Page 69 of A Temporary Forever

“A rehearsal at home doesn’t count,” I murmur, and turn to Mia. This bickering about inconsequential shit doesn’t make any sense. “I dance in an off-Broadway cabaret-like production. It’s a play about a burlesque dancer who falls in love with the club owner.”

“And it’s all just dancing?” Mia puts her arms on the table, leaning closer. “Like a ballet?”

“A contemporary dance, but in this one, we incorporate different dance styles to move the plot forward.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Maybe you can come when I’m back on stage.” I grin at her, enjoying how this girl finally unveiled a bit of herself.

“Maybe.” She shrugs, looking away as if she realized she had shown more warmth than she planned.

“Do you like dancing?” Caleb asks.

“I used to be in a hip-hop crew in school, but then… I quit.” She shrinks in her chair, hugging herself around her midriff. “I’ll wait for you outside.” She springs up and disappears before we can react.

Caleb gestures for the bill. “And I thought we made some progress.”

I want to tell him to be patient, to let her open up on her own terms, but I’m not a parenting coach, and he doesn’t deserve my opinions.

We pay, then find Mia leaning against the wall, drawing circles with her foot like it’s the most riveting thing in the world.

“Would you like to go to thezoo?” Caleb asks awkwardly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not five.”

He rakes his hand through his hair, sighing.

Our lukewarm relationship is one thing, but I can’t watch the two of them falling out before they even have a chance to grow together.

Both clearly want—even if they don’t admit it—and need this connection. I look at Mia, and then at Caleb, and for the second time this morning, I decide to facilitate their bonding.

As uncomfortable as it may be to spend time with Mr. I-freaked-out-after-I-fucked-you.

“I have an idea, but it might not be available.” I hold up one finger, silently asking them to hold on a minute, already dialing my friend’s number.

Mia and Caleb look like they’re having the worst day in history while I make arrangements.

“We’re in luck. I booked us for therapy.”

They both glare at me, probably considering whether they can just leave me here and run away.

Mia throws a glass to the floor and immediately follows with several plates, stomping her feet over the shards.

In the other corner, Caleb swings a baseball bat to smash a mirror. I lunge, bringing the hammer down on a vase before I demolish the table it stood on.

Forty-five minutes later, we’re drenched in sweat and thoroughly relaxed, laughing.

At the front desk, we take selfies, get disgustingly sweet blue slushies, and hit the street.

“How do you even know about this place?” Mia slurps loudly through her straw.

“The owner used to work at a club where I danced, and then he opened these smashing rooms for corporate team buildings. He invited us to test it before the opening, and I’ve been coming here occasionally. It’s my form of therapy.”

“I don’t think training for a half-marathon helped me release this much stress. I’m fucking buying the place.” Caleb basketballs his cup into the garbage bin.

Mia’s eyes widen, and I laugh. “He’s probably not kidding.”

Smashing was the best therapy for me as well. Fuck his aloofness. Soon we’d both forget last night, and we’d learn to cohabitate.

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