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I’d never spent much time with Jacob, only knew him through association with Nate. We’d sometimes cross paths when I came over while A-Ma worked, but we never exchanged more than a civil hello. He seemed friendly enough, a nice guy by all accounts.
Nate looks like he’s a million miles away, stuck somewhere in the past. I don’t like to see him like this. For some reason, seeing him this troubled troubles me.
I bring my index finger up to the space between his brows and rub his frown away. It’s something that A-Ma does to me whenever I’m frowning too hard.
“You’ll get wrinkles,” I repeat A-Ma’s words. “You’ll ruin that handsome face of yours.”
Nate chuckles gently. “You think I’m handsome?”
A wide smile spreads itself onto my lips. “You’re all right, I guess.”
“Oh, ouch. Be careful with my ego, would you?”
“If it’s any consolation, all the girls in my class are in love with you.”
“Are they?”
I nod. “I believe Allie’s exact words were ‘He’s like Prince Charming.’”
“Which one was she again?”
“One of the twins.”
“How do you tell them apart?”
I grimace. “I don’t. I just call out one of their names and hope they respond.”
Nate laughs. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“What if they pull that twin thing and switch names for a day?”
“Then I’m screwed.”
He pumps his eyebrows at me suggestively. “Oh, you’ve been screwed, all right.”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious,” I say dryly, though there’s no heat behind it.
A yawn escapes me, a cozy fuzziness tickling the base of my neck. The corners of my vision blur as fatigue takes hold of me. Today’s been a long day, full of classes, working with children, and now this.
I try to fight it, but every passing second it becomes harder and harder to stay awake.
Nate grazes the side of my cheek and presses his lips to the tip of my nose. “Go to sleep, baby.”
“But I want to keep talking to you.”
He chuckles. “We can talk plenty in the morning. We can talk at work too. If you don’t avoid me.”
The corner of my lip twitches upward. “I won’t avoid you.”
“Is that a promise?”
I nod as another yawn cracks apart my lips. “Promise.”
I drift off to the sensation of Nate planting a kiss on my forehead. It occurs to me then, and only then, that I haven’t once been bothered by the dull pain in my legs since I’ve been here.
Chapter Eleven
Nate
By the time I wake up, her side of the bed is cold.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I wake up to an empty bed all the time back in New York. My overnight lady guests normally see themselves out at the crack of dawn to avoid awkward morning small talk. I can’t say that I mind.
But Eve isn’t some overnight lady guest.
She’s Eve.
She’s got a splash of faint freckles over her cheeks, visible only when up close and personal, a privilege I now know belongs to me alone. There’s something special about the way she smiles. In the way her hair’s always perfect, save for that singular strand that falls loose before her brow. In the way she giggles, light as air and sweet as sugar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the little note she left behind on her pillow. I read it over slowly, taking my time to admire her chicken scratch.
And they say doctors have bad writing.
It’s near impossible to read, but I’ve dealt with a handful of unsightly prescriptions before, so it’s easy for me to decipher.
Last night was fun. Sorry I have to dip. Classes start at 7:00.
P.S.: Did you know you snore? It’s cute.
She drew a little heart in the bottom right-hand corner. I can’t help but chuckle as a warmth blooms across my chest.
I flip the note over by chance and see that she’s written something else for me.
You can come to class and watch if you want.
It might be a good idea to have my doctor on standby.
“‘My doctor,’” I repeat aloud. “I like how that sounds.”
I’ve been covering for Pops for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve never actually had to step foot in the Haven Ballet Academy’s main dance studio. There was the kids’ class I interrupted when I asked Eve to dinner, but that studio is a shoebox compared to this one.
Jesus. You can probably fit a small jet in here.
The farthest wall is covered with a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. It’s a bit disorienting, watching out for dancers as they prance across the area in sync with their reflections. It looks like they’re on the path to colliding, but it never happens.
There are wooden bleachers at the back of the room. The front rows are covered in backpacks and gym bags, colorful water bottles resting on the first bench for dancers in need of a drink. I notice a couple of people sitting a few rows back, three women in their mid-thirties. Judging by their casual clothes and the clipboards they hug to their chests, I don’t think they’re dancers.
