her feet – and hurts my shoulder in the process.
“I’m hungry. Can I cook something in your kitchen?”
“Yeah.” I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes. “My home, your home. Help yourself.”
Quinn
Romance Stinks Sometimes
The next day, with nothing better to do with my time, I leave a note on the thumb of a six-foot-tall, plastic, ice-cream-shaped statue that stands in the laundry room of Jamie’s home.
Walking into town. Not running away. Not gonna get myself killed. Call me if you can’t find me.
xx Q
p.s. I knew you stole the statue! I knew it!
p.p.s. Giselle likes me more than she likes you.
Then I pull on a pair of sneakers, comfortably dig my right hand into the pocket of my denim shorts, and hug my other arm to my chest, as ordered by my copious searches on the internet. I walk into town with Giselle prancing along right beside me, and head toward the dance studio I discovered by accident five years ago.
It takes only half an hour after leaving Jamie’s house to orient myself and find the right building, but this time, instead of snow on the ground and biting cold on the breeze, the summer sun beats down and cruelly burns the back of my neck.
It’s only eight in the morning, but when I test the front door to see if it’s locked, it opens easily, and a shot of cold air grabs me and beckons me in. I glance down at Giselle for just a moment, but I’ve seen another dog in here a million times before via YouTube, and since they’re from the same litter, I figure it’s okay.
“Come on, Giselle.”
I hold on to her sparkling collar, though I couldn’t control her even if I tried, and head into the hallway that I’ve walked twice before in my life. Once, when Soph was loading me up with dance clothes so I could be on her stage for a day, and the second time, for Lucy’s showcase.
I slow at the glass cabinet by the front desk, and study the Ellie Solomon Dance Academy clothes – sweatpants, hats, bags, leotards. The very bottom shelf boasts a pair of worn and flogged pointe shoes.
My heart throbs from the sight.
Maybe they’re Soph’s. And if they are, maybe it’s not a smart choice to leave the front door unlocked while they’re sitting right there. Maybe to someone like Jamie or even Soph’s husband, those shoes hold no value. But to someone like me, especially someone like me with fast fingers, they’re a temptation that I find almost debilitating to walk away from.
“Hey?”
I jump away from the cabinet with a squeak, and press a hand to my heart when none other than Soph’s husband stands at the hallway entry.
Jay leans against the wall in a black muscle tank and army green cargo shorts with what seems like extra pockets. He folds his arms, and studies me with a smile. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Um…” I hold on to Giselle now, not because I’m afraid of being booted out of the studio, but because I need a little of home. A little safety. A little bit of a hug, when my eyes stray up to Jay’s forehead, and stop on the very defined circular scar.
The one time that Soph’s plans almost ended in tragedy.
“That… um…” I reach up to my own forehead. “That scar?”
“I’m really self-conscious about it,” he says seriously. “I’ve been known to cry when the baby ballerinas tease me about it.”
“Oh…” I drop my hand again. “Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to p—”
Pushing off the wall, he only chuckles and meanders my way. “I’m kidding, Quinn.” He stops three feet away. “May I call you Quinn?”
“Um… sure.”
“This scar,” he reaches up. “I’m not self-conscious about it. In fact, it’s kinda badass. How many men can say they’ve been popped in the head and lived to tell the tale?”
“Er… well… just you?”
He snorts. “Maybe not just me. But there aren’t many of us.” He nods toward the glass case behind me. “You need something? I can hook you up. I know the owner.”
When I smile, his grin notches up in response.
“I was just snooping,” I admit. “I feel weird sitting in Jamie’s house; not quite a guest, and not quite at home, so I figured I’d take Giselle for a walk. I wandered in this direction, and…” I huff. “Fine, I wanted to see Soph and Lucy dance. But it’s still early, so they’re probably not—”
“They’re