The elevator door opens and I exit, but he doesn’t. I look back and feel a sense of… something. Should I nod? Pull him into a hug? All of it? None of it? Maybe something more?
Instead, I wave like a freak and am instantly embarrassed by it. Till he smiles and it reaches his eyes.
“Good night, Payton.”
“Night, Tommy.” I whisper the last word, but the door has already closed, and I doubt he heard me.
The echo seems to linger in the hallway as I take in my surroundings. Once again alone, but I don’t feel lonely.
I spent hours dancing, and it felt good. I haven’t let myself do that for months; it seemed unnecessary to give myself any kind of hope. But today I had the day off, which meant I could ignore everything—my worries, my cares—and could just be. And once I saw the space, I knew how I wanted to spend my time. Dancing. Dancing like I used to, but without any teacher critiques. It was amazing.
I walk to the other hallway and hesitate on which bathroom to use for a second before I turn to the guest one. I shower quickly, but not quickly enough, as I miss the deliveryman. But true to Tommy’s words, there’s a small feast waiting for me.
I try a little of everything and even go back for seconds, having forgotten how much energy it takes to dance for hours in a day.
Once I’m finished, I put everything away and, after another moment of hesitation, go into the guest room and crawl under the blankets. It’s not as warm or as comfortable as the bed I slept in last night, but it’s therightone to be in.
Tommy might have saved me from Carl, but he also didn’t seem to have any issue with his man killing him. And while a part of me feels as though Carl deserved it, another part of me doesn’t see any life as disposable. Perhaps it’s because of what happened to my parents, or just how I was raised. But every life, even a cruel one, deserves a chance.
As I shut my eyes to sleep, I can’t decide whether I should be attracted to someone who could be considered a monster in other aspects of the world or the hero he was that night.
Surprisingly, I wake up early the next morning. Even more surprisingly, Tommy isn’t awake. No one greets me in the kitchen with food. His door isn’t even open.
Deciding it’s time to give him back a bit of thanks for all he’s done for me, I start the coffee. I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but I think I should get credit for trying. Thankfully, it’s just the normal drip kind and not an elaborate espresso machine with a steamer.
A quick tutorial on the internet shows me what to do, but since I’m not sure if it’s good, I just go with the one with the best reviews. Ten thousand people can’t be wrong, right? After that’s done, I move on to the food. I open his cabinets and find some leftover muffins from the other day. I put them on a plate and set them out, then take out the fruit I saw in there last night, cutting a few pieces before putting that out too.
There. A well-balanced meal of fruit, muffins, and coffee. In some worlds, that’s a buffet.
I bring my thumb to my teeth and nibble on it, wondering if I should attempt to make eggs. But I’d rather not burn the place down. Instead, I turn and head to the elevator, taking just a few minutes to go to the level above. A dance move was in my head all night that I want to try. But as soon as I open the door, I stop, tears gathering in my eyes.
The room has been transformed.
Gone are all the mats. Now there’s a barre attached to the wall, and tall freestanding mirrors take up one side of the room up against the glass.
And in the corner by the stereo is a full selection of ballet leotards, skirts, and shoes—ballet slippers, pointe shoes, and even jazz slippers.
“Do you like it?”
I almost get whiplash from how quick my head turns to see Tommy leaning against the same door I just slipped through. And then all thoughts evaporate from my mind.
He steals my breath with the sleepy smile on his face, his hair mashed on one side. He’s shirtless above dark blue plaid sleep pants. They hang loose on his hips, but that’s aboutthe only thing loose on him. He’s taut in every way that’s mesmerizing to watch. If he were in a museum, I would stare at him for hours. Just like this.
“Yes,” I say in a whisper. But I fear it’s too little a word to use to describe what I feel for him.
“I wasn’t sure on the type you usually wear, so I guessed. If they don’t work, we can change them out.”
“Huh?”What is he talking about?I squint as I try to work through my confusion.
He points behind me, and I follow his gaze to the shoe rack.
I groan inwardly, realizing he was asking if I liked theroombefore, not if I liked him.So stupid.
“This is perfect. Thank you.” I look back at him, barely awake and not at all put together like he usually is. Which I enjoy immensely, that he showed me this side. “When did you do all this?”
He scratches the back of his head as he yawns. “Last night. Or this morning? Not really sure what time it is. I had the delivery made while I was out, but I finished setting it up before I went to bed around five.” He finishes with another yawn.
“Five? That was like three hours ago.”
