Page 2 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

Jonathan left me to my stretches, so I had the studio all to myself. Fourteen weeks ago, I would have been thrilled for an extra hour of uninterrupted practice. Today, I knew better than to push myself. After I finished my stretching, I pulled on sweatpants over my leotard and tights. I wanted to get home quickly. The Christmas season was usually such a beautiful time in New York, but right now it wasn’t beautiful at all. It was gray and drizzly.

Just as I slung my bag over my shoulder, my phone jangled from deep inside. Muttering curses to myself, I fished it out. A number I didn’t recognize flashed across the screen. I almost hit ignore, but just before my thumb made contact, I realized it had the Hart’s Ridge area code. My hometown.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hi, Bethany?” came a woman’s voice. “This is Mayor Andrews. From Hart’s Ridge. Actually, just call me Emma. I don’t really do all that formality stuff.”

“Um…okay?”

“I’m sure you know why I’m calling—”

“No, I don’t,” I interrupted.

There was a pause. “Ethan didn’t tell you?”

Shit. Ethan Buchanan, my one-time neighbor, longtime friend, and all-around great guy. Also the younger brother of Luke Buchanan, the offensively hot star of my teenage fantasies.

But that was neither here nor there.

What was very much here and there was the fact that Ethan had been playing phone tag with me for the past two weeks. Becauseof courseEthan couldn’t text like a normal person. Noooo.Never put it in writing, he always said.That’s how they get you. Whoever “they” were remained a mystery.

“No,” I said. “Ethan didn’t tell me.” I put Emma on speaker while I texted furiously to Ethan.On phone with Emma. Why didn’t you text me? You know I hate surprises!

“Okay, well, let me explain,” Emma said. “First, I’m so sorry to hear about your ankle. But Ethan tells me you’re healing well, so that’s great news.”

“Thank you,” I muttered distractedly.

Ethan’s name flashed on the phone screen. I smashed decline and sent out another text.I can’t talk now, Grandpa, I typed, using the nickname he had earned by being grumpy and highly suspicious of technology.I’m literally on the phone with Emma right now. I spelled out every single word, knowing he wouldn’t be able to read it otherwise.

Predictably, there was no response. Because that would have meant texting actual words. I rolled my eyes.

“I know you spend every Christmas in New York performing theNutcracker,” Emma went on, “but I thought maybe this year you would be coming to Hart’s Ridge, since you can’t dance?”

“I’m staying here, actually. My parents love coming to New York, and anyway, I have a lot to do for the Company…” My voice trailed off and I chewed my lip.

The thing was, Ihadactually offered to come home for Christmas. My one-bedroom apartment in New York was tiny, and while I always offered to sleep on the couch so my parents could take my bed, they insisted on booking a hotel. Which they wouldn’t even let me help pay for! So I figured this year, at least, I should come to them. But they wouldn’t hear of it.Don’t interrupt your life on account of us, my mom, Mary, had protested.We love seeing you in your element.

I had agreed, reluctantly. True, I couldn’t dance, but as a salaried employee of the New York Ballet Company, I was expected to work however I could. Mostly it meant steaming costumes and sewing rhinestones, helping with the stage, and teaching classes. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed being part of the ballet in any way I could and, anyway, there was something truly special about seeing the city lit up with Christmas lights and Hannukah candles.

But dammit, I hadn’t been home in seven years. Not since I turned sixteen and left Hart’s Ridge for the New York Ballet School, the pipeline that fed students into the Company.

“You’re staying in New York?” Emma heaved a sigh laced heavily with disappointment. “Well, that sucks.”

“Why? What’s going on?” I was curious despite myself. I vaguely remembered Emma as one of Luke’s friends, but mostly I knew of her from the scandal that had rocked Hart’s Ridge over a decade ago, when Emma’s strait-laced father was arrested for cooking meth.

And now Emma was mayor. That was an interesting turn of events. Ethan wasn’t much for gossip, but he’d voted for her and thought she was doing a good job.

Emma sighed again. “Molly Gardiner teaches ballet at the community center. They’re putting on a whole production of theNutcrackerduring our Holiday Festival this year. It earns a lot of money for the community center, but her husband got orders for California. They’re leaving next week, and if we don’t find someone to replace her, we’re going to have to shut it down.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. I meant it sincerely. It wasn’t my problem, but I knew how hard the kids must have worked for this, and how disappointed they would be to have the production canceled.

“The kids are so upset,” Emma said, echoing my thoughts. “To say nothing of the parents. And, of course, all that money. Hart’s Ridge has really upped our tourism game in the last few years. In summer it’s the hikers and foodies, but now that it’s December, people are coming from all over the U.S. to have a small-town Christmas. It’s like a postcard or a Hallmark movie here. We were really counting on those tourist dollars to keep the community center going next year.” Emma cleared her throat delicately. “That’s where you hadyourfirst ballet lesson, isn’t it?”

Wow, way to bring out the big guns.

I stared blankly at the mirrored wall. My adult reflection stared back, but all I saw was an undersized five-year-old with flaming red hair and freckles, wide-eyed with joy and wonder as she learned to pirouette. Madame Mackenzie—who was not remotely French but insisted on the French address—had recognized something special in me and convinced her parents to drive to Asheville, an hour each way, for professional lessons.

“It would be a great opportunity for you to give back to the community,” Emma was saying. “But you’re busy, I guess. If you can’t, you can’t…” Her words hung there, inviting me to contradict her.

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