Page 59 of The End of Summer

“What about you? Do you like having an audience?”

I shrug. “Not really. I prefer being alone in the studio. It’s freeing, because if I make a mistake, no one’s watching.”

“Do you feel sexy?”

“Sometimes,” I admit.

“Dancing is liberating. It can bring all different emotions to the surface.”

“I guess that’s true of most art forms.”

“It is. My mom’s an artist, and she says she only feels like her true self when she’s creating something.”

“Really? My mom’s an artist too.” I smile. “What’s her medium?”

“She’s a writer. How about yours?”

“Pottery.”

“Nice,” he replies.

“She’s really talented. And yeah, like yours, she’s happiest when she’s making something.”

“You don’t feel that way about dancing?”

“I think I feel that way around kids. I’m very passionate about working with children.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. I love that feeling of when you teach something new to a little one, and they get it – the way their eyes light up. It’s like magic.”

“I can see it. You, teaching children.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re sweet. Patient. Even the way you were when you were trying to coach me through those pole moves. I don’t know.” He scrapes at the bottom of his ice cream bowl. “I just feel like you’d be a good teacher. You’re confident in that kind of role.”

“I guess.”

“I think confidence is really sexy.”

“Do you, now?”

Brady puckers his lips. The corner of his mouth has the tiniest trace of chocolate on it. I don’t know where the sudden burst of courage comes from, but I reach across the table and use my thumb to wipe it off. His jaw goes slack. He’s surprised, but doesn’t move to push my hand away.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “You had a little something there.”

“All good,” he says, looking down into his empty ice cream bowl.

Then, silence. My lungs compress, waiting for him to say something more.

Finally, he raises his eyes to meet mine. “So, you enjoyed it?”

“What?”

“Our dance earlier today?”

“Did you?” I counter.

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