Page 86 of One Short Summer

My eyes go wide at her statement. “You’re crying because I got you flowers?”

She nods. “And you wrote me a nice card.”

I can’t help it, but a low chuckle escapes my lips. “You make no sense, Monica. Would you prefer if I didn’t send you flowers and cards anymore in the future?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

I’m getting more confused by the second, and I’m sure she can tell. “Well, what is it then?”

Just then, her stomach lets out a loud growl, and she grimaces. “Sorry, I’m usually too nervous to eat before a show, so I eat when I’m back at the hotel.”

Basic instinct takes over, now that I know she’s okay, at least physically. “Let’s eat first then, and we can talk after, if you’d like? I have something I have to tell you.”

Relief floods through me when she nods. “Sounds perfect. And maybe I can jump in the shower quick too?”

“Of course.” Even though I’m reluctant to let her go, now that I’m finally reunited with her, I allow her to slide off my lap to grab her things.

Thankfully, we get out of there without running into too many people, and after a quick cab ride, we’re in the elevator on the way to her room.

We’re both unusually quiet. Maybe it’s nerves, or anticipation, I’m not sure. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable though.

Okay, maybe a little odd.

“Are you okay with ordering some room service while I get cleaned up?” Her card beeps in the card reader on the door, followed by a green light, allowing Monica to open it, letting us both inside.

The room is a standard one but spacious. A queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room with a little seating arrangement by the window. What makes it easily recognizable as Monica’s room though are the clothes everywhere. When she was living with me, it drove me crazy, and I thought I’d be relieved when she took her chaos with her, but I was dead wrong. I think I enjoyed it for about two days before I finally realized I even missed that about her.

“Of course. Go shower already. I’ll be right here.”

Without really thinking about it, I walk over to the bed and plop down on it. I watch Monica as she grabs some clothes and hands me the room service menu.

“I’ll be quick. Be good.”

“I always am.” I can’t help myself and wink at her, more than just a little proud when the slightest blush becomes visible on her cheeks.

Monica must be really eager to talk to me, since she comes back out of the bathroom only a minute after I hang up the phone. Or she might just be starving.

Her wet hair falls loosely around her shoulders, her face free of the exaggerated stage makeup, and I take a moment to just stare at her.

So beautiful.

I pat the spot next to me on the comforter, my heart giving an extrathumpwhen she comes over and sits down. So close now. Energy buzzing between us. The urge to tackle her and show her how much she means to me with my body is so strong, it’s hard to control.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

After taking a deep breath, she nods but keeps avoiding my gaze. “You know how much I love dancing, right? It has always been my everything, pretty much the existence of my life. It’s what I worked for since I was little, and I’ve always enjoyed the hell out of it. After the accident, I was devastated by the possibility that I might never dance again. So much that it was almost paralyzing, holding me prisoner inside my own body, keeping me from getting back to what was always second nature to me. Until you helped me. You’re the reason I was able to fulfill my dream of having my own solo. It’s every dancer’s dream, especially on a big, international tour like this one, that is sold out in almost every city. This can make my career for the rest of my life.”

She stops and takes a few rapid breaths, looking at me, her eyes filled with so much emotion I want to fall to my knees in front of her and beg her to be mine, worries and all.

Nothing she just said is really news though, so I silently urge her to continue.

“I still want all of this, mostly at least, but now, it feels different. Everything feels different—because ofyou.”

“Me?” What is she trying to say? My heart can’t seem to decide if it should speed up or skip beats all together.

“Yes,you. I thought this was the right way to deal with things, but I was wrong. Tonight didn’t feel half as good as it should have because I couldn’t share it with you.”

“You’re speaking in riddles. What do you mean? I’m right here.” I feel like I’m missing a significant piece in order to figure this out.

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