Page 28 of The Perfect Snipe

Are they okay? Maybe something happened to Rosa.

The curtain rises, a sea of tulle and satin flooding the stage, and I sink into the chair. My eyes lock onto Stella immediately. She moves with precision, every step, every twirl executed perfectly.

But there's something missing. Her movements are a bit robotic, like there’s no passion behind them.

Maybe she’s too busy concentrating on not messing up.

Like Mason.

When my son first began to play hockey, it felt like he was going through the motions—

technically correct but mechanical. I often wondered if he really enjoyed the sport or felt he needed to play for me. But as he became more comfortable with plays, he relaxed, then added his own style.

I’m sure the same is probably going on with my daughter. Hell, not sure I’d remember half of what she needs to do—from position to movement to pose. And let’s not forget being synchronized.

Eventually, the final notes of the music fade, and Stella takes her bow. Pride swells in my chest, but it's tinged with sadness. How will she react when she realizes Cat isn't here?

Truthfully, I’m disappointed myself.

I take the show pamphlet, fold it, then tuck it away in my pocket. The aisle is packed with parents and kids. But when I turn toward the auditorium exit, I spot Cat against the wall.

She doesn’t see me. Her face is pinched as she turns to say something to Rosa. When she faces forward again, our eyes lock. The smile that spreads across her face sends a wave of warmth through me I'm not prepared for.

Maybe I’m just glad she showed up, and relieved nothing serious happened to prevent her from being here.

“Dad!” Stella's voice cuts through the crowd noise. She barrels toward me, her arms wrapping around my leg. “I’m glad you came,” Stella adds, letting go of me and hugging her small arms around Rosa as the two women approach.

Rosa pats Stella’s head, her wrinkled hand adorned in glittering rings. After, my daughter hugs Cat before grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.

“Dad,” she says, her grin mischievous. “Doesn’t Cat look so pretty tonight?”

I cough into my hand, caught off-guard, then straighten. “Y-yes, she does.”

My daughter looks over at Rosa and winks.

What the fuck?

I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but the last thing I need is meddling where it’s not welcome. And while both of us were far from professional last night, we need Cat—I need Cat—right now . . . in a professional capacity.

“Going to go say bye to Brittney.”

My daughter starts to walk off when I grab her wrist. “Who’s Brittney?”

“My friend. She’s leaving with her mom.” Stella points to the glass doors that lead to the parking lot.

“You can’t go into the parking lot alone.”

“I’ll go with her,” Cat says, taking her hand. “Come on.”

I shove my hands in my pockets, wishing I could disappear. Is this what the other dads on the team feel like? Out of place. A third wheel. I don’t even know the kids in my daughter’s own dance class.

“You like my granddaughter.”

I pull my gaze away from Cat and my daughter, looking down at Rosa, straightening to my full height. “She’s good with my kids. They like her.”

“And so do you.” Her smile is all-knowing and slightly wicked at the same time. “Your face. It gives it all away.”

I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject. “Are you feeling better?”

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