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Grace
ThelongingforAidan to touch my hand again doesn’t go away.
It plants roots and sprouts vines that tie my tongue and divert blood to my cheeks whenever he looks my way.
As the weekend approaches, Aidan seems to be looking my way more often. Studying me, as though he’s just now noticing certain details for the first time. How I lick chocolate ganache off the back of my spoon, or how I braid my hair over my shoulder in the bathroom mirror before bed.
I wonder if he’s going to miss me when I’m back at school. I have a feeling I’m going to miss him very much. So much that I almost wish I didn’t have to leave.
But it’s better that I go. The way I’ve been acting around Aidan is ridiculous. I’ve never dated anyone, but I know how it feels to have a crush. What it’s like to have my breath catch whenever I hear his voice, and feel my stomach flip as he reaches for something across the table. Wishing and hoping he would take hold of my hand.
What I feel is wrong on a thousand levels. Aidan isn’t a cute boy from a neighboring school. He’s a man twice my age, and although he’s not really my uncle, he is my guardian, and the last person I should be thinking about that way.
Apparently, my subconscious disagrees, because I’ve started dreaming about him. The sort of dreams you’re definitely not supposed to have about your guardian.
The night before I’m supposed to return to school, I distract myself from my own twisted thoughts by wearing out my pointe shoes in the gym. The floor is too slick for lunges, but I can stretch and practice pointework as long as I hold onto something. I’ve been using a long barbell supported by a tall, heavy-duty metal rack as my makeshift barre.
Reaching my arm overhead, I stretch my leg back and up into an attitude derrière position—with my knee bent at a ninety-degree angle—then return my foot to the floor. I repeat the movement four more times and then drop into a demi-plié, legs open and both knees bent with my heels on the floor.
Movement in my peripheral vision draws my gaze to the door. I find Aidan leaning against the frame, his handsome face sporting a rapt expression. I wonder how long he’s been there, watching.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says.
“Not at all.”
He comes fully into the room. It’s impossible not to notice how fit he is in his light-gray tee shirt and loose track pants. “Do you often practice this late at night?”
“Only if I don’t have school the next day,” I tell him. “I get out of ballet class around nine, so my nights are usually reserved for homework.”
Aidan hops on the treadmill, pushes a button, and starts to jog. I know I shouldn’t stare, but he moves so powerfully, like a jungle cat, barely breaking a sweat.
“I’ll let you have the gym,” I say, forcing myself to look anywhere else but at him.
“No need,” he says. “I just came in to warm up.”
It’s after eleven o’clock. If he’s not warming up to work out, then what is he warming up for?
“You dance beautifully,” he says out of the blue.
So, he was watching me for a while. My heartbeat flutters in my chest. “Thank you.”
Aidan’s gaze lingers on my lavender-colored leotard before he turns his attention forward. “Benjamin will drive you to school tomorrow. I’ve sent Jen home for the night, but she’ll be back to see you off after breakfast.”
“Will I see you again before I leave?”
“I doubt it,” he says. “I have a conference call first thing in the morning. Those tend to go ‘til noon.”
A pang of loss corkscrews into my midsection. “So, this is the last time we’ll see each other for a while then.”
“I suppose so.” He hits a button to power down the treadmill and steps off. I watch his chest rise and fall. He studies my face for a long moment, then says, “It’s been a pleasure having you here, Grace.”
I smile, wishing I could hug him. “I’ve enjoyed my time here very much.”
Aidan steps toward me, and for a second, I think he’s going to give me that hug I want so badly.
“Goodnight, Grace.”
Rather than open his arms, he walks past me.
