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“Right.”
“Maybe it’s cold feet?” he said, but it came out more like a question.
I bit my lip. “I mean, there’s something to be said about following your gut. If you don’t think proposing is the right move, maybe it isn’t. Even though you’ll still have to pay the dancers even if you cancel, loser. I’ll work for free but they won’t.”
He laughed, making me smile, then shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s all good. When I was in Hawaii, we talked about getting married, so this isn’t out of the blue. We talked about wanting to build a life together and stuff, you know?”
“Good.” Itwasgood. It was great, even. That was all I wanted for my best friend. For him to be happy and build a life with someone.
“In fact,” he continued, wagging his finger at me, “I probably would have proposed already if this whole flash mob thing hadn’t taken so long.”
“Hey, you can’t rush perfection.” I put my hands on my hips as my eyes scanned my dance studio. “But hey, at least you had this time to make sure it’s really what you want.”
“It is what I want,” he insisted. Then he looked toward the window again, pausing for a long beat. “As long as it’s whatshewants.”
The uncertainty in his gaze when he looked back at me made my stomach hurt. Paul had talked me through every mindset shift while I processed my dreams being crushed by my diagnosis. He helped me plan out a new, safer routine in a way that satisfied my parents and also didn’t mean erasing dance completely. He reminded me to take my meds—though I didn’t need him to, it just made him feel good—and he always made sure I didn’t overdo it. I came to him every time I wanted to freak out and throw something, and he and his calm voice could soothe me like no one else. All I wanted was to be able to be the same for him.
I stepped forward, putting one hand on his big shoulder. “Paul. Chill out. Roxy is going to be so happy tomorrow when she sees what you have planned for her. She’s going to feel special and loved and ready to spend her life with you. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed after a moment. Then he held up a hand between us, eyeing me suspiciously. “Is that a rehearsed line that you give to every nervous guy the night before his flash mob proposal?”
“Maybe.” I grinned, turning on my heel to take my meds since my watch had just buzzed with a reminder.
While it was true that most men were nervous the night before their proposal when we did the final rehearsal, I really had tailored my words to Paul. And I hoped he heard them, and I hoped I was right. I dug around in my bag, looking for the small zippered pouch I carried my medication in.
“Hey, it’s five. Have you taken your meds?” he asked, coming up behind me.
I shot him a mock glare and kept sifting through my bag. “I’m looking for them right now, Mom.”
“Just making sure.”
My fingers closed around the black leather bag with the delicate pair of pink ballet slippers stitched on the front. I pulled it out and measured my dosage, taking the water bottle Paul handed me with a grateful nod. When I finished, I put everything away. “Are you hanging out with Roxy when she’s back from getting her nails done?”
“Yeah, but it sounds like she’s gonna have to be a while since she’ll be coming from the next town over. Do you want to grab a bite?”
I nodded and picked up my dance bag, handing it over when Paul motioned for it. “Yeah, where should we go?”
“Well, it’s Tuesday, so—”
“Taco Tuesday,” I finished.
“Exactly.” We high-fived then headed for the door, when suddenly a wave of dizziness came over me and I swayed slightly. He caught me around the shoulders and looked at me with alarm. “Whoa, hey, are you okay?”
I eased out of his arms and got my balance. “Yes, I’m fine. I just haven’t eaten today.”
“What? Why?”
“It was a busy day,” I said, shaking my head with my eyes wide to remind him that his rehearsal was one of the many things on my to-do list for today. “I’m fine. We’re literally on our way to go eat right now.” I turned my back on him and flipped the lights of the studio off before closing the door and locking it.
Because Paul had been there for me since the very beginning of my HCM diagnosis, he also knew all of the ups and downs relating to it. It made him an amazing friend but was also why we’d never become more than that. Not only did I want him to find someone who would give him what I couldn’t, but after everything we’d been through, there was no way his kindness could ever morph into something romantic. Though I had to admit, I’d secretly always wished it could. It was dumb, of course. As dumb as holding onto the dream of becoming a prima even with my condition and the years of practice I’d missed. And yet, both dreams still hung out somewhere deep in my chest, locked away for only me to long for.
“Okay, well, I just worry about you,” he said with a shrug, bumping my arm gently with his elbow.
I gave him what I hoped was an easy smile, pushing down the ghost of a feeling that wouldn’t do anyone any good. “I’m fine. Let’s go get some tacos.”
