Page 9 of Fielder's Choice

Sage skips as we carry on, her light purple ballet skirt peeking out from under her purple jacket. Combine that with her light purple tights and purple leotard, and you don’t need more than one guess to figure out her favorite color.

She looks up at me and gasps, clearly excited about whatever thought just crossed her little mind. “Daddy meet Owive!”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Sagie. I get to meet Olive today.”

I don’t know much about Olive except that she’s Eileen Finch’s youngest daughter. When Rory and I brought Sage to her firstlesson this past spring, she was starting private lessons with Eileen. She mentioned that she had kids, and her youngest daughter was a ballerina as well.

Or, she used to be. At that point, I guess she had given up on it. Eileen didn’t tell us why, but we could clearly tell there was a story there.

It seems like she’s getting back into it, though, since she’s taken over Sage’s lessons.

And the only thing my daughter has talked about this morning is how excited she is to go see Olive today.

When we round the corner of the block we’re on, Finch Ballet Company comes into view. “We here!”

My heart just swells. I’m not always confident in my abilities as a parent, especially as a single dad, but seeing how happy my daughter is means everything to me. She’s hands down the greatest kid, and she deserves to have absolutely everything.

I just wish she had a mom she could look up to.

Sage helps me push open the glass doors, and we enter the lobby.

“Good morning!” the receptionist calls. “What can I help you with?”

I scoop up my daughter and position her on my hip. “Here for my daughter’s lesson. I’m Lane. Her nanny, Rory, usually brings her.”

“Oh!” she says. “Rory did mention you’d be bringing her. Sage’s lesson is in the last room on the left.” She gestures down the long hallway.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I appreciate it.”

Sage and I pad off down the hall before standing in front of the door the receptionist gestured to. I open the door slowly, and I’m surprised to hear music playing when we step inside.

I don’t recognize the song—something classical—but I see who I assume to be Olive dancing on the other side of the dimly lit room.

It’s dark enough that I can’t make out any features; I can only see a shadow gracefully spinning and twirling around.

I watch as she points her foot and stands, letting the other rest at her knee while she spins, balancing the entire time on just the toes of her right foot.

Wow.

The coordination it must take to be able to do that. I’m honestly in awe.

So is Sage, it seems, because she hasn’t taken her little hazel eyes off the dancing shadow.

Olive finishes her dance and rests with her hands on her hips, seemingly catching her breath.

And before I realize it, I’m clapping loudly and emphatically as she startles.

Good job, Lane. Way to make things awkward.

“Sorry,” I hear her mutter as she hurriedly crosses the room. “I didn’t realize you were he—”

She cuts off as she steps into the light, and we both just gape at each other.

Because this isn’t an unfamiliar face.

No, this is the same face I pictured all evening yesterday, dark brown waves and deep green eyes floating through my mind.

It seems Olive, my daughter’s ballet teacher and Eileen Finch’s youngest daughter, isLiv,the gorgeous woman I met yesterday at Urban Grind.

---