Page 2 of Carpenter's Christmas Bride

Kenzie grabbed her crutches and swung herself over to embrace her friend, feeling incredibly lucky to have her here.

“Wow, you’re really good on those things,” Mal said. “Hey, I brought some treats from the bakery, but I know you might not be able to eat that stuff, so I also brought black coffee.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kenzie said. “I finally can eat what I want for a little while. Hey, was the paper out there?”

Mal froze, a strange expression on her face.

“I already read it online, obviously,” Kenzie told her. “It’s just that my mom will want the clipping.”

“She’ll want that clipping?” Mal asked, sounding horrified.

The Philadelphia paper had included Kenzie in their monthly Dance Beat column. It was pretty brutal, describing the moment of her injury in harrowing detail.

“Her very first time onstage as a principal dancer, Pennsylvania-born ballerina MacKenzie Forrest ruptured her Achilles tendon with an audible pop that left the audience gasping,” MacKenzie quoted. “Forrest, who had been giving a career-defining performance as the Dew Drop Fairy in Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker up to that point, yada, yada, yada…”

The yada, yada, yada was actually will probably never dance again, but Kenzie didn’t want to lend credence to the idea by saying it out loud. Not to mention that she didn’t want to bum out her friend.

“She’ll like that part about career-defining won’t she?” Mal asked with a smile.

“Oh, she’ll love it,” Kenzie agreed. “There’s even a picture.”

The picture was of her partner carrying her offstage like a sack of potatoes while she wept in his arms. But the costume and make-up were gorgeous enough to make it look tragically beautiful instead of just pathetic.

“Besides,” Kenzie added, “just being mentioned in the paper as a principal dancer, even if it’s for a grisly injury, is a big deal in Mom’s book. I was a soloist forever before that promotion.”

“I guess you have a couple of good points there,” Mal decided. “Hang on and I’ll grab it.”

Kenzie headed to the little table where Mal had put their breakfast and leaned her crutches against her chair before lowering herself into it.

She was learning to have so much appreciation of all the things her body did for her every day. Even simple things she had taken for granted all her life were more difficult now. One day, when she was back to normal, she would remember her good fortune every time she was able to sit, stand, or reach for something on a high shelf without having to plan it all out first.

She was settled in when Mal came back, newspaper in hand, and sat across from her.

“So, how are you holding up?” Mal asked, setting the newspaper on the table, then grabbing the paper bag and pulling out two beautiful croissants topped with delicate almond slivers.

“If those are your famous almond croissants, then I’m doing really, really well,” Kenzie said.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Mal said softly.

“Neither was I,” Kenzie teased. “I mean I was a little, but my mouth is literally watering.”

Mal laughed this time and Kenzie smiled back at her.

“You know what’s funny?” Kenzie said. “I’m actually doing surprisingly well.”

Mal nodded, grabbing her coffee and removing the lid to add cream. Mal had always been good at giving Kenzie a little space when they talked. Kenzie grabbed a croissant and peeled off a piece, putting it in her mouth and moaning a little at the buttery goodness.

“Is it because you’re healing fast?” Mal asked after a moment.

“I’m recovering on target,” Kenzie said. “But it’s also kind of nice to have this pause in my life where I can breathe a little, read, talk to friends and family, eat what I want, and just, I don’t know… live. I guess I didn’t realize how much of my life ballet was taking up until I stopped for a little while.”

“I could definitely see that,” Mal said thoughtfully. “It seemed like ballet was your life for a long time.”

Kenzie felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t come home much after she’d gone into a professional training program midway through high school. And she definitely hadn’t done a good job staying in touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I wish we hadn’t fallen out of touch. I’m so glad we have this chance to catch up.”

“Are you kidding?” Mal teased. “Literally nothing has happened with me. You’re already caught up.”

---