Page 54 of Healing Eleanor

“I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t know what was out there—or that it was you,” I fumble, waving vaguely toward the garden like that will somehow explain everything.

He chuckles. “Relax. I’ve had worse first impressions.”

Great. So he definitely thinks I’m a creep.

I don’t answer until I have a realization. “Wait… but this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

His smile deepens. “True. But this is my first impression of you as one of my dancers.” With that, he turns and walks toward the podium.

I force myself not to stare after him. The last thing I need is to be caught again. “So then,” I call after him, “what was your worst first impression of a dancer?”

He sets his bag down beside the podium and leans against it casually, like this is just another ordinary Monday and not a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

“A girl once walked in two minutes before rehearsal and spilled her coffee all over the freshly polished floors,” he says, bending down and rummaging through his bag. “Let’s just say it made for a memorable introduction.”

I laugh lightly. “Wow. Was she fired?”

“Oh no, she stayed,” he says, looking up. “But she never brought coffee to class again.”

If I had done something like that at the Metropolitan, I would’ve been let go on the spot.

“Really?” I ask, my brows pulling together in confusion.

He meets my gaze without hesitation. “Of course. We all make mistakes. She’s a strong dancer, and I wasn’t going to punish her for an accident.”

Something in my expression must give me away, because he adds gently, “I know the Metropolitan has... strict policies and harsh outlooks when it comes to discipline. But that’s not how we do things here.”

I give a small nod instead of answering.

He gives me a gentle smile and returns to rummaging through his bag, pulling out a few things and setting them on the podium with a calm focus. He rounds the podium and walks toward the freestanding barres. “So,” he says, glancing back at me. “Are you always this early to rehearsals?”

I stand, silently offering to help. He nods in appreciation.

“I try to be,” I answer, grabbing one of the barres, only to realize just how heavy it actually is. “There were times when traffic in the city would get crazy,” I continue, bracing the barre against my side as I shuffle awkwardly toward the center of the room. “I’d barely make it on time. But here... there’s not much traffic. The taxi got to me earlier than I expected.”

“Ah, so I have New York traffic to thank for your punctuality.” His tone is light, teasing.

I snort softly. “In a roundabout way, yeah.”

He slides his barre into place beside mine with a fluid ease I can’t help but envy. “Well, I’m glad you’re early. Gives me a chance to get to know you.” He glances toward me just in time to catch me struggling with the barre again. “Here—let me.”

Before I can protest, he steps over and lifts it from my grip with effortless strength, setting it into place like it weighs nothing.

“Thanks,” I say, brushing my hands against my thighs to hide my embarrassment. “Those are... heavier than I remember.”

He crouches slightly to adjust the height settings, his brow furrows in concentration.

“And... get to know me?”

He lifts his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah, why not?” He straightens, dusting his hands together. “Are you a closed book?”

I offer a half-shrug. “Depends on who’s trying to read me.”

A beat passes, quiet but not uncomfortable. His smile is small, but just enough that it reaches his eyes. “Fair enough.”

Before I can reply, the same mass of auburn waves that nearly sent me flying a few weeks ago bounces into the studio.

“Nik!” Lily shrieks, already mid-story. “You will not believe what just happened to me on the way here.” She stops short the moment she spots me.