by JoAnn Durgin
The one thing that relaxed her more than anything else was to dance. That’s exactly what she needed to do now. Moving into the studio, Heather flipped on the low lights. She selected the CD with music from Giselle. Even though she’d warmed up several times in the past few hours, she nonetheless clutched the barre and began her exercises. As she transitioned into a spontaneous dance routine, Heather lost herself in the glorious freedom of movement, in the euphoria she always felt from pouring all her emotions into the pure physicality of the dance.
She slowed down after twenty minutes of a satisfying workout. Grabbing a towel, she blotted the perspiration from her face and chest. Then she rested against the barre and closed her eyes, listening to the music and feeling the rhythms and tempo.
Chase had asked her once why she’d wanted to be a ballerina. “Dancing has always come naturally for me,” she’d told him. “When I dance, I can lose myself completely. It’s almost as though I become someone else.”
Standing on a ladder and hanging crepe paper decorations for the Jack & Jill wedding shower, he’d shot her a curious glance. “Why would you want to lose yourself? And why would you want to be anyone else but you?”
Good questions. She’d mumbled something about how as a dancer—similar to an actor—she absorbed herself in the life of her character. In order to better portray the story, she became that character—her background, quirks, failures, triumphs, and insecurities. At the time, she’d barely known Chase and didn’t want to spill her guts about how her father had always held a controlling interest in her life. That was one thing about money that most people couldn’t understand. Money could dictate and control.
She refused to allow her father or his money to control her. If her father didn’t own Montague Enterprises, he wouldn’t be so intent on her giving up her “little hobby” as he’d once called her career with the ballet. As the only child of Jeremy and Ellyn Montague, the stress and expectations of being the heir apparent rested solely on her shoulders.
As she listened to the music, Heather’s musings carried her back to the dance recital last June. She’d never forget the look on Sawyer’s face as he’d stood to the side of the stage while watching Ava dance. His great love for Ava, and his adoration for her talent, were abundantly clear for anyone to see.
Heather had held her emotions in check at the recital, but the beauty of that moment brought her to tears later the same evening. Not only tears but a few bouts of full-on sobs. Tears of joy for Ava but also tears for herself. Would she ever enjoy that kind of intensive, all-inclusive love? She’d never been one to harbor jealousy or indulge in an all-out pity party, but she’d consoled herself with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and a tearjerker movie marathon.
A loud buzzer sounded, startling Heather and making her jump. She opened her eyes and moved her hand over her pounding heart. Who would be here now? Maybe one of the students had forgotten something and a harried parent needed to retrieve homework forgotten in a locker. Wouldn’t be the first time. Draping a small white towel around her shoulders, she rounded the corner from the studio and entered the outer lobby. Her steps slowed.
Chase stood outside the door. Water dripped from his hair.
Heather rushed to the door and unlocked it, stepping aside for him to enter. “I didn’t even know it was raining. Get in here quick.”
“Thanks. Sorry for dropping by unannounced. In my defense, I did call.”
“That’s okay. I’d accuse you of stalking me, but I can’t very well turn away a soaking wet Preacher Man, can I?”
“Much obliged. If the temperature drops much, it’ll turn to snow, so I’ll take the rain.” When she motioned for his coat, he shrugged out of it and handed it to her.
Heather hung his coat on a peg on the rack by the lockers in the lobby. “It’s going to drag the ground. The pegs are made for little people coats, not a tall adult male.” In his jeans, the same blue sweater he’d worn the night of the rehearsal—this time with the shirttails hanging down beneath it—and dark brown work boots, Chase looked slightly disheveled and very…yummy.
Stop that kind of thinking right now.
“No worries.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Can I borrow your towel?”
“Hang on. Let me get you a fresh one.” She ran into the studio and grabbed a fresh white towel from the container. After returning to the lobby, she handed Chase the towel and watched as he scrubbed it over his hair.
“Nice outfit, by the way. And you’re totally rocking that ponytail.” Like the true gentleman he was, Chase kept his eyes trained on her face. The man had more class than the majority of men she met, no matter their so-called social status.
“Thank you.” She dipped in a small curtsy. In her standard ballet attire—long-sleeved black leotard, sheer, short black skirt, and pink tights, the outfit was modest but form-fitting. Not much was left to the imagination. No reason to be embarrassed or ashamed. She worked hard to keep her body strong and healthy, but Chase’s words still made her somewhat self-conscious.
She’d never been flustered before when a man complimented the way she looked, but it was different with Chase. Neither did she flaunt her body the way she’d done in the past. Nothing trashy, but she’d worn lower necklines on top and higher hemlines, especially when going to parties, a club, or on a hot date. Now she dressed trendy, but kept the necklines and hemlines much more modest.
Shame flushed her cheeks with warmth. “Wisdom is wasted on youth,” Grandma M. once said. Heather had made enough mistakes during her teenage years and beyond.
Chase handed the towel to her. “Wait, it’s wet.” He snatched it out of her reach before she could take it from him. “Show me where to put it.”
“Hand it over, please.” When he did, Heather ran back into the studio and tossed it into the bin from several feet away.
“Great eye-hand coordination.” Chase had followed her and now stood just inside the studio door. “This is a nice studio Ava has here.”
“Thanks. We like it. So, what brings you here on this cold, rainy night?”
“I wanted to ask for your help with something, if you’re willing.”
“Okay.” That piqued her interest. “Tell me about it.”
“I have a coed youth event this Friday night. I know the lady in charge of events at a rec center near the church. The gym is being used for a basketball tournament at the same time, and as long as she’s opening the building, she offered our group the private use of the pool for two hours.”
“Oh. That’s nice.” Her pulse jumped.
Chase cocked his head and an irresistible grin curled his lips. His blue eyes danced. No other word for it. “Don’t tell me Beautiful Dancer can’t swim?”
“Silly man, I’ve been swimming practically since birth. Matter of fact, I was on the swim team for years until the ballet and jazz classes took precedence in high school, and I was forced to choose.”
“I guess you didn’t see much of a future in synchronized swimming?”
Heather shot him an amused glance. “I was better at dance, and it’s my passion.”
“Always better to follow your passion,” he agreed. “That’s my motto, anyway.” He crossed his arms. The sleeves of the shirt beneath the sweater were rolled, revealing very nicely muscled forearms. “You look concerned. Everything okay? Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“It’s nothing.” When he raised a skeptical brow, waiting, she blew out a sigh. “Do you ever help serve at a soup kitchen or paint someone’s house? Something along those lines? Why swimming? At least an activity that doesn’t require a swimsuit,” she mumbled, half under her breath.
His smile grew wider. “Admit it. You think I want to check you out.”
She mock huffed and turned her head. “As if.”
“The honest truth is that I need help with the girls. Capable, qualified help.”
“I could offer you the services of my Aunt Joan,” Heather said. “She’s taught swim c
lasses for years and is more than qualified. I’m sure she’d be glad to help.”
Chase’s smile sobered so fast she almost laughed. “I don’t need you to teach them to swim. At least I hope not. Look, you can’t hold it against me just because I’m a guy or that I have 20/20 vision. And, yeah, I find it impossible to turn the other way when you walk into a room. Why would I want to? I hate to break it to you but even Christian guys look. It’s the way we’re wired. And you’re all kinds of beautiful. At least you are to me.” He dropped his gaze and appeared slightly embarrassed.
She’d never wanted to kiss him more. She needed to say something to keep the conversation moving. “Well, thanks for all that. What if I’d told you I couldn’t swim?”
Chase uncrossed his arms and stepped closer. This time he didn’t smile. “Forget your what if questions. They don’t work on me. Anymore.”
“Sorry. I guess they are kind of annoying. When I’m nervous, I ask questions.”
“You were great with Rachelle, Heather. You were honest with her, and kids respect that. She trusted you, and you can’t know how important that is. It’s a gift.” He tilted his head and appeared thoughtful. “I don’t make you nervous, do I?”
“No, you don’t.” Heather flipped on the second set of overhead lights—making it a bit brighter without being obnoxiously glaring. She lowered into one of the chairs and motioned for Chase to take the other chair. “Sit. Let’s talk about it.”
He obediently plopped onto the chair and clasped his hands together. With his hair still slightly damp, and those gorgeous blue eyes searching hers with such expectancy, Heather forced herself to stay focused. “Chase, you’re asking me to make a commitment.”
“To what?” He jabbed his thumb on his chest. “Me?”
“If I help you out with the kids, they’re going to tease us. They’re going to ask all kinds of questions about how long we’ve been dating, things like that. They might even get a little more personal than that.”
“I’m aware,” he said quietly. “They can ask some pretty blunt questions, especially the guys.” He lifted his shoulders, emphasizing their breadth. “The girls might, too. I don’t know. I’m sure you can handle it or I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but we haven’t even been on a date,” Heather said. “I look at helping out with the kids as a big responsibility. I know what teenage girls are like. One time is all it takes. If I bond with them, they’ll expect me to be there more often. If they don’t have a mother, older sister, aunt, or grandmother in the picture, they might become attached very quickly to someone who shows them compassion. I’ve seen it happen.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He frowned. “Look, it doesn’t have to be anything more than a fun time of swimming. It’s not like you’re making a lifetime commitment.”
Heather sighed. “I’m guessing there aren’t any mothers or other ladies in the church willing to help out with the coed activities?”
“Well, yes. We’ve had a few ladies help in the past.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t work out?”
“You could say that.” Chase twiddled his thumbs and avoided her gaze. “Let me give you a few examples. First, we have Ginger. One of the guys asked her if she was the porn star in the movie he’d seen the week before. That sent her running for the door before I could ask what happened.”
Heather moved her hand over her mouth to stifle her soft laughter.
“Then you have Brianna.” He frowned and stretched out his long legs. “Let’s just say she ended up covering her backside with a pillow and darting out the nearest exit door. Seems someone got a little creative with scissors while Brianna waited in line for tater tots.”
“Oh my,” Heather said, still laughing.
“Then you have Lainey.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “That poor girl was the unfortunate recipient of a water bug dropped in her can of Coke.” He threw back his head and mimicked drinking from a can. “Swallowed that bugger right down, she did.”
Chase glanced her way. “Now that you’ll probably never agree to help, shall I go on? I’ve got a few more stories where those came from.” He raked his fingers through his short hair. “Sometimes honesty can shoot me hard in the backside.”
“I don’t scare easily,” Heather assured him. “I can also appreciate a good prank, but you probably shouldn’t tell the kids that.”
“Wouldn’t think of it. You understand I withheld the names of the kids to protect the innocent, the young, and the otherwise clueless.” He straightened in the chair. “Did I hear a Yes, Chase, I’ll be glad to help you! in there somewhere?”
Angling her head, Heather couldn’t stop her smile. “I don’t know if it’s your powers of persuasion or the fact that you obviously need help with the girls, but yes, Chase. I will help you on Friday night.”
“Thank you, Beautiful Dancer. I will be indebted to you until the end of time.” Chase slapped his hands on his thighs and rose from the chair. He glanced around the room and then walked over to the CD player. Pushing the eject button, he pulled out the CD. “Giselle? Are you practicing for the next ballet?”
“Just doing some impromptu freestyle dancing to work out the kinks of the day. The choreographer’s working on the ballet now,” she said. “They always change it from one production to the next. Update it, keep it fresh, that sort of thing.”
Chase replaced the CD and pushed the button. The music began. “Will you dance for me?”
“That could be arranged.”
He gestured to the barre. “I could lean, if you don’t mind.”
She returned his grin. “Be my guest.”
He settled against the barre, and crossed his arms, waiting.
And then, Heather danced for Chase. Oh, how she danced. She poured all her jumbled, crazy, mixed-up emotions into the freedom of expression in her movements. Translating human emotion into an art form.
She had no idea how long she danced—five minutes or twenty. When she finished, she grabbed another water bottle and gulped down half the contents.
Still watching her, Chase didn’t clap. Didn’t spout words of praise. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Doing anything?
Heather twisted the cap back on her water bottle. After putting it on the floor, she grabbed another towel. He still hadn’t said anything.
“You think I’m a crazed ballerina, don’t you? I’m an artist, Chase, and I feel things more deeply than others can. I can’t help it. It’s the way I’m wired. Think of a song you love that sweeps you away. Carries you to a height of joy you’ve never experienced before. That’s because it’s more than a song. The music and lyrics combine to take you to a place that makes you want to weep from the pure beauty of it. That’s powerful. And the joy it makes you feel? That’s what dancing always does for me.”
Dropping his hands to his side, Chase walked toward her. She felt every step of those boots. The expression on his face was one of…wonder? He slowly shook his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “You’re assuming things again. You need to stop doing that.”
He stepped closer. This was becoming a habit with him. Not that she’d complain. Her heart told her to turn away, run away, but she couldn’t.
Her pulse danced.
“I like the way you’re wired, Beautiful Dancer. I like you. Very much. I’ll be honest. I’ve never thought much about ballet. I’ve never been to one, never seen one on TV, never had the slightest inclination to know anything about one. Guys wearing tights?” He shook his head.
She twisted her lips and met his eyes. He wasn’t the first man to tell her as much. If she were a guy, she’d probably feel the same way. “I appreciate your honesty, but with the story lines of the ballet, we need a man’s strength and…well, his masculinity.”
Chase lifted a brow. “I have a question. How come ballets are called romantic and yet most of them are tragic? I have to tell you, I looked up Giselle
, and it’s no picnic. Giselle falls in love, then she’s betrayed, then she goes mad, and then she dies.”
When Heather started to speak, he raised his hand. “Then she supposedly comes back from the dead, seeks revenge on those who wronged her, kills a few men by entrancing them and somehow dancing them to death—or something like that—and then saves the man she loves from death. End of ballet.”
She met his gaze. “True enough. May I speak now?”
He nodded. “Please do.”
“The more convoluted the story, the better the ballet. Think about it. You have love, madness, death, revenge…the whole gamut of emotions. That makes for a spectacular opportunity for a performer. We use our bodies, our movements, to portray the story. It’s difficult to do, but it’s the challenge of the role that makes it so irresistible. The most famous ballets contain at least one or more of those same elements, especially the star-crossed lovers theme. Believe it or not, unrequited love is a very popular theme.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m too fond of it,” Chase said. “However, if I could see you dance the title role, I suppose I might develop more of an appreciation for it. I can only imagine how amazing you are on the stage, Heather.”
“You are so macho.”
He laughed. “Macho? I don’t think anyone’s actually used that word since the 1970s. Let me put on my thick mustache and my platform shoes.”
Heather couldn’t stop her grin. “You’re in an interesting mood.” He’d enjoyed watching her dance for him, and that’s all she needed to know. “Be forewarned: if you insist on hanging around me for long, I can pretty much guarantee something about the ballet will come up every now and then.”
“I’m willing to take my chances. Your dance was beautiful, Heather. I’m sure you’ll make the best Giselle ever. I can tell how much you love it. Like I told you before, I have all the respect in the world for you and what you do. Your passion shines through and you’re invested body, heart, and soul. I’d even venture to say dancing makes you soul happy.”
