Page 100 of Healing Eleanor

I rest my head against his chest, and he lowers his chin onto my hair, keeping us moving in that unhurried sway.

“This is what it feels like,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble above me. “It’s like your walls coming down like Jericho. Or rising up from the dead, like Lazarus. It’s all the things you think could never happen… but they do.”

I don’t fully understand. I’m sure he’s quoting the Bible—something I’ve never read. Maybe one day he can teach me. “That sounds nice,” I reply softly.

But inside, I’m not so sure. Who am I kidding? I’m not cut out for an easy life. From the day I was born, I was raised for performance, not miracles. My mother gave me rules, not love. Purpose, not grace. I can’t imagine there being someone—or something—big enough to love me without crushing me. Trusting in something beyond myself only ever ends in disappointment. I’m not sure I can take the leap, knowing I’ll only fall.

And yet… Being here with Nik feels surreal.

I laughed. I danced without worrying about my form. I didn’t mind the way he held me, or the way he cared for me—a kind of care no one else had ever shown.

But he’s my coach, I know, without a shadow of a doubt that nothing can ever happen between us.

“Do something with me tomorrow?” he asks, breaking the silence.

I lift my head just enough to meet his eyes. “But tomorrow’s Saturday?” Seeing dancers outside of the studio is forbidden for coaches, so I’m not sure why he’d want to see me.

He grins, rain dripping from his eyelashes. “It is. So… is that a yes?”

I know I didn’t want to say no. “Okay.”

His grins again. “Great. I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He finally lets go, his warmth slipping away with the space between us. “Come on, let’s get you home before we both catch a cold.” He chuckles lightly.

The drive back buzzes with an electricity I can’t name. I don’t know if it’s the anticipation of tomorrow or the lingering magic of tonight. I only know I don’t want the feeling to end.

When my head finally hits the pillow, my mind doesn’t spiral toward food, or ballet, or my mother, or the usual shadows of my life. It stays fixed on Nik and his crystal-blue eyes.

19

We’re Friends, Aren’t We?

Eleanor

Thoughts of last night come rushing back, and heat floods my cheeks before I can stop it. I really need to get it together. Nik will be here any minute, and I’m blushing like a schoolgirl. How completely humiliating.

I have no idea what he’s planned for today. Before dropping me off, he’d asked for my number and told me to ‘dress comfortably.’ Which… okay, but what does that even mean? Because do girls ever actually dress comfortably on a date?

Not that this is a date. It can’t be. He’s my coach, and the last thing I need is another disaster like Soren’s.

The memory makes my heart skip a beat. I can’t believe Nik knows about that. I mean, I know the rumor spread, but this far? To him? And yet, instead of looking at me like I’m tainted, instead of believing the worst, he defends me. Advocates for me.

The thought alone sets my nerves on fire and sends butterflies whirling through my stomach. What on earth is happening to me? The closer Nik and I get, the more the brick wall I’ve crafted for myself comes crumbing down. Brick by brick. And that thought is unsettling. I should be focused on my one and only goal: dance and making my mother proud. That’s it. But Nik is slowly wiggling his way into my life, disrupting all my carefully laid plans.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Nik Kozlov☺: I’m outside, ready when you are.

I dart into the bathroom one last time, standing on my tiptoes in front of the mirror to catch as much of my outfit as I can. Black flare leggings over white sneakers. A loose gray sweater layered under my dark blue puffer vest. My hair pulled into a half-up, half-down braid.

I swipe mascara over my lashes, pinch my cheeks for color, and gloss my lips with a thin coat of lip oil. Then I lean back, squinting.

Maybe it’s too much. But still, I don’t want to look sloppy. Ballet has trained me to always be put together, polished, and presentable. Old habits die hard I guess.

Not that it matters. Nik won’t care either way. He can have anyone he wants, and I probably don’t even make the list.

I grab my purse, lock my front door, and walk toward his car. The windows are fogged faintly at the edges, glowing warm against the morning chill.

Inside, the heater hums and the faint strum of an acoustic guitar drifts from the speakers. It smells faintly of mint and sandalwood.