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I lean back, pressing my lips together as I ponder over her question. Deciding on something that won’t have her running out of the restaurant, I keep it light. “Promise you won’t laugh,” I say, raising a brow at her.
She snorts in response, a small smile playing on her lips. “Promise.”
“This confession comes with a disclaimer. When I tell you please try to keep in mind that I was five years old.”
Intrigued, she leans forward in her chair. “Noted.”
I take a deep breath. “My mother was a ballerina before I was born, and she was obsessed with the ballet. When my father was gone… God knows where, probably prison, she used to play these video tapes of different ballets.”
She squints at me. “That’s not so bad.”
“No, but I wanted to join the ballet… for a full year. Practiced every day in the living room.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, her soft snort turns into a full-on chuckle, her shoulders shaking as she tries to contain her laughter.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezes out. “I just… you? Ballet?”
I try to keep a straight face but fail. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
She throws a napkin over her face. “I’m not.” Her shaking body says otherwise. When she pulls the napkin away, there’s a stream of tears on her cheeks. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… It’s surprising.”
“Well, there you go. One fun fact nobody else knows.”
“Wait, did you ever…?”
“God, no,” I say quickly. “And if you ever tell anyone, I’ll have to break out my leotard.”
She’s laughing so loud, people look over from their tables. I ignore them because fuck it, that laugh should be heard.
“Please tell me you actually have a leotard.”
“Unfortunately, not.”
She shrugs, her smile still wide. “Now I’m interested.”
“Nobody wants to see that. Now, you, on the other hand… you in a leotard is definitely interesting.”
She throws the napkin at me. “Shut up.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t know. I can see it.”
She slaps my hand. “Stop picturing me in a leotard.” Her hands are on her cheeks when I open my eyes. “My face hurts from laughing.” Throwing her head back on the chair, she sighs. “Food and laughter, it’s the best kind of stomach ache.”
I feel my smile fade because the ache I feel is in my chest. I could sit here all night and watch her. I’m sure I would never get bored.
“Dessert?”
She lights up. “Yes, please.”
Thirty-Seven
Beth
Logan winks at me as the table is cleared. The setting sun highlights the angles of his face and my thirsty eyes drink in each one.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, pulling me out of my musings. “I want to show you something.”
I’ve eaten my weight in food. He will be lucky if he doesn’t have to roll me out of here.
