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I was so relieved to get back to the studio. Heats were bullshit, especially when you were alone. It was too late by the time mine hit to make any kind of arrangements. I was ready to get back to dancing.
Peering in the window to the studio, I smiled before I stepped into the room. The scent slammed into me like a brick wall.
Slipping my toe into my shoe, I laced the ribbons around my ankle and tucked them in before doing the same with the other. “It’s complicated.”
“I love complicated.”
Claire saved me. “Let it be, Dion.”
I stood and switched on and off my toes a couple of times. “Let’s just do class,” I said. “I’ll tell you when I can. It’s too long a story for now, and I’m not ready.”
As many times as I’d imagined Ash and I meeting again, I didn’t think about what it would do to the people around me. How could I explain what I did when I wasn’t sure I understood it myself?
“Fair enough, buttercup.” Dion stood up and leaned in to kiss my cheek before sneakily looking across the room. He laughed. “Thought so.”
I glanced up and found Asher’s eyes on me. And Dion. He glared at my friend beside me. I turned and put my hand on Dion’s arm. “Please don’t. He has a right to be angry with me.”
“I just wanted to see his reaction,” Dion whispered with a smirk. “And no matter how angry he is, that man wants you.”
One more look, and I was trapped in his gaze. I’d never seen Ash look at me like that. Like he wanted to come over here and either kiss me or wring my neck. It wasn’t clear if he’d decided which.
A sharp two claps had everyone standing at attention. Madame Hubert swept in, along with the accompanist. She smiled at us and curtsied. We curtsied back.
“Welcome back, my dears.” Her light European accent was comforting. Many of us had seen her for classes over our break, but now we would see her every day. As ballet mistress for the company, she made sure we were where we needed to be technically. Every day. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Everyone put their hand on the barre, and we began.
Immediately, my mind eased into familiarity. Even with Ash in the room and my stomach in knots, we’d still done class together hundreds of times. Class was one of my comfort places. I lost myself in the freeing repetitions ofpliesandronde de jambe, letting muscle memory take over.
Asher’s gaze didn’t leave me. The only time he wasn’t looking at me was when we turned in the opposite direction on the barre. It was a physical thing. Hot and heavy and rich, like being dropped into a balmy sea where everything was golden and shining. But I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t risk starting to perfume in class.
Madame Hubert walked slowly around the room and checked our form before barre was over. The men quickly lifted and moved the portable barres from the center of the room so we could proceed with the rest of class. I resolved to ignore Ash until later, because there was nothing either of us could do here and now.
And still, I was aware of his every breath and movement in the room, even when I wasn’t looking. I could see him in the mirror when I moved through the combinations, and I caught little threads and pockets of his scent through the room, and no matter how small, it still hit me like a battering ram.
Warmth and butter and chocolate. The feeling of breaking apart a still-hot cookie and watching the gooey strings of chocolate cling to each other. The decadence of something so simple yet so delicious.
We were moving intoreverencebefore I realized it. I was moving so fully on instinct.
Finishing the slow, diagonal movement across the studio, I curtsied deeply to Madame Hubert before retreating to the corner where my bag was.
Applause broke out at the end, and we thanked the accompanist. The applause continued, but only from the few people now walking into the studio. Mark Thurman, our retiring executive and artistic director, along with two others.
Ian Chambers, our new artistic director, was supposed to be incredible. I’d seen videos of his work, and it was undeniably beautiful. I wasn’t sure about him though, given our not-so-great meeting a few weeks ago. Still, I hoped he did right by the company.
Glancing over at Dion, I shrugged. He wasn’t bad looking. Young and clearly fit, he had the body of a dancer and wouldn’t have any problem illustrating choreography. But on the scale of my attraction to him? It was an absolute zero.
“Welcome back,” Mark said, smiling at all of us. Older, with salt and pepper hair, Mark was both a friend and a father to all of us. No one wanted to see him retire, but he claimed he was ready. “This is a hello and a goodbye. I wanted to stop by and see all of you one more time, along with introducing your new fearless leaders.”
Laughter broke out.
Mark gestured, and Ian stepped forward. “Many of you know Ian Chambers already, if not from having meetings with him, then by reputation. I couldn’t be more thrilled to see what kind of life he brings to SCB.”
Ian nodded to all of us.
“In a second, Ian’s going to talk to you aboutGiselleand the chaos we agreed to by bringing forward a repertory piece. But first,” he motioned the second man forward. “This is Gabriel Black. He’s the new executive director.”
I hadn’t really looked at him before, and I did a double take. A dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and built arms with his hands tucked into the pocket of his slacks. Sandy brown hair just long enough to put your fingers through it andgripif you needed to, and a smile that could make it possible. I wasn’t close enough to see the color of his eyes, but the way he scanned his gaze over each of us was warm and kind.
