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I inhale a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Why was it your favorite?”
He looks at me, and I swear there’s adoration in his gaze when he says, “The company.”
Something in my stomach flutters, and this time, it’s not nausea. By the way he’s looking at me and the tone of this voice, I’m pretty sure he was referring to me. And I’d be lying if I said the reason I thought it was such a wonderful vacation wasn’t about him, too. We’d buried the hatchet for the trip, and he and I really connected. “You taught me how to surf.” I laugh before I say, “Well, you taught me how to ride on a surfboard for a second before I spectacularly plunged beneath the waves.”
“You weren’t bad.” He shrugs. “You weren’t good.”
I’m laughing again, and suddenly, the nausea has abated. “I’m feeling better.”
“You can do this, Dawson. We’ve practiced it a million times. And even if you don’t, who cares? You’re going to be in disguise. Just bat a paw and crawl off the floor.” He moves my paw for me. “Like this.”
“Crawl off the floor. Wave a paw. Great advice.” My words say one thing, but Sawyer is right. We are in disguise, and even if folks recognize us, they know we’re here for Eleanor. They won’t care if we mess up. And that eases my nerves.
We put on our heads and make our way onto the stage. When I look at the sizeable crowd, the nausea hits full force. So much for feeling better. I see white stars, literally, but I take a deep breath and focus on Sawyer as we do the steps that we’ve done so many times this past week. He actually takes the lead like he’s supposed to do, and I get into the rhythm and stay there—as long as I’m focused on him.
We take a misstep, but we’re both laughing as we catch right back up with the others. Once again, we’re having fun, and I realize I love being around a person who makes things feel great even when they’re not.
The audience cheers as our group exits, and I realize that I actually enjoyed that. It’s nice being on stage when it means being part of something bigger than myself.
When we’re backstage, we pull off our mouse heads and take a breather. Other dancers rush around us to get into position on the stage next, and when they’re gone, I flash Sawyer a smile and give him a high-five. “That was acceptable.”
He nods with enthusiasm. “Definitely acceptable. Might I venture to say it was decent?”
“That might be pushing it, but maybe.” I even out my breathing. “Now all we have left is that troublesome lift at the end of the show.” In practice, we only nailed it two times in the dozens of times we tried it.
We put our heads back on and make our way onto the stage where we go into a few twirls before positioning ourselves for the lift. I step away, ready to take my run, and I think about all the times I watched others perform this show. I feel so inadequate, but then I remember that it’s Sawyer that has to do most of the work, and I trust him. He pulls through in a tight situation. He always has, and he will again.
I get into a good run to make sure I give Sawyer enough momentum. When he takes me into his arms, he lifts me high in the air, like I am made of air and feathers. Then he holds me over his head like he could do it with one pinkie.
When he finally sets me down, I’m still walking on air as I try to gracefully exit the stage. When I see the audience, I realize we’re getting a standing ovation.
I’m quite certain that our dance wasn’t that impressive, so I’m guessing the cheers are because I didn’t do a face plant, and most folks know we did this in three practice sessions. They’re clearly proud of us, and I’m pretty proud of us too.
Backstage, we rip our heads off and fall into an embrace, my entire body tingling from euphoria and a complicated set of emotions that I can’t fully place.
My eyes mist, and I croak out, “You were amazing out there, Sawyer.”
“You were amazing, too. Youareamazing.”
I’d love to share this moment with Eleanor, but then I realize that if she was here in the show, we would’ve never been in it. It’s one of those bittersweet moments that feels like a silver lining that’s shining light on our darkest of years. Dancing in this production was something I would’ve never chosen, but now that I’ve done it, I’m so grateful I did.
I pull away, touching Sawyer’s cheek. In a teasing tone, I say, “I swear you had super strength out there.”
“That was just my regular strength. I’m a machine.”
“I’m glad to see your ego’s still firmly intact.” I wink because I know and he knows that’s not true. I don’t know if it ever was. His ego was for show, shielding the pain and insecurities that he’s always shouldered. Now that he’s finding himself, it’s melting away.
I pull into another hug, taking inallof him, his strong arms, his empathy, and his soul, which seems to see mine, even when I can’t.
I don’t want to leave Sawyer, not tonight. Maybe not ever. I’m falling for him, and maybe I didn’t have that far to fall because I’ve always loved him. Like Cherry Creek, he’s my home—more now than ever.
I have to write my boss and tell him I’m not going to be in the office until the day after Christmas. If he doesn’t like it, so be it.
I’ll just have to take a leap of faith.
* * *
Sawyer and I bring Dante into a dressing room so he has some privacy. When Sawyer holds up the letter from Eleanor with his first name, Anders, written in her distinctly perfect handwriting, Dante’s eyes mist.
