lot of pictures of you at the studio,” he said. “I don’t know much about dancing, but did you do it as a career? Before teaching, I mean?”
Ellie felt a rush of cold liquid in her stomach that had nothing to do with the half-eaten sundae before her. She laced her fingers together then slid them under the table onto her lap.
“I asked Jane about it,” he continued and licked the back of his spoon. “But she told me to ask you.”
“Yeah, she would.” Ellie stared down at the table but sensed when Hunter leaned forward.
“Sorry.” His voice was low. “I didn’t know it was a difficult subject. Forget I said anything.”
The anniversary was coming up, so it wasn’t as though the incident hadn’t already been on her mind. Jane was probably sick of hearing about it, and there was no way she would bring it up with Sam. Still, the desire to share was suddenly weighing her down like a heavy coat. She lifted her chin and looked across the table at Hunter, at his clear blue eyes, their rapt attention on her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, putting down his spoon and resting his hand on the table between them, almost like he wanted to touch her, offer comfort. The gesture caused an unexpected release in her tensed muscles.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said, pushing back her ice cream. “Since my first lesson when I was three, I dreamed about being a ballerina.” She paus
ed, placing her hands flat on the table, palms down, only a few inches from his. “I danced with Ballet West for a few years, got a job with a company, and things were going really well.”
When she didn’t continue right way, Hunter said, “I have to plead ignorance again. As a profession, is it a short shelf life? I’m thinking of an NFL running back—those guys usually top out at about five years then retire. Is it the same with ballet?”
“It really depends on the athlete,” she answered. “All bodies are different. A lot of dancers work professionally into their thirties.” She twisted her lips, stalling. “I retired five years ago at twenty-two.”
“Retired,” he repeated, maybe catching her tone when she’d spoken that word.
“I got hurt.”
His expression went still and he didn’t move for a moment. “Hurt how?” he finally asked.
“A meniscus tear.”
“Your knee.”
She nodded, feeling a phantom twinge of pain as she straightened the joint. When would that stop happening? It had been five years ago. “I was on stage landing a jump,” she said. “Tore the hell out of my cartilage. You can actually hear it.” She shrugged, toying with her spoon. “It’s on YouTube.”
“Harsh,” Hunter muttered. “But you…you’re okay now. I saw you today—you can still dance.”
Ellie chuckled. “That was with four-year-olds. Not very many grande jeté en attitudes happening there.” She noted his confused expression. “That was my last jump. Technically, yes, I can still dance. Just not like I used to, and not at the competitive level anymore.”
“So now you teach.”
“So now I teach,” she echoed. “And I really love it; I’m not complaining. I just miss it sometimes. I miss the backstage drama and the adrenaline and the costumes. My mom was a dancer, too. Way better than I was.” She paused when she felt her shoulders sag. “She died three years ago. Drunk driver.”
“I know,” Hunter said. “Sam told me about the car accident.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” The way he was watching her…there was compassion in his eyes, and sincerity. Kindness. How could a player of Hunter’s stature find the energy to care so much about each of his conquests?
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