Page 1 of Carpenter's Christmas Bride

1

KENZIE

Kenzie Forrest gazed out the window at her childhood backyard as the classical music from her portable speaker swelled. She inhaled and lifted her arms in front of her, hearing her grandmother’s voice in the back of her mind as she let them drift over her head into fifth position.

Shoulders down, MacKenzie. Elbows up, and soften your hands…

Kenzie had been incredibly fortunate to go so far in her ballet career, especially for a little girl who had grown up in a tiny Pennsylvania farming community. But even when she was onstage at the Met, taking direction under the most famous choreographers and ballet masters in the world, it was her grandmother’s gentle voice she always heard in her mind while she danced, encouraging her and inspiring her to make her best work just a little better every single day.

We’re so lucky, she would often say, her blue eyes twinkling as she instructed young Kenzie in her ballet school in their hometown of Trinity Falls. We get to dance.

And her grandmother was exactly right, of course. Kenzie was convinced that Grandma Lee’s endless optimism would help the older woman live forever. Right now, she was probably energetically sweeping the floors of her classroom at the theatre a few blocks away, preparing for the preschoolers’ movement class that was the lead-in to ballet.

Kenzie smiled, thinking about the little ones waving their tulle scarves and scampering around to classical music. She had been one of those children herself, and it was in that room that the seeds of her obsession had been planted.

The last strains of the Moderato from Swan Lake played on Kenzie’s speaker as she finished her modified port de bras.

Getting injured had felt like the end of the world the night it happened, and she’d had to work hard to keep her spirits up during the days right after the surgeons reattached her Achilles tendon. At first, she was in a painful haze from the drugs, then she was just in pain—emotional as well as physical. They had put her in a cast with her foot extended downward in the beginning, which meant she could put no weight on her foot at all. So, in addition to hurting, she hadn’t been able to get the exercise her athletic body was used to, which dragged her mood even further down.

The day they put her in a boot with her foot flexed and told her that soon she would be allowed to carefully stand and walk with crutches, all her hope and natural optimism came flooding back.

As soon as she was allowed, she had begun walking the halls of the rehab facility day and night, chatting with anyone she bumped into. She even made friends with a few people who were stuck in their beds like she had been.

“Kenzie Forrest, I think you’re even more of a star offstage than on,” her favorite nurse would tease, chuckling and shaking her head when she came in to find Kenzie reading a celebrity gossip magazine to another patient or trying to convince them to grab their crutches and go for a little walk.

One day, she had a call from the artistic director of the ballet, which had been a truly exciting moment.

“Focus on your recovery,” she had told Kenzie warmly. “Ballet can wait.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Kenzie promised. “I’m already getting lots of exercise, and I think the crutches are strengthening my arms.”

“Well, your positive attitude is as strong as ever,” the director had said fondly. “That’s as likely to get you back to work as anything else you’re doing. We love you, Kenzie. Stay in touch.”

Kenzie had sent her love to the company, and they signed off with more well-wishes. But Kenzie understood what the director was implying when she mentioned her positive attitude.

A ruptured Achilles tendon was a career-ending injury for most dancers. And even if Kenzie came back from it, it would probably be another half a year before she could train like before—let alone dance at the level she had achieved before she got hurt.

The company was sending their love because realistically, they knew they probably wouldn’t see her in the rehearsal hall again.

But the knowledge that they weren’t confident she could recover hadn’t stopped her from pursuing her recovery with everything she had. Kenzie wasn’t a quitter, and she wasn’t going to let someone else’s ideas get her down.

She might be standing in her parents’ family room now, looking out at her old treehouse, but she had just done a lovely arms-only port de bras. And soon she would be able to do much more.

There was a knock at the back door, and she smiled, knowing just who it would be.

“Kenzie, it’s me,” her bestie from high school called in the window.

“Come in,” Kenzie said, waving to her.

A moment later, Mal was slipping in. Her auburn hair was just as long as it had been the last time Kenzie saw her, but it was secured in a ponytail today. She held a white paper bag in one hand and a cardboard holder with two small coffees in the other.

When she saw Kenzie, her green eyes lit up.

“You’re walking around,” Mal said happily. “Great job.”

“Baby steps,” Kenzie said, laughing. “I was just dancing, at least the top half of me was.”

“I’d argue that’s your best half,” Mal joked, quirking an eyebrow.

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