Page 95 of No Place Like Home
He bounced his leg, scattering popcorn as she flew through her next skill, something that resembled an archer holding a bow and arrow. Then she flipped and expertly wrapped the silks around her legs in time to the music, moving into different positions, each more graceful than the one before.
His leg stilled its bouncing as the hauntingly beautiful song continued, forgetting to be nervous for her as his stare fixed on her soulful expression. She easily translated the melody through the long lines of her body. Her leotard, cut low in the back, showcased the definition of her muscles as she worked. Every time she reached out with one lean arm to beckon the audience, Cade found himself leaning forward. Every time she closed her eyes and reveled in the song, he felt tempted to do the same.
Though not at the expense of taking his gaze from her.
Rosalyn climbed higher as the tempo built, wrapping herself in a fluid whirl of fabric, until she reached the top portion of her silks. The music beat a steady rhythm and she paused. Then as the song reached its big crescendo, she released the silks, dropping several feet to a soundtrack of the audience’s gasps.
The fabric caught her as it was supposed to, as Cade knew it would, but that didn’t stop his heart from fleeing into his throat anyway.
A teenager sitting in front of Cade leaned toward the woman next to her. “I want to learn how to do that!”
The woman twisted around. “Think you can get her back here for a workshop or something?”
Cade swallowed. “I hope to do better than that.” Convince her to never leave.
The rest of her routine passed in a blur of various skills and jaw-dropping flexibility. Cade’s adrenaline raced. If this was considered holding back, well…he only wished he’d bought tickets to see her perform all over the world.
And next time, he wouldnotthrow away her flowers after the show.
As the final notes played, Rosalyn slid down her silks onto the ground and into the splits, arms stretched high. The audience leaped to their feet in a standing ovation. She stood, waved, and bowed. Then she met Cade’s eyes before she smiled and disappeared behind the stage curtain.
His heart raced as he shouldered past the throngs of people still clapping. Time to get backstage and deliver this rose.
And some news he hoped was worth a thousand bouquets.
twenty-two
Twenty minutes later, after the final parade of acts, Rosalyn could still hear the applause ringing in her ears.
Backstage, she pulled shorts over her leotard and zipped her hoodie before shouldering her duffel. Energy flowed, despite her trembling legs and achy knee. She’d done it—and she hadn’t fallen. Now to find Cade and get that good news. This was turning out to be a pretty great night after all.
All that worrying for nothing.
She pushed her way out of the tent and into the crowd, who lingered on the festival grounds, holding leftover boxes of caramel corn and candy. Twilight had faded into dusk, and the carnivals lights blazed brightly against the growing shadows.
Linc, Miley, and Owen, still wearing his ringmaster’s hat, stood with Noah and Elisa at a balloon dart booth several yards away, where it appeared Noah was trying to win Elisa a teddy bear. Rosalyn’s parents should be around here somewhere, though Dad was probably hitting up the beignet booth before Zoey sold out.
Where was Cade? They should have determined a meeting point, but now her phone was dead. He’d mentioned Zoey would be opening her shop that night for their friend group to hang out while she put away leftover inventory…she could catch up with him there, but didn’t want to wait. Maybe he’d gotten tied up in a festival emergency.
She continued to scan the crowd, smirking at the long line stretching out from Backwater Bruno’s frog leg truck. Funny that had turned out to be a hit.
“Hey, doll.”
Rosalyn stilled, ice pricking her veins. The laughter of children andpingof arcade games faded around her. Her shoulders tightened.No. A rush of warm evening wind tugged her hair, still stiff with glittered gel, but she barely felt it graze her neck. She turned slowly.Not here.
But there was Blaine, wearing a designer polo and pressed chinos, holding a bouquet of mixed flowers. His ever-present leather satchel hung from one shoulder, and he seemed more big-city out of place than ever, posed against the backdrop of small-town festivities.
He smiled, all charm. “Saw the show. You were amazing.”
Rosalyn licked her dry lips, her performance lipstick long gone. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. I tried calling.” Blaine stepped closer, his musky cologne familiar and overpowering.
She swallowed. “But how did you know where?—”
“It’s my job to know, doll.” He gestured with the bouquet. “The real question is, why are you secretly performing?”
His gaze held steady, despite her rapid blinking. He didn’t look mad—why didn’t he look mad? But hadn’t he been unpredictable since Saudi Arabia? Maybe he was just holding it together to not cause a scene.
