by Cass Lennox
“No, we’re . . .” He eyed the camera. Still being filmed. Still on show. I’m still not . . . His gaze flickered back to her. Beautiful, even in the middle of almost confessing—what? That she felt something for him? Something more? Which, okay, he felt that too. He totally did.
But could he rely on that sense of more from a basis of four days of dancing? He wanted to. But he also didn’t want to, because four days was nothing.
Shit, she was starting to look upset. He needed to say something. But what? Damn it, he was so bad at this. What if he said the wrong thing and she flipped out? Or did what Luce used to do and sulk or, even worse, yell at him?
Think, Tyler. It was kind of a basic question, right? But why was she even asking it? How could she be invested in whatever was happening between them? She was going back over the Atlantic in exactly one week.
Wait, so, even if she did freak out, she’d be gone after a week. He could handle a week of freak out. Or of awkward. But he didn’t want either of those things. He wanted the energy they’d just had, so he had to say the right thing to make sure there wasn’t awkwardness. As in, like, nothing that would lead her on or make her upset. He could do that.
She glanced at the camera. “You know,” she murmured, frowning, “we can talk about this later, because this is less than ideal—”
“No, it’s fine,” he said, words finally rushing to his aid. “I mean . . . These are, um, unusual circumstances, right, and we do . . . We’re dancing super well together.” He took her hand. “I think we’re good friends. I think that’s what’s coming across.” Something in him slowly curled up and cried as he said that. His throat tightened, and he gripped her hand harder.
She looked down at their hands, then up at him. Her expression made him freeze; she was disappointed, but also skeptical. She knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. The same connection that made him feel like the world sparked into life when they touched pretty much guaranteed she saw straight through what he was saying—and it hurt her.
“All right,” she said, sounding anything but. “That’s . . . good to know.”
Out of all the reactions he’d expected, this was the one that surprised him the most—which didn’t really make sense. Because of course she wouldn’t fly off the handle. Most people wouldn’t. Why had he assumed she would?
Fuck. His head was a goddamn mess.
He couldn’t seem to let her hand go. Suddenly, he flat-out didn’t want to. “I know Brock said some, um, some stuff there, but, uh . . .”
“He misunderstood,” she said firmly. “Yes. I know.” She forced a smile, and Tyler wanted to take those words back. He wanted to take the whole conversation back and pull her out into the corridor for some fucking privacy and show her exactly what he did feel.
“We’re fine as we are,” he said desperately. “We’re perfect, just as we are.” You’re perfect, and I don’t want you to go. The words refused to leave his mouth.
She smiled a little more genuinely. “I agree with that.” She swung his hand. “We should get back to work.”
“Yeah.”
She let his hand go and walked back towards Katie and Brock, who quickly turned away as if they hadn’t been trying to film and eavesdrop on the conversation. Brock looked particularly guilty. As far as Tyler was concerned, the two of them couldn’t leave soon enough.
Tyler couldn’t feel his body. He moved after her on autopilot and took his starting position.
Two agonizing hours later, Evie waved good-bye and walked out the door. Tyler wanted to collapse to the floor in disappointment. That energy had still been there, Evie had been her usual joking self, and they’d managed to get the first minute or so of the routine up to speed; it had outwardly been a good practice session.
He felt like crying. The latter half of the session had been nothing like the first half. The first half had been fireworks and magic; the second half had been harsh reality covered by reassuring smiles and old jokes. Tyler knelt and dug for his phone. It was ten o’clock, but he didn’t care; he called Shana.
“Hey, Ty!” She sounded pleasantly surprised. “What’s up, bro?”
“Shana, I messed up.”
“What happened?” There she went again, sounding like Mom.
“You know that performance I was telling you about? The Pride one?”
“Yeah.”
“And the girl I’m dancing with?”
A smile came into Shana’s voice. “Oh yeah. I saw that video you sent me. Girl did good.”
“It’s her. She happened.”
“What’d you do? You drop her?”
He leaned against the mirrored wall. “Not literally. We’ve got this amazing connection, and she asked me about it, and I choked.”
“Baby, how long have you known this girl?”
Including the audition? “Five days.”
“And are these feelings amazing because of the dancing thing? Because that was part of the problem with Lucette.”
“I know. And no, it’s not. It’s amazing because she’s amazing.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “She’s funny and smart and gorgeous and sweet and . . . I don’t know, Shana. I want to pick her up and keep her with me all the time so I can just be with her.”
“She feel the same way?”
His throat closed up again. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Maybe. I think so.”
“So what’s the problem? Ask her out.”
“She’s from England, remember? She’s here for another week and then she’s gone. Like, what’s the point? Plus, I keep choking.” He forced the words out. “I keep being reminded of shit Luce would say and do, and it’s getting in the way.”
“Oh, bro.” Shana’s voice turned sympathetic. “That sucks. For real, that sucks. But it doesn’t mean you can’t ask her out.”
His eyes flew open. He hadn’t expected that. “Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me. Ask the girl out.”
“Shan, I’m struggling with psychological turmoil.”
“What’s a date going to hurt? Call it practice, if you want. But for feelings. Or something. Just have some fun times with her now, get an international friend for keeps afterwards—it’ll all be cool. And good for you.”
He pulled his jacket out of his bag and shrugged into it. “I like her, Shana. I really like her.”
“. . . Oh, Ty.”
“But I told her this is just friendship.”
“She fall for that?”
“No.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I told you I messed up!” He stood and pulled his bag over his shoulder. “How do I fix this?”
“Tell her you’re sorry and ask her out.”
He left the practice room and found himself face-to-face with Brock. “I can’t do that,” he said into the phone, staring at the guy. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Gigi was right: Brock really did have great shoulders.
“If you can’t, then you deserve the nothing you’re going to get.”
“Shana!”
Brock retreated a bit but waited for him.
“Sort it out, bro.” Her voice softened. “I know it’s been a rough year for you, but this girl sounds like a good thing. You have never ever called me up at 10 o’clock because of a girl before.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Ask her out. That’s my advice.”
“Thanks.” He thought.
He said his good-byes and hung up. Right. Right. He could do that. Ask Evie out. But first, he had someone else to deal with.
Brock straightened as Tyler faced him. “I came back because I wanted to say sorry.”
Tyler was suddenly very, very tired. So. Much. Drama. “Sure, dude.”
“No, I mean it. What happened back there? Because I thought you two had totally gotten together, you know? When I saw you talking like that, I realized you hadn’t and I felt like a total asshole.” He looked terrible. Tyler had a sudden urge to laugh at the guy. He was completely inept at this stuff, wasn
’t he?
“Don’t worry about it, man.” He realized he meant it. “It’s my problem. Hers and mine.”
They started walking to the school’s reception area.
Brock smiled shyly. “I apologized to Evie too, when she left just now. She was really cool. I kinda thought she might be all British, you know, all pretending it didn’t happen, but I guess that’s just a stereotype, because she’s never been like that during all this dance stuff.” He seemed to notice he was babbling, and took a deep breath. “So, uh, I was wondering if I could make it up to you. By helping. I mean, she’s helping me with Gigi. I could help you with her.”
Tyler shook his head. “Thanks, Brock, but no offence? I think I’m good. I know what the problem is.”
“What is it?”
“It’s complicated.”
Brock nodded, clearly expecting to hear all the damn dirt.
Tyler sighed. Why did people keep doing this? “Look, I got issues. I can deal, but they’re there.”
Brock stopped short and gave him a hard look. “It’s not because of the asexuality thing, is it? Because that would be low, man. Like, okay, I don’t get it, but if I had that kind of connection with someone who was— Like if Gigi was asexual, I’d fucking make it work.”
Tyler shook his head. He hadn’t considered that aspect of it—truthfully, had genuinely forgotten all about it. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Sex wasn’t what drove this thing between them. “It’s not her orientation.”
“Good. Because you two had the eye thing going on.”
“The eye thing?”
Brock nodded seriously. They were in the reception area now. He attempted to demonstrate to Tyler by fluttering his eyelashes in what Tyler guessed was meant to be a seductive, intense gaze.
“That eye thing,” Brock said. “You know, where you look at each other all the time and you don’t look at anyone else like that.”
Tyler snorted. “My eyes don’t flutter. And neither do hers.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“Dude, give me a break,” Brock grumbled.
Tyler smiled, because it turned out teasing him was fun. They emerged into the Toronto night, neon signs lining the street and streetlights keeping back the dark. The air tasted like tap water and the promise of sleep. He glanced at Brock. “TTC?”
“Yeah, man.” They headed towards it.
Despite the weight of the day’s events, Tyler did feel better. Perhaps Brock and Shana were right. Perhaps he could trust in this thing between them enough to at least try it.
At a minimum, he owed Evie lunch after today.
Evie woke up and immediately wanted to bury her head under the pillow, never to emerge from Sarah and Bailey’s sofa bed again.
What she did was get up.
She went from their living room into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. It was still early and the sun inched over the horizon. The view from the kitchen window looked out over their scrap of a garden and the scrap of garden belonging to the house behind them, where dew sparkled on the grass and flowers. The sky promised another hot, beautiful day.
The world was still effervescent. She thought it might have dimmed after his . . . not rejection, necessarily, but certainly denial. Tyler had avoided eye contact until she’d pointedly stared at him, and even then he’d said each word as though they were being physically pushed through his mouth. “I think we’re good friends.” Said like he couldn’t believe he was saying it. The strength of his grip on her hand had increased and increased until she’d let it go. Given the way he looked at her and the ease they’d previously had, Evie was less than convinced he really felt that way.
But something had made him say it. Uncertainty? Fear?
Or he meant exactly what he said, and Evie was just trying to see something where there was nothing.
Of course, she’d treat this as friendship now, even if she wasn’t wholly convinced it was. After Brock’s disastrous assumptions, she’d tried her best, but their dynamic hadn’t been the same. The latter half of the session had been awkward and tense, so the routine had been a welcome distraction from her own disappointment.
Brock had been sweet the previous evening. He’d waited for her in the reception, looking so miserable she couldn’t help taking pity and listening to what he’d had to say. If he was desperate when he’d crashed their practice session, he’d been more than contrite when he apologized for making things awkward. She’d forgiven him on the spot. And it really wasn’t his fault anyway; the fault was hers for asking and Tyler’s for not asking and theirs for ignoring it until someone else mentioned it.
She closed her eyes. The first half of the session had been . . . wow. Just wow. They had known the moves and anticipated each other, and they’d fit together like clockwork. It had been straightforward and simple and mesmerising. She’d been so aware of him, drawn like a magnet over and over to him and his dark eyes and graceful body.
That sounds almost sexual. But it wasn’t about sex, not really. It was about being in the same room as him, that strange irresistible, magnetic draw to another person who just clicked. She’d felt glimmers of this with other people, had felt it in her previous relationships, but with Tyler it was all-consuming. That was rare, which made her disappointment that much more bitter.
She leaned her forehead against the window. Why was this so complicated?
Motion stirred behind her, and she turned to see a sleepy Bailey step into the kitchen. “Hey,” Bailey said.
“Morning.”
“You okay?” Bailey asked.
Evie nodded. “You?”
“I’m awake and will soon have coffee. That’s always good.”
Evie turned back to the window with a small smile and sipped her tea as Bailey made coffee. “Bay,” she said carefully, “do you know Tyler well?”
“Sorta, but not as well as Sarah does.” Bailey joined her by the window, coffee cup in hand. Their hair was flattened on one side from sleeping, and their pj’s had skulls dotted across them. They’d promised Evie a set for when she came back to Toronto.
Evie mentally sifted the words she needed. “Would you say he’s a private person?”
“Oh yeah, definitely.”
Perhaps the whole problem had been asking him in front of that damn camera. But then, what did “We’re perfect, just as we are” mean? Because “as they were” had been the burgeoning emotional wonder that prompted her to ask him what was going on in the first place.
“Evie?” Bailey asked.
Evie recounted the previous evening to them. “So that’s what happened, and I’m still trying to figure it out. I mean, he is sending mixed signals, isn’t he? I got that right?”
“I think so.”
“But he probably has reasons for sending mixed signals.”
Bailey nodded, brown eyes serious for once. “Yeah.”
“There’s not a lot I can do about it, then.” Evie regarded the garden again. “Ugh. I wish I could let it go. Be cool.”
“But?”
“I’ve liked lots of people,” she said, “but not quite like this. This is more.”
“How so?”
Evie bit the inside of her lip. “Everything looks different. You know? The world seems clearer and brighter. Everything feels better and sweeter. And it’s just because he exists and I know him and he likes me.” She gestured to the window. “It’s going to sound so cheesy, but that view out there? It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, because he’s alive and out there somewhere.”
Bailey scoffed. “Gross.”
“I know. I know.” She gestured uselessly. “I disgust myself. What’s happening to me, Bay?” What was it about this trip? She felt all twisted and exposed and real. The view, the smells of the morning, the taste of tea on her tongue. Her thoughts coalesced, shiny and bright.
“I think this place is good for me,” she said slowly. “All the noise and the
new people and the course . . . Coming here was the right decision. Being here later will also be right. So even though he’s being weird, and I don’t understand why, it doesn’t matter. I can’t be unhappy about any of this. Whatever happens with him,” she grinned at Bailey, “I will be here in the autumn, and it will be so great I won’t understand why I didn’t come here sooner. I can’t wait.”
Bailey smiled at her. “That’s a good attitude to have.”
“Can’t wait for what?” Sarah came into the kitchen and threw a sleepy arm around Bailey.
“Life,” Evie said.
“Always.” Sarah nuzzled Bailey. Evie felt like a third wheel for a moment, a slightly envious third wheel, but forced herself to let the feeling go. Their affection for each other sometimes blurred the lines between platonic and romantic, but they were definitely platonic. Evie wasn’t a third wheel—she was a friend. She sipped her tea, happy to be there with them in their home for a moment like this.
Bolstered by her morning epiphany, Evie left the house ready for anything. She would get through today’s session and tomorrow’s and the rest of the week. Awkward or not, she’d be able to handle Tyler. Things would work out the way they should.
And people thought Brits exaggerated the benefits of a decent cup of tea.
Sarah and Bailey were both working, so Evie shopped for souvenirs by herself before the dance session. She scouted the tourist shops near the school, picking up multipack maple syrup bottles and maple leaf cookies and a Canada, eh? T-shirt in one store before checking her phone for the latest from the British day. Two messages waited for her: an email from Mum and a WhatsApp from Tyler.
Tyler.
She quickly tapped open the message: If you’re free, do you want to meet for lunch before practice?
She checked the time. Two hours before the session was due to start. Heart beating like crazy, she thumbed out, Yes. Meet in an hour’s time? and sent it.
Then she checked her mother’s email.
Darling, I hope you’re still having a lovely time. I saw your Niagara pictures, and I have to say there was a VERY nice-looking young man in them. I hope you have something you want to tell me. I’m not sure I understand the toy, but otherwise the pictures are stunning and you look beautiful. Particularly that one on the boat in the mist—very atmospheric. It’s all grey and gloom over here; the full British summer is in session! Your father says that the latest rage in London are sandwich trucks. Do they have those over in Toronto? Shep lay down in the garden yesterday afternoon as I was doing my weeding and wouldn’t move for anything for hours. Poor doggy, he’s getting old. I won this week’s WI baking competition with my kumquat and orange tart. I’ll send you a picture in a sec. Everyone said it was absolutely delicious, but I’ll have to take their word for it as I don’t eat sweet things anymore. Richard hasn’t called since Sunday, and I’m quite annoyed. Tell him to call me, would you? I’m your mother, it’s not too much to expect a call every now and then, is it? Can’t wait to see you home again dear. Only a week to go!