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And while I’d worked my way up at Wright straight out of college and been the project lead on the new Buddy Holly Center downtown, this felt different somehow. I wasn’t just implementing what others had created. I was in the room where it happened.
I stayed in Jensen’s office for the next hour, going over everything that I would want to include in a professional soccer stadium. Of course, we already had a baseline for what we had to include, but the Wrights never did anything half-assed. So, this had to be the biggest and best.
“God, is it already four thirty?” I asked, checking my watch. “I have to get out of here. I have to pick up Aly.”
Jensen leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I do tend to get a little carried away. Emery is probably going to want me home at some sort of reasonable hour today.”
“That seems likely. When is she due?”
“Not until the spring.”
“Well, congrats, man,” I said, shaking his hand. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
He sighed heavily. “Girl.”
I tried to cover my laughter at his dismay. “You’re going to do great. Girls are easy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think anyone can say children are easy.”
“True.”
“Well, get out of here. I’m going to finish this up.”
I tipped my head at him and headed out the door. I was probably going to be late. Again. I dashed across the parking lot and into my truck. My mom usually picked Aly up from school and took her to the studio, but I was responsible for picking her up after work. I didn’t normally get caught in philosophical discussions with Jensen Wright.
Luckily, no cops caught me speeding through downtown Lubbock to pull into the Buddy Holly Center parking lot. I’d actually managed to arrive two whole minutes early. I loosened my tie and tossed it onto the seat next to me, unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, and ran a hand back through my auburn hair. Good enough.
With a sigh, I exited my truck and headed inside the Lubbock Ballet Company’s studio. Aly had been dancing here for the last three years. Everyone thought I was crazy for putting her in ballet at only two years old, but honestly, the kid had come out dancing. She cried if she didn’t go straight to the studio after school. It felt a bit like a curse to me, but she loved dancing so much, so how could I ever deny her?
The lobby was full of parents that I recognized from Aly’s classes. I tipped my head at a few of them. I knew basically everyone in the city. In my line of work, it was hard not to know everyone. But it was Angelica and Bart Lawson, Lubbock’s resident high-profile lawyer team, who approached me. Kill me now.
“Angelica,” I said with a head nod. I took Bart’s hand. “Bart.”
“Isaac, just lovely to see you,” Angelica said.
“You too.”
“How’s Aly?”
“You know Aly. Always happy to be in dance tights.” I laughed with the couple. “How’s everything going with Katelyn?”
Angelica pursed her lips. “Well, they gave the Clara role to Bebe.”
She made it sound like it was an affront. I knew enough about ballet to know that Bebe was the best dancer we’d seen in over a decade. My heart panged at that thought. Being here always reminded me of Peyton. I tried to hide it all away, but there was a reason I knew how the ballet world worked.
“They should have given it to our Katelyn,” Bart said.
“She’s worked so much harder for this,” Angelica agreed. “Don’t you think so?”
There was no winning here. I couldn’t say that Bebe was the better dancer. Katelyn did work hard, but she had the added advantage of parents who cared way too much.
“What part is Katelyn playing?” I asked instead.
Angelica waved her hand. “She’s a soloist in the snow scene, and she’s one of the flowers. But it’s not the same as being Clara, especially the way that Kathy choreographs the role.”
“Of course. Those are both great parts.” I glanced over their shoulders. The baby class hadn’t let out yet. “Excuse me. I’m going to go check on Aly.”
I brushed past the couple and headed toward the studio space. Just as I was nearly to Aly’s class, Kathy stepped out of the costume room with another woman.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my stomach dropping to the floor. It couldn’t be. This made no sense. I was having a hallucination. That was the only possible explanation for this. Because what would Peyton Medina, a principal dancer in New York City, be doing in Lubbock?
But there was no denying it.
No one else had her grace or poise. The slicked-back bun that had wisps of brown curls constantly escaping, no matter how much hairspray or gel she applied. The lithe frame with her tan complexion. The dimple that appeared just on her right cheek when she really smiled, as she was now. The widening of her big brown eyes as she saw me for the first time, too.
