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“You have to miss what you’re good at.” He grins. “I’ve got a confession. Don’t hate me. When you sent me that link to the cloud, I checked out a couple of your videos…”
Oh my God.
I barely resist the urge to pull my hair over my face and hide behind it.
“You’re one hell of a dancer, Tory Three Names. Like lightning in a bottle.”
Oh, wow.
Suddenly I’m less upset that he’d looked at the videos I’d clumsily left up.
Actually, I feel weirdly flattered.
“Thanks. I think. And how much do you know about ballet?”
His next laugh comes straight from the gut, one of the best ever, so intense it makes me want to join in just hearing it.
“Probably about as much as you knew about goats when you showed up back here.”
“That much?” I’m giggling as I say it.
“Yep. But just because I’m clueless doesn’t mean I didn’t like what I saw. You were fucking amazing.”
“Well, thanks,” I sputter, trying with all my might not to blush. “Good thing we have Owl. I think he’s a secret expert on everything.”
Quinn’s eyes are glowing like emeralds in the sun as his gaze turns on me.
“And I have you. You must know more about dance than anyone. You’ve been doing it your entire life.”
I nod, but no longer feel like laughing.
“You’re not wrong,” I tell him.
“So, what’s it like? Dancing on the ends of your toes?” He shakes his head. “Just thinking about that shit makes my feet ache.”
“It hurts,” I say. “At first. But once you get the hang of it, you don’t even notice. And most dancing these days is a lot more contemporary, a fusion of past and present.” Memories whip through my mind so fast, I close my eyes. “When the music fills you and you’ve got your routine down pat…it’s a little like you’re flying. It doesn’t take any effort, any thought. You just let the music be the wind beneath your wings.”
I lean back and smile at the rush. I do miss that. Letting the music carry me away like I’m a feather on the open air.
The hundreds of routines I’ve practiced over the years flood my mind. I can see myself dancing, twirling, and spinning on the tips of my toes.
“You really miss it, don’t you?” he asks quietly.
I open my eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t miss the pressure. Or all the shit that comes with the territory. People—a few very specific people—are the worst.”
“Everything’s a give and take.”
“No denying that,” I whisper, my eyes fixed on him.
Somehow, I get the feeling we’ve moved past ballet, casting these longing looks at each other. Or maybe it’s just my imagination after being run through an emotional juicer.
Thankfully, we’ve arrived at the breakfast place, lending a much needed distraction.
“One burrito or two?” he asks as he pulls into the drive thru.
“Just one. I’m still a little burritoed out after Kenny’s truck, even though these are way smaller.”
He orders six, plus two orange juices.
“Six? Um, you must be really hungry,” I say just as we arrive at the window to pay.
“One for you, two for Owl, and three for me.”
Owl barks in loud agreement. We both laugh.
We eat our food in the parking lot and then head for the dairy farm, talking about nothing important, yet conversing the entire time.
It always was that way between us, easy conversations and easier feelings.
I should be glad that’s falling back into place, our friendship, especially now that we’re living in the same house.
Too bad this wild, anxious part of me isn’t glad.
The persistent part that keeps wishing something would happen with Quinn Faulkner, consequences be damned.
The goats are fine over at the Neuman’s.
As we stand in the pasture, after accounting for all of them, I ask, “If you do decide to keep your grandpa’s place, will you get any animals?”
“Probably not.”
“Why? You don’t like them?”
“I like ’em just fine. It’s just that being a detective can pull me anywhere, any time, and then what do I do? Animals need people around every day to take care of them.”
“You’ve got friends who’d help in a pinch, right?”
He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be fair to them or the animals. I think my farming days ended while Gramps was still alive.”
We start walking back to the gate.
“I guess I see your point,” I mutter quietly.
And I do, even if I can’t help being a little disappointed. It’s too easy picturing this place with a happy family and a diverse menagerie scattered across the grounds.
“Are you getting attached to the tribe?” he asks.
“I mean, I don’t mind them. They’re cute little guys, and I will miss them. They just don’t quite fit in my life or Uncle Dean’s once he’s moved onto his next scheme. I’m really going to miss this big guy, though.” I pause long enough to give Owl’s thick neck a hug. “I already made my uncle promise he’ll hang on to Owl if the goats have to move on.”
