The Sweetest Fix

by Bailey, Tessa

She just what?

  Came in here with self-serving intentions?

  Ding ding ding.

  God, she didn’t want him to know that. Would hate for him to disregard her as a schemer. Even if this was their first and last meeting.

  “I just, um…” She swallowed. “I have an early rehearsal.”

  “Oh.” Some of the tension left his broad shoulders. “You’re already cast.”

  Jesus. Why had she said that? It was an excuse she’d used seven hundred times to stave off unwanted attention from guys or at the end of a bad date. I have an early rehearsal. Goodnight. She’d neglected to consider that phrase might have a totally different meaning to the son of Broadway’s most legendary choreographer.

  Say whatever you need to say to get out of here.

  “Yes. I’m a chorus line dancer in…” Might as well swing for the fences and name a hit show. What did it matter? She’d never see him again. That thought caused her stomach to flop over. “Daliah’s Folly.”

  “Wow. That’s the hot show right now. Sounds like the last thing you need is help,” Leo muttered to himself, that hand squeezing her shoulder gently, almost in apology. “Look, I’m not good at this, but…”

  He was going to ask her out.

  If she let him get that far, she would say yes.

  It would be unconscionable.

  She’d already lied to him. Once in earnest, once in omission.

  Turning him down would be impossible, though.

  Panicked, Reese did the only thing she could think of to stop him. She shot up onto her toes and melded their mouths together. A tingle started at her lips and blew down through her limbs, turning her boneless against him. And Leo wasted no time returning the kiss, almost as if he’d read her intentions and prepared himself in a split second, his lips softening and parting slightly along with hers, their breath escaping into one another’s mouth, before they slanted in opposite directions, their tongues meeting briefly, hesitantly, then with more assurance.

  Their moans were intimate, breathy, for their ears alone.

  Their eyes met with twin wonder, closing again, mouths locking.

  It was the single best kiss of her life.

  And Leo was only getting started. His touch wound into the back of her hair, cupping the curve of her head, a shift of his fingers on her scalp bringing goose bumps up on her arms, legs, neck. She tipped her head back, letting Leo step farther into her space, her breasts flattening on his apron, the kiss beginning to border on desperate. If they were alone in the back room, Reese was pretty sure her legs would be winding around his hips about now. No one had ever made her ache between her thighs so quickly and easily, the pulsations echoing in her temples.

  Where was this going to end?

  She was supposed to be gone by now.

  This perfect kiss only hit home how much she’d messed up by lying.

  It was Reese’s frustration with herself that bullied her into ending the kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning and booking it down the avenue, leaving a stunned Leo in the door of the Cookie Jar. When he called her name again, more hoarsely this time, she turned a corner and broke into a run. There. She’d done it. Whatever strange magic had taken place in the bakery, the spell was broken now. Over and done with.

  She had no way of knowing the story was only beginning.

  Chapter 5

  Reese leaned against the outside wall of the Bexley Theater and plopped down on her duffel bag, elbows resting on her knees, head in hands.

  It was Sunday morning, a mere fourteen hours since the kiss spun from gold. She’d just checked out of the cheap hotel room she’d booked for one night, hoping against hope that she could figure out her next move. She’d gotten away with a text message to her mother, explaining that Bernard Bexley would be posting his chosen ones this morning on the door of his theater. Which was a total scumbag lie and made Reese feel like a beast. Disappointing her one and only fan could wait one night, though, couldn’t it?

  She lifted her head and stared out across Forty-fourth Street. At the food vendors cranking open their umbrellas, locals walking their dogs while staring bleary-eyed at their phones, cleaning staff coming out of buildings and locking up. There would be matinees at all of the Broadway theaters today. Around two o’clock this afternoon, there would be lines winding around the corner of the block, people clutching their tickets, anticipating a show that would transport them to Cuba or Chicago or the Serengeti.

  All she’d ever wanted in her life was to be part of that spell. Knocking people under and sending them back on the streets refreshed, affected by what they’d witnessed. But today she would get on a bus and go back to Wisconsin a failure. No, it was worse than that. She didn’t even seize her chance to succeed or fail. She’d spend her whole life not knowing.

  Sure, she’d come to New York and auditioned a few times, but dancers often went to hundreds of open calls before getting a break. She’d been so grateful for those few unforgettable chances, nonetheless. They were hard to come by without a lucrative job and a single mother who poured every dime she made into a mortgage and food. Still, she’d never had the opportunity to give her dream everything.

  On the sidewalk outside of the Bexley, with the lights of Broadway beginning to turn on around her, giving up and going home didn’t sit right.

  There was that Victory Fund.

  Some of the money in the untouched account was left over from a national yogurt commercial she’d done as a child, though she’d burned through the bulk of those earnings paying for dance classes over the last decade. The rest of the cash in the kitty had been earned by Lorna, day in and day out at Cedar-Boogie.

  Rather importantly, the Victory Fund was supposed to be used only if she made it. To help her transition to living in New York City while waiting for that first, glorious paycheck. It could buy her a week, maybe a week and a half.

  If she used it now—when she decidedly had not made it—the funds would afford her one last chance to go full throttle and catch the right casting director’s eye. Wasn’t this what she’d been training for her entire life? A real shot?

  Indecision needled Reese in the side.

  She might have won an audition with Bexley, but she couldn’t even hold an audience at the car dealership. She’d never even made it to the second round of an audition in this city. Was she being selfish risking the money? Would using the money in her fund be a waste? If anything, the money should go back to her mother, the woman who’d earned it. There might not be a ton of cash in the account, but it would take a lot of pressure off the woman who’d done everything for Reese.

  She supposed she could try and get a job. But where? She had no waitressing skills. Definitely no office experience. She taught little kids how to shuffle hop and pulled soft serve cones. By the time she found a job she was qualified for, she could be out of money. And anyway, having a job would prevent her from using the meager space of time to attend auditions.

  With no solutions forthcoming, Reese did what she usually did in a moment of indecision. She called Lorna.

  “Hello, my darling Reese’s Pieces,” Lorna answered slowly, expectantly. Reese could see her mother rocking side to side, toes digging into their old carpet. “Before you tell me if you were chosen by Bexley, I want you to know I’m proud of you, no matter what. Okay?”

  Reese’s eyes slid shut, a pang catching her in the breastbone. “Thanks, Mom.” She blew out a breath, finding herself incapable of revealing the depth of her shame. Not even making the audition. It was too hard a pill to swallow herself, let alone ask her mother to share in the grief. “Mom, it’s, um…not going to happen with Bexley. I’m so sorry.”

  “Okay!” Lorna said too quickly. “Hey, that’s okay, kiddo. Why would you be sorry? I’m sure you gave it every ounce of effort you had. Did you have fun? That’s what I want to know!”

  The only fun she’d had in the last twenty-four hours was with Leo, but there was no point in thinking a
bout that right now. “Mom, I was thinking…and you can say no, of course. Please say no, if it’s better for me to come home. I’ll understand. But—”

  “You want to use the Victory Fund.” She could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “I was kind of hoping you would say that. You’ve never really had a chance to dig in, Reese. You need time in New York. The cash won’t buy you much, but it’s yours. It’s been waiting for you.”

  Reese tipped her head back and let out a long breath, relief cascading downward from the crown of her head to her toes. “Are you sure you’ll be okay teaching classes without me?”

  Her mother’s voice was warm. Reassuring. “I’m positive, kiddo. Go get ’em.”

  After hanging up the call with Lorna several minutes later, Reese took a moment to let the situation sink in. It was really happening. She had the gift of time, thanks to Lorna. Not a lot. But after the sacrifices her mother continued to make for the sake of Reese’s dancing? She wouldn’t let a single second go to waste.

  Reese woke up her phone again and tapped open the site advertising short-term sublets she’d been browsing on and off all morning. As soon as the ads went up, they disappeared almost immediately, gone in the wave of competitive New York apartment seekers. Even single room rentals were out of her price range…

  A new ad appeared at the top of the feed and Reese sat up straighter.

  $100/night. Midtown West.

  Was that number a typo?

  She could afford that. For a week. Two, even, if she was stingy with her food budget.

  Holy shit. This chance was going to vanish in a heartbeat.

  It might be early in the morning, but this city never slept. Especially on real estate.

  Coming to her feet, Reese tapped the ad, her thumb hovering over the phone number that would connect her with the advertiser. Was she really doing this? Was she going to use her savings on what could be a pipe dream?

  The Pikachu’s words floated through her mind with startling accuracy.

  You got all the way to New York on a day’s notice and you’re just going to pack it up and go home to friggin’ Wisconsin? At the first sign of an obstacle?

  No.

  If she was the heroine in a musical, she would pull up her stockings, pick up the new edition of Front and Center, start circling open calls. She wouldn’t let this setback be the end of her hopes and dreams. Doing so would plague her for the rest of her life.

  Reese turned in a hoppy circle, then pressed the phone number, blanching when a brisk French-accented voice answered on the first ring. “Oui, hello. You are calling about the room?”

  “Yes,” Reese breathed. “Am I the first?”

  The woman hummed an affirmation. “I’ll text the address to this number. When you get to the vestibule, ring the bell listed as LaRue. Sixth floor.”

  Reese was already fumbling her duffel bag onto her shoulder. “I’m on my way.”

  The line went dead. She paced until her screen lit up with a text.

  560 11th Avenue.

  Wheels were in motion. This was really happening.

  Okay, Reese definitely wasn’t the only one who was calling about this room for rent. Most rooms in the city went for double that per night or more, especially in this part of town. Now that the decision to stay in New York had been made, she couldn’t leave anything up to chance. So she ran. All the way up Forty-fourth, hooking left on Eleventh—and it wasn’t lost on Reese that she’d done more cardio trying to make appointments and escaping Leo than she’d done in a month.

  At the reminder of the old-souled pastry chef, Reese stumbled a little bit on the sidewalk.

  It was far from the first time she’d thought of him since last night.

  In fact, it was more like an every-five-minutes affair.

  Was he still wondering about the girl who’d ghosted him in the door of his own bakery? Or had he already written the whole meeting off as a passing oddity?

  If she actually managed to score this room, there was very little chance she’d ever run into him again. She had no idea where he lived, but she had to imagine he lived on the Upper West Side, as well, since he spent most of his waking hours at the Cookie Jar, right?

  God, she was putting way too much thought into something and someone who could not matter to her. Putting Leo and the insanely perfect kiss they’d shared out of her mind was for the best. If she was going to make this itty-bitty window of time in New York count, she needed to put all of her energy and drive into dancing.

  Reese skidded to a stop outside of a high rise. She double-checked the address twice, then launched herself into the vestibule, running her index finger down the panel of names until she reached LaRue, hitting the bell and taking her first full breath in seemingly ten minutes. Please let the room still be there.

  The door let out a high-pitched beep and she jogged inside, taking the elevator to the sixth floor, stopping in front of the apartment door and squaring her shoulders.

  There is nothing a winning smile can’t make better, said her mother’s voice in her head. If your face is in the game, your head will eventually follow.

  The peephole darkened, followed by the turning of three locks and finally the door was opened to reveal the most graceful-looking woman Reese had ever seen. Her hair was in a tight bun on top of her head, her mouth in a thin, straight line. She reminded Reese of a mannequin, her features seemingly made of marble.

  “I am Marie LaRue. You are…”

  She widened her smile, holding her hand out for a shake. “Reese Stratton.”

  Marie didn’t spare her gesture a glance. “You can pay up front?”

  Taking her hand back awkwardly, Reese nodded.

  It was impossible to ignore the fact that her potential new landlady had the unmistakable posture of a dancer. That theory only furthered itself when the woman stepped back and waved Reese inside, her fingers carrying and unfurling slowly in the air like a principal dancer reaching out to caress her love interest’s face.

  “I am having breakfast, so give yourself a tour. Your room, if you find it acceptable, is the second door on the left side of the hallway.”

  With that, Miss LaRue took herself back out to the balcony overlooking Eleventh Avenue, where an espresso cup and a croissant was balanced on the metal railing. When the croissant made her think of Leo, Reese rubbed at the lump in her throat and went to check out the room.

  From the entrance, the apartment looked small. But stepping inside, she could see that is was actually huge. The kitchen and balcony were to the right, a massive living room connecting to a hallway with five doors. Holding her duffel bag to her chest, Reese made a beeline for the room that had been indicated, her mind conjuring up a small but respectable space that made up for its lack of room square footage with a view of the avenue.

  That’s not what she got.

  “This is a closet,” she whispered to herself, staring at the upright coffin in front of her.

  Turning, she counted the doors again. Maybe she’d made a mistake?

  Behind her, a door opened and slammed shut, hurtling Reese’s heart up into her mouth. “Jesus,” she breathed, whipping around and throwing herself backward against the hallway wall, coming face to face with another girl, her expression amused. “I didn’t know there was anyone else home.”

  “Sorry about that,” the girl said casually, removing one of her AirPods. “You renting the other room? Damn. LaRue works fast. The other tenant only left this morning.”

  Reese split a horrified glance between the newcomer and the closet. “Sorry, can this even be referred to as a room?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I have an extra beanbag chair if you want it.”

  Reese blinked.

  Chuckling, the girl extended her hand. “I’m Cori. You’re a dancer?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cori nodded, giving her a perfunctory once-over, popping her headphone back in. “I guess I’ll see you
at auditions, then.”

  “Wait,” Reese blurted, before she could leave. “Is this…legal?”

  Her apparent new roommate laughed. “I don’t know. My room is just as small, if it makes you feel any better. Maybe even smaller.” She hesitated, then turned to face Reese more fully. “LaRue doesn’t volunteer a lot of information, but over the last two months, I’ve cobbled together the gist. She’s a former dancer. Might be on the militant side, but she could probably rent these shoe boxes out for even more.” Cori appeared a little thoughtful. “It’s her way of giving us a shot, even if she probably wouldn’t admit it.”

  “Right.” Reese took in a breath and let it out. “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of options. None, to be exact.”

  “You’re like, new-new in town, huh?” Cori asked, a hint of a smile tilting the corner of her mouth. “You need help finding open calls, or…”

  “No, thanks.” Reese gave her a grateful look. “I’ve got that much covered.”

  “What about the free classes?”

  Reese did a double-take. “The what?”

  “Oh boy.” Cori clapped her hands twice. “Get changed, new girl. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 6

  Risk-taking simply wasn’t in Leo’s blood.

  He didn’t give a new creation a spot in the display case until it had been perfected, taste tested and even after that quality control, he still allowed himself a week to change his mind.

  But there was no changing his mind about that kiss.

  About that girl.

  Reese.

  That’s how he found himself in the Theater District on a Tuesday afternoon, fresh from his shift, nursing a cup of cold coffee. Just, what? Hoping to run into her?

  As usual, he’d screwed the pooch by clamming up on Saturday night, giving her time to second-guess giving him the time of day. He’d made that mistake several times before, but this time…it really felt like it mattered. Not just seeing her again—and the need was growing more urgent by the moment—but he didn’t want Reese’s opinion of him to be negative. Usually, when women backed off, his chief emotion was gratitude. At least he could say he’d tried and now he could go back to flour, sugar, eggs.