by Aven Ellis
While the house is magazine perfect, I don’t know if I feel at home here. I guess because I know it’s not mine. Also, the furniture is nothing I’d pick out for myself.
It’s perfect, but not perfect for me, I muse, wandering into the kitchen. I pick up the fantastic copper teakettle I bought when shopping today and fill it with water. Okay, it might be “a want” and not a “need,” item but sometimes I have to indulge. And for thirty bucks, I’m pretty pleased with my find.
I glance at the clock. It’s closing in on seven-thirty in Ohio. Matt is in Cleveland tonight, an off-night before playing the Wildcats tomorrow.
Hopefully, he will message soon. I finish filling the kettle with water for my green tea and place it on the luxury Viking range, turning the burner on. Then I go to the huge stainless steel fridge and grab a container of sushi takeout.
Just as I’m getting ready to sit down at the counter, my phone buzzes.
Oh, I hope it’s him! I glance down at the screen, but it’s not a text. It’s a Connectivity Video Connect request from Matt.
Video request? What is he doing, he rooms with JP! Or he’s always with Harrison and Nate at dinner.
I click accept and am routed to my Connectivity page. Within seconds, I’m staring at Matt’s gorgeous face.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
Matt’s mouth tugs up in a sexy smirk. “Why are you whispering?” he asks, his pool-blue eyes dancing at me. “Aren’t you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone, are you?”
“Of course I am. JP is out with Nate and Harrison for dinner.”
I sit down in my seat. “Why aren’t you with them? Aren’t you missing dinner?”
“Because I needed to see you.”
Oh, I’m melting.
“Do you have any idea how happy you make me?” I say, speaking from my heart.
Matt’s expression goes serious. “I want to make you happy, Holly. Every day. But damn, I miss you so much. I’ve never missed anyone before.”
“I miss you, too. I can’t wait for you to come home tomorrow night.”
“Me, neither,” Matt says, raking a hand through his golden curls. “I hate not being able to talk to you like this. Texting is better than nothing, but I love being able to see you, Snow Angel.”
Happiness fills me whenever he calls me by my nickname. “You know, I don’t have a nickname for you yet.”
Matt laughs, and oh, how I love that familiar sound.
“I’m sure you’ll find something suitable,” he says. “So, how was your day?”
“Well, as you know, I’m all moved in here,” I say. “I texted you the pics of all my shopping finds. Did you see them?”
“Yes. I couldn’t have made it through the day without that copper teakettle update.”
“Shut up,” I say. “You’re annoyed because you haven’t received any more sexy sock photos.”
Matt grins wickedly at me. “I live for your sexy sock pics.”
I giggle. “Yes. I’m sure that is exactly what you’re thinking.”
Matt’s expression softens. “Do you want to know what I’m really thinking?”
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking about you today. A lot. And I want to give you your New Year’s Eve,” he says. “Your dream one. And I don’t want to make you wait a year for it.”
Goosebumps sweep over my skin. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Matt clears his throat. “You shared your dream with me that night, and I screwed it up.”
“No, no, that’s not true,” I say truthfully. “Nate did.”
“No, part of me being an adult is owning up to shit,” Matt says. “Shoving you away was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. And as you know, I have an extensive list of dumb things to choose from.”
I don’t say anything as he continues.
“I want to have the night we should have had,” Matt says. “So, I went ahead and talked to a personal shopper at Nordstrom at NorthPark. You can get yourself the dress of your dreams. Shoes. Whatever you want.”
I’m so stunned I don’t know what to say. Tears prick my eyes.
“Matt, you don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice thick. “Being with you is all I want.”
“I know that, and I wake up grateful every morning that I’m with you. But I want this for us. I mean, we can’t go out, but we can have this. You deserve this. So you get whatever you want. I’ll pick you up, have dinner ready, and we’ll finish our dance the way we should have.”
I love you, I think as I stare into his eyes. I love you so much.
“It sounds perfect,” I say.
“I’ll text you the info for the personal shopper and you can set that up. Hey, did you know you can buy socks at Nordstrom, too?” Matt asks. Then he winks at me.
This. This is why I love this man with all my heart. He can be romantic and thoughtful and then turn around and tease me about socks.
I laugh. “Your Nordstrom account might be in jeopardy.”
“Promise me you’ll get some thigh high ones,” he says, flirting with me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll blow your mind with socks,” I say, pretending to be sexy. “And tonight you might get another secret shot.”
“Better be careful. Those sock pics could end up in the Cloud.”
Then we both crack up.
“Speaking of socks, I get to wear my sticky ones tomorrow at barre class,” I say.
My teakettle starts whistling, and I get up to turn it off. I put the phone down for a second while I drop a green tea bag into a mug and pour the water over the top.
“I’m proud of you,” Matt says. “I know this is a huge step.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel quite so huge because Reese will be there,” I say, taking my mug to the island and sitting back down.
“No. Don’t diminish this. You’re taking a huge step in facing your demon, and it’s a big deal.”
“I’m still anxious,” I admit.
“Of course you are, but you have coping techniques. When I’m back in town, if you want to see a therapist, I’ll go with you.”
“But why? All you would do is sit in the waiting room. I can do that on my own.”
“We’re in this together, that’s why,” Matt says.
I realize he lives by those words. My anxiety is not mine alone to face anymore. Yes, ultimately, I’m the one who has to deal with it, but I have Matt holding my hand every step of the way.
And this is what Nate will understand someday. This man is my partner. Nobody else sees this side of him, but this is what real love is.
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for his encouragement. “I’ll get some referrals tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m glad. But, in the meantime, you barre?”
I laugh. “Tomorrow, I barre. And, hopefully, don’t make a fool out of myself.”
“Okay. Remember this. People are there to take a class. Not to see how many mistakes you make. Don’t distort reality when you get there.”
I nod. “That’s true.”
“Of course it is.”
“Are you like Harrison? Wanting to study psychology?”
Matt screws up his face. “Hell no. I can’t imagine anything worse than going to school. Why do you think I finished after high school?”
“Well, you’re a lot smarter than people I knew in college,” I say truthfully.
“Right.”
“Don’t argue with me, Matthew.”
“Ugh, you sound like CiCi when you call me Matthew.”
I grin. “When is your next date with her?”
Matt rubs his hand over his face. “Next w
eek. Lunch at her place. Claire wants to have a tea party. Apparently, I’m doing that.”
Oh, I’m trying so hard not to laugh.
“And I’ve already been told I’m not going on vacation during All-Star break.”
I frown. “It’s ridiculous that you weren’t named to the All-Star team in the first place,” I say, irritated on his behalf. “You’re one of the best players in the league!”
“Yeah, well, I’m also on a team with two superstars,” Matt says, referring to the dynamic duo of Harrison and Nate, “who are very popular with the fans.”
“It’s still stupid.”
“It’s okay. Next year I’ll get it,” Matt says. “But yeah, CiCi told me I’m to stay in Dallas. She doesn’t trust me yet. But it doesn’t matter. Like I’d go anywhere when I can spend time with you at home.”
I smile. “Is it wrong that I’m glad about that?”
Matt flashes me a grin. “Nope.”
We chat for a bit longer before agreeing we should both eat.
“Text me later?” Matt asks.
“Yes. And since you’ve played your cards right tonight, you might get glasses and a topknot.”
“Serious porn. Are you trying to torture me?”
We both crack up.
I say goodbye—for now—and disconnect from our chat.
Every time I talk to Matt, he continues to reinforce why I love him with all my heart.
I’m determined that I will make Nate understand this.
But even if he doesn’t, that’s not my problem.
All that matters is Matt and what we have together.
I won’t let anyone, including my brother, change that.
Chapter 24
The Game Plan for January 9th
√Attend barre class with Reese at an ungodly hour.
√Remind self of these facts when sitting in car in barre studio lot panicking over going into class:
Everyone is there for a barre workout. They aren’t going to watch me. Not the whole time, anyway. I’m not that entertaining. At least not in sticky socks. I’m totally more entertaining in taco socks.
Even professional instructors shake. Shaking is supposed to be good, according to the YouTube workouts I’ve done. Nobody will think it’s strange if I’m shaking. Or wobbling.
Reese will be next to me, so I’m not entering a room of strangers.
There will be CHAI TEA afterward no matter what.
Okay. I can do this.
I sit at the steering wheel of my Volvo and take a deep breath for courage. I stare at the The Barre/The Booty studio that is in front of me.
I exhale. Yes. I’m going to a barre class. And no matter what happens, I’ll live.
I might leave with a twitching eye, but at least I can say I did it.
Besides, I can’t let Reese down.
I’m here fifteen minutes early. I didn’t want to get lost and be late, because, gah, nothing is worse than walking in late for something. Then all eyes are definitely on me, which would make my symptoms pop up and down like a bad game of Whack-A-Mole.
I grab my water bottle and take a sip. I work on reframing all my negative thoughts when my phone beeps.
Curious, I retrieve it and see it’s a text from Matt.
Happy barre day. You can do this.
I can’t stop the tremendous smile that spreads across my face. I take a picture of the studio and send it to him with a message:
I’m here! Having a conversation with myself about going inside.
Matt responds:
The place is actually called The Barre/The BOOTY?
Oh lord. I’ve just given The Wild One teasing ammunition for the rest of our lives. I text back:
Barre shapes the booty. ;-)
Matt replies:
Your booty doesn’t need work but you still have to go to school today.
I grin and message back:
Don’t worry, no matter how tempting it is to skip class, I will go in and attempt to work on improving my booty. I get chai tea afterward, but only if I don’t chicken out.
He doesn’t take long to shoot me another text.
If barre does give you an even better booty, I’ll be the one saying DAT ASS THO. #luckyme #Ifullysupportthis #mygirlfriendishot
Now I’m dying. I’m laughing instead of panicking.
I can’t help but think I’m the luckiest girl alive to have Matt as my man.
I exchange a few more messages with Matt and then decide it’s time to face the barre.
I grab my tote, my towel, and my water bottle and get out of the car. Anxiousness swirls in my stomach. Will I be the only new person? Will everyone else be an expert? What if it’s way too hard?
No. Stop. Reframe.
I shift my thinking as I head toward the studio. So what if I’m the only new person? Nobody cares. If they’re experts, they weren’t on their first day. Of course it will be hard, if it was easy, who would do it? The point is to change my body. Challenges are good.
Okay. I’m still anxious, but it definitely helps to focus on these thoughts rather than anxiety-riddled ones.
I pull open the door to the studio. The first thing I notice is it smells like a spa. Clean and refreshing. The floors are blond hardwood, and a rack of the cutest workout clothing I’ve ever seen lines one wall. There are rows of muscle shirts with hip sayings, gorgeous spaghetti-strapped tanks, and capri leggings in fabulous prints.
I glance down at what I’m wearing. My Dallas Demons T-shirt and old black yoga pants seem like a total barre fashion faux pas.
A tall redhead is standing at the check-in desk, looking bright-eyed and glamorous despite the hideously early hour. Her hair has perfect beach-style waves and her peach-toned makeup is spot on. Or should that be on point since I’m in a barre studio? Anyway, she’s wearing a black muscle shirt that says “The Barre/The Booty Life,” and I can’t help but notice her arms are sculpted. She doesn’t need to worry about triceps waving in the wind.
Uggggh. If they all look like her, I should leave now. My triceps alone could be the distracting factor in class today as they wave hello on every arm move. Just because I’m thin doesn’t mean I’m toned.
Before I can obsess anymore over my tone, or extreme lack of it, she interrupts my thoughts by greeting me.
“Good morning,” she says cheerfully, “welcome to The Barre The Booty. How may I help you?”
“Um, yes, I’m Holly Johansson,” I say, fiddling with the strap on my tote. “I’m going to attend a class as a guest of Reese Brannon this morning.”
“Oh, yes,” the girl says, nodding. “I’ll need you to fill out a few forms, and then you’ll be ready to go.”
She hands me a clipboard and pen. I take a moment to remove my jacket and put it in the seat beside me. Then I sit down in the reception area and begin to fill out all my information. Name, address, how did I hear about the class, any medical conditions. Ha. I think I’ll leave off barre-anxiety for now. I’m signing my name when the studio door opens. I glance up and see Reese stepping inside.
“Yay! You made it!” she says excitedly.
Reese’s presence reduces my fears a notch. She flashes me a warm smile, one that lights up her beautiful face. I watch as she unzips her hoodie and shimmies out of it. Her topknot is back, as is mine, and she’s dressed in a mint-green muscle tank that has “Barre Besties” in gold scrawled across the front. Black yoga capris with mesh inserts finish out her chic, barre look.
“I did,” I say, smiling as I stand up.
“We’re going to have so much fun!”
Okay, fun might be pushing it, but I’m going to stay positive.
“Here, I got you something,” she says, juggling her towel and her
purse in one hand. “This is for you.”
Reese hands me a gift bag.
“What is this?” I ask, surprised.
“Well, it’s helpful if you look inside first. But if you’re still confused after you take it out, you can ask me to explain.”
“Ha-ha,” I say, grinning at her. “I guess I’ll look first.”
I return the clipboard to the front, and while Reese checks in, I set the gift bag down on the counter and remove the gold tissue paper. Underneath I find a shirt. I carefully lift it up, and find it’s a Barre Besties tank exactly like Reese’s, but in pink.
“We had to wear these for our first class together today,” Reese insists. “Of course, your brother kind of screwed me in the gift department by handing you a Volvo yesterday.”
“Not at all,” I say. “I love it! Thank you! You’re the best.”
I know Reese has no idea how moved I am by her gesture. It’s hard for me to make good friends, and I already know Reese is going to be my best friend. She’s so thoughtful and positive, and I have no doubt she is going to make a tremendous impact on my life.
Because she already has.
“I’m going to put it on,” I say excitedly.
“Let’s go back to the studio,” Reese says, leading me to the room.
I freeze as I step through the door. The room is filled with about twenty women, most of them in supermodel shape. They are all wearing expensive workout clothing. Am I the only one not in Lululemon?
Okay. That’s probably a gross misstatement, but that’s how I feel.
I’m confident none of their triceps will wave hello from underneath their super-cute muscle tanks.
“Come on, Holly.”
I see that Reese has already moved to the back of the studio, where cubbies are set up for students to put their things.
I move toward her, and I notice some eyes on me. That is normal. I’m new.