“What’ll you have?”
“Two sodas.”
“Diet for me,” Olivia interjected.
Zach visibly shuddered before continuing, “Large, thin-crust pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and mushrooms. Extra cheese.”
Olivia groaned.
“On half,” Zach continued with a smirk and a hand gesture in her direction.
She couldn’t suppress the giggle that rose. “On the other half, I’d like all veggies. Oh, and light cheese.”
“You got it.” Joey turned to place their order.
“You doing okay?” Zach asked.
“Sure.”
“No residuals from the bee stings?”
Olivia folded her sleeve back to reveal the healing welts on her arm and shrugged. “Healing.”
Zach reached across the table and grazed his fingers over the delicate skin of the underside of her forearm then closed them around her wrist. His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes shiny with . . . something. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper.
Unable to escape his penetrating gaze, she held his eyes. Their navy depths filled with concern.
“Not your fault.” She pulled her arm from his grasp.
“I should have done a better job of protecting you.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“That someone would put bees in your car? No. But I could have been more proactive after the other incidents.”
“Zach.” She shook her head. Seeking a change of subject, she blurted, “I have a DNA match.”
“What? You mean with a suspect?”
She stared at him a moment, confused. “Oh. No.” She released a nervous laugh. Of course that would be the first thing he thought. “A match with a relative.”
He shook his head as if clearing it. “I didn’t know you’d submitted your DNA.”
She told him the story, the emotional rollercoaster, the dead ends. “It’s a ‘close family’ relative,’” she used air quotes around the phrase.
After telling him about her research, he set his glass down with a thunk, and he reached for her hand. “Really?” Then he frowned. “How do you feel about that?”
She shrugged. “Cautiously hopeful.” Then she waved a hand in dismissal. “I mean, it could be a cousin, or . . . something, right? And even though the name doesn’t line up, it could be some little-known line of my mom’s.”
“Doesn’t sound like it from what you’ve said. What’s next?”
“Well, I sent her a message. Who knows if she’ll respond. She may be as unreliable about checking her account as I’ve been, or she might not want to connect with me.”
“But it’s a start,” he said, a grin on his face. She could have leaned over the table and planted a kiss on his lips right then and there.
“It’s a start.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The studio finally quiet after a long day of class rehearsals, Olivia took advantage of the alone time to work on her own dances for the show.
Before she could perform the first step of “Impossible” her cell phone rang. Frowning at the screen, she gnawed on her lower lip wondering if it was a spam call. The screen read, SAN FRANCISCO. Maybe it was her DNA match. No. That didn’t make sense. She lived in Decatur. At the last minute, she answered it. “Hello?”
“Is this Olivia James?”
“Yes.”
“Olivia, this is Paul Clark with the San Francisco Ballet.”
The artistic director of the San Francisco Ballet! Her heart picked up its pace. “Yes, Paul. What can I do for you?”
“We’re in the market for a ballet master and heard through the grapevine that you may be interested in pursuing a career change.”
Olivia almost snorted. Nice way to sidestep the real issue. “Yes, I’ve been giving it some thought.” Don’t appear too eager, she told herself.
“Perfect. How soon can we fly you out to discuss the position, see if we’re a good fit for you, and you for us?”
An odd sense of panic set in. “Oh. Well. You see, I’ve taken over a recital production, and won’t really have the time until the show is over in three weeks.”
“I understand. We are very anxious to fill the position so that we’re running at full staff for the upcoming season. Give me a call back at your earliest convenience after the show, and we’ll schedule your visit.”
“I will. And thank you for your consideration and understanding.” She rubbed her brow.
“Good luck with show.”
“Thanks, Paul.” Olivia ended the call and wandered over to one of the benches in a daze, taking a seat.
This is what she’d been waiting and hoping for. The San Francisco Ballet was one of the world’s top international ballet companies. Many dancers would kill for such a job at the end of their dance careers.
So, why had a brick settled in her stomach at the thought of leaving?
“What’s all this?” Zach asked as he entered the dance studio.
Olivia bent over a large open box and, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, lifted a pile of frilly ice-blue netting out. She gave it a shake, and the layers fell into place, revealing a dance costume. Silver sequins lined the satin front, creating a V that ended where the tutu began.
“Where did you get that?”
“The Joffrey sent it. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s Cinderella’s ball gown. But that’s not all. They also sent Cinderella’s tattered dress.” She held up a gossamer-skirted costume the color of ash, its hem artfully shredded. She laid it aside on the bench.
“And,” she dug into the box once more and shook out another costume, this one lavender with a long net skirt, lavender and silver sequins glittered on the front. “The Fairy Godmother costume.” She beamed with excitement, and he felt it down to his toes.
“Problem solved,” he said, laughing. “How’d that happen?”
“I called up the wardrobe mistress, told her about the vandalism, and asked if I could borrow the costumes. Since Cinderella is not on the upcoming season’s program, she took pity on me and agreed,” she finished with a shrug.
“Great news!” The smile on her face had him grinning in response.
“Oh, Emily. Perfect timing!”
Zach turned to see Emily enter the studio, dance bag over her shoulder, an expectant expression on her face.
“Look!” Olivia pointed to the costumes lined up along the bench. Emily shook her head in confusion. “Costumes!” Olivia supplied.
Understanding dawning, Emily ran over, dropping her bag on the floor with a soft thud, then reached out a hand to touch the soft-blue tutu then drew it back, lifting her gaze to Olivia’s in question.
“It’s okay. This one is yours. To borrow of course.”
“Really? But where—”
“The Joffrey sent them. Sometimes it pays to know people in high places,” Olivia said with a wink. “Go try it on. We need to see about the fit.”
Emily clutched the blue costume to her chest, her eyes alight.
“This one too,” Olivia held out the ashy gossamer costume, and Emily practically floated out to the dressing rooms.
“You’ve made her day,” Zach said, their excitement contagious.
“And I’m not done yet,” she said, with a sly grin that had him lifting his brow in curiosity.
“It’s a secret.” She held an index finger against her lips.
“Logan Skye, this is Emily Madison, aka Cinderella.”
“Emily, this is my friend and . . . former dance partner, Logan.” Olivia stumbled over ‘former,’ even knowing now she could never go back to the stage and the grueling physical demands of performance.
Emily blushed, and extended her hand. “Of course I know you. I’ve seen you dance. Both of you, together, um, on PBS.”
“I’ll let you two chat a few moments while I return a couple of phone calls. It’s always good to know a few things about one another before you dance together.”
Emily fr
owned, then took a step back. “What do you mean, dance . . . together?”
“Logan is your Prince Christopher.”
Emily’s mouth fell open, and Logan reached out to close it.
“You can’t have Cinderella without Prince Christopher. And with Jed Brown out with a broken leg, Logan graciously agreed to step in.”
“But he doesn’t know the choreography—I mean, of course he can learn it. I mean . . . that is to say . . . Holy crap.” She doubled over, hands on her knees as if someone had just delivered a punch to the stomach.
“Emily, breathe. This is going to be fabulous.” Olivia rubbed her hand over Emily’s back. “And we’ll be revising the choreography to add some lifts and more partnering steps.”
God, if Olivia told her she’d asked the dean of the Atlanta Ballet’s Centre for Dance Education to the performance, Emily would probably faint. Better to keep that bit of information to herself.
When Olivia returned about fifteen minutes later, Logan and Emily were warming up at the barre, with Logan taking the lead.
“You warmed up?” Olivia asked as she crossed the floor.
“Yes,” they chorused.
“Great! Let’s get started with the ball and ‘Ten Minutes Ago.’”
In true Emily fashion, she picked up the revised steps with ease but had some trouble with the some of the jumps, especially the shoulder sit.
“In partnering, timing is everything,” Olivia explained. “You have to jump at the exact moment he lifts. Your momentum along with his strength will propel you.”
“Watch.” Emily stood in front of Logan, and he placed his hands on her hips. With a plié, Olivia pushed off the floor as Logan lifted her to his right shoulder, her right leg in front attitude. After a moment, Olivia slid from his shoulder with Logan’s aid.
“But a good partnership also means letting go.” Logan stood next to Olivia, feet turned out, hands crossed over his muscular chest.
“You have to trust him,” Olivia continued. “He’s not going to drop you. I promise.” Olivia shook her head and laughed. “He’s never once dropped me. Even though I probably gave him plenty of reason to at times.”
He chuckled. “Well, maybe a few. Let’s show her the front angel.”
Olivia walked a few paces from Logan then ran and jumped, his hands at her hips, lifting her up and over his head, her spine arched, arms out like an angel’s wings. He held her a moment then flipped her into a fish dive and set her gently on her feet.
“You have to hold your core strong for that one and figure out your center of balance.”
The first attempt, Emily tilted forward, and righted herself by grabbing Logan’s shoulders. The second attempt, Emily over-corrected and struggled to arch her back, feet flailing, just missing Logan’s face.
Olivia winced. Male dancers took a beating partnering, especially with a new dancer. After a few more practice runs, Emily found her center, arching into a beautiful front angle.
“All right, let’s give Logan a break. He’s getting old.” Olivia backhanded his rock-solid abs. She and Logan had been dancing together for about five years, and they’d become very close in that time.
When you were physically close to someone for hours a day, his hands all over your body, his sweat mingling with yours, a bond formed. But that bond was even tighter between her and Logan. Maybe because neither fit the mold of a dancer’s body. At six-foot-seven, he was the world’s tallest professional dancer, which was perfect for Olivia’s five-foot-seven height. With Emily’s height, however, they’d just have to make it work.
“Kettle, meet Pot,” Logan returned, and Olivia shot him a murderous look, making Emily laugh.
“Let’s try the finger turns.” Olivia demonstrated the pirouettes on demi-pointe, hand over her head, gripping Logan’s middle finger. “Got it?”
Emily nodded.
The first few turns went well, then Emily swung too wide and kneed Logan in the lower abdomen, a little too close to his junk. His breath left in an oomph, and his face went white.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” Emily reached her hands out as if to soothe and then realized where she’d hit him and went red as a tomato.
Logan put his hands on his thighs and bent over.
“Just give him a minute.” Olivia set her hand on Emily’s shoulder.
A moment or two later, Logan stood up, shrugging his shoulders as if shaking off a jacket.
“See. No harm.” Olivia patted Emily’s arm. “You'll need to figure out how much space to keep between you to avoid collisions.”
“Emily, look at me,” Logan entreated. When her eyes reluctantly met his, he spoke. “Things happen when you’re partnering, especially when you’re new at it.”
“And even when you’re not,” Olivia muttered with a low chuckle.
Logan joined her laughter. “Olivia almost broke my nose during a pirouette.”
Emily cast a glance at Olivia, mouth agape.
“It’s true. I elbowed him in the nose. He was bleeding all over his shirt. Thank God it was a rehearsal and not a performance.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. So, a knee to the groin is nothing new for Logan, or any male dancer for that matter.”
“That’s what cups are for,” Logan stated, matter-of-factly, much to Emily’s embarrassment.
Another half hour of practice, and Emily’s comfort level grew. After she left, Logan sat on the bench and toed off his shoes. “I think Emily will come along just fine. She just needed to get over the initial, er, shock. She’s very talented. Reminds me of you but without the athletic power. She’s more Wendy Whelan. Slender and small-boned.”
“I agree. Do you think she’s got what it takes to earn a spot with the company?”
He considered this while he toweled off then spoke. “I think so.”
Olivia nodded, pleased with his concurrence.
“Now. Whatcha got to eat in this town?”
Zach entered Dominick’s, his eyes scanning the booths for Olivia. He came up short when he saw her at a back booth with another man, his arm draped over her shoulder, the two of them laughing with the casual comfort of a close relationship.
When he’d received Olivia’s text to meet him for dinner, he’d been as giddy as a teenager who’d just been passed a note in class from the hottest girl in the school. But now?
What the actual fuck?
The guy was good-looking, he supposed, in a blond-god sort of way. Even under the hoodie, he could tell the guy was no stranger to the gym. Zach’s eyes narrowed, as the guy’s hand slid familiarly down Olivia’s arm, and barely suppressed the growl that threatened to escape. The Neanderthal in Zach grunted, Mine!
“Oh, Zach! I didn’t know you were here.” Olivia’s voice broke through the green haze of jealousy, and, pasting a smile on his face, he strode over to the table. Expecting Adonis to get up, Zach stood a moment then realized he’d have to take the seat across from them or risk looking like a dumbass. A petty part of him was glad he still wore his police chief uniform, sans gun belt, since he was off duty.
He slid into the booth and lifted a brow.
“Oh, right. I forgot, you two don’t know each other. Logan, this is Zach Ryder. Zach, this is Logan Skye, my, er . . . former partner.”
Partner? “Dance partner?” He hoped.
“Of course. What other kind of partner would he be?” Olivia asked, a look of confusion on her face.
Logan extracted his hand from Olivia’s arm and stuck it across the table to shake Zach’s hand. His hand was large but smooth. Zach took it with a too-firm grip and shook it. Logan’s mouth lifted at the corner, then he released Zach’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”
Zach eyed Logan. “Same,” he muttered. What was her partner doing here? Come to take her back to Chicago? Talk her into abandoning her commitments here? Was this the secret she’d been talking about? Zach fiddled with the crushed red pepper shaker. “So, what brings you to Northri
dge?” He kept his voice casual, but Olivia frowned at him.
Logan glanced over at Olivia then back at Zach as if it was obvious. “I’m performing in the recital.”
“Oh.” Oh. Olivia had said she was going to ask one or more of Joffrey’s male dancers if they could perform, but he didn’t expect the principal dancer—and Olivia’s partner. “Well, I’m sure the dancers appreciate your time and generosity.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said with a broad grin. “I’m happy to help.”
Zach nodded. “Are you, uh, going back to Chicago between now and the show?”
Logan laughed and picked up his glass of water. “Nah. We’re between seasons at the moment, and I can take morning classes with Olivia in the meantime, rehearse, and teach a couple of master’s classes at the studio. It’s great to be dancing together again, isn’t it, Giselle?”
Giselle? What the what?
Olivia giggled and gave him a shoulder nudge. “It is, Albrecht.”
Zach rolled his eyes, but underneath he seethed. Two weeks. This jamoke would be here two weeks? Another thought occurred to Zach. “Where are you staying?”
“Olivia’s. Oh, here’s our pizza. It’s not Chicago-style deep dish, but it looks amazing. Maybe there’s more to this town than meets the eye.”
Olivia’s? Oh, hell no.
“It gives us the perfect opportunity to catch up,” Olivia supplied, as she took a bite of the pizza, covered in veggies, of course.
“And for me to talk my girl into coming back to Chi-Town with me.”
A flash of anger and fear shot up Zach’s spine.
Olivia released a nervous laugh. “First, I have to have a job to go home to.”
Home? Northridge was her home. At least it used to be. But of course, Chicago had been her home these past seventeen years. Zach had been crazy to think Northridge could ever become her home again.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Please. You could have a job in Chicago, New York, San Fran—any town there’s a ballet company. Word is you’re a much sought-after commodity. Companies across North America and Europe want you. You can’t tell me they haven’t been calling.”
A Season to Dance Page 22