more than to deny his attractiveness, to do so would be a lie.
Okay, so what? He was good-looking—big deal. That didn’t make him her dream guy. That didn’t even make him someone worth dating.
And really! Why was she even thinking about it? It’s not like she needed to entertain the idea—he was hardly scrambling to ask her out.
Now she’d gone and flustered herself. Shoot. She followed him out to the parking lot, where his red truck was waiting for them.
He stepped in front of her and opened the passenger side door, and Charlotte came to a quick stop. She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her, just standing there, holding the door, looking off in the opposite direction.
Cole Turner was holding the door open? For her? A tingle raced up her spine and back down again.
She didn’t want to make him feel weird about it, so she quietly slipped into the truck without a word. He checked to make sure she was completely inside, then closed the door, giving her enough time to contemplate the strange irony of the rudest person she knew doing something so oddly chivalrous.
And she couldn’t reconcile it in her mind.
Maybe there was more to Cole Turner than met the eye.
17
Not surprisingly, the ride to the theatre was silent. They drove through town and out onto country roads dotted with the occasional farmhouse. After about twenty minutes, they pulled onto a road nearly hidden by full, green trees and made their way back into the woods.
Cole slowed down, carefully navigating the winding roads, and Charlotte marveled at the cabins nestled up into the trees. Not quite camping, but not quite a resort either. It was the perfect mix of nature and luxury.
Or at least it could be. The cabins were fairly run down.
“This place is amazing.”
Cole didn’t look away from the road. “It used to be. It still could be, I think, but Silas just stopped caring about it.”
“People used to come here for shows?”
“Not just shows. For canoeing and relaxing and kayaking.” He pointed to a large building with a wide wraparound porch. “That’s the lodge. There’s a restaurant in there that served nice dinners and yeah, the theatre was always a big draw.”
“Kind of like the place in Dirty Dancing.”
Now he glanced at her, his brow quirked.
“Have you seen it?”
He looked away and appeared to be chewing on the inside of his cheek.
She smiled. “You have, I can tell. There’s no shame in loving a good Patrick Swayze movie. About dance, no less.”
“I didn’t choose that movie,” Cole said. “It was forced on me.” He parked the truck across from what must’ve been the theatre building.
She didn’t say anything else about the movie or Patrick Swayze, though she did wonder who’d forced him to watch.
“We’ll go in there,” he said. “The stage door entrance.”
Charlotte’s gaze lingered over the nondescript black doors at the back of the building. If she stared long enough, they could become the doors of her theatre in Chicago—though nothing about her surroundings was similar. She smiled—how many times had she exited the theatre into the alley to find fans waiting there for her? An unexpected sadness raced through her, but she quickly pushed it away.
The door opened and Rachel appeared. She motioned for them to come in. “Dad’s taking a nap,” she said as they reached the door. “So, the coast is clear.”
Cole took the door from Rachel and motioned for Charlotte to go in ahead of him. She had to give him one thing—he was a gentleman. For a brief moment, she saw a flash of him in a tuxedo at a ballet fundraiser. He’d certainly look the part.
But he’d be bored silly.
What a ridiculous thought. Her imagination was really working overtime today.
She walked into the space and found herself standing in the stage right wing. In front of her stretched a stage, not all that different than the one where she’d spent years performing as a principal in one of the country’s most prestigious ballets.
For being in the middle of nowhere, the space was really beautiful.
“This is it,” Rachel said. “Our little theatre.”
Charlotte drew in a deep breath. Behind them was the scene shop, where sets were built, and even though this place seemed nearly abandoned, she could smell the sawdust and practically taste the memories that had been made right there on that stage.
Names had been painted all over the backstage brick wall, commemorating the actors, the shows, the roles that had come to life