Читать книгу A Daddy By Christmas - Teri Wilson - Страница 12

Chapter Three

The afternoon following Chloe’s odd encounter at the animal shelter, she tucked her new puppy into a playpen containing the candy cane–striped dog bed and a dozen or so new toys and then trudged her way through the snow-covered West Village to the Wilde School of Dance.

It was time to face the music.

She couldn’t keep lying to her family about her job. Just this morning, she’d thought she spotted her cousin Ryan walking through Times Square while she’d been on flyer duty. She’d ducked behind one of the area’s ubiquitous costumed characters—a minion in a Santa hat—but there was no hiding her blinking antlers.

Luckily, the man in the slim tailored suit hadn’t been her cousin. Nor had it been her brother, Zander. To her immense relief, she also ruled out the possibility that he was the man who’d proposed to her yesterday—Anders Kent. This guy’s shoulders weren’t quite as broad, and the cut of his jaw was all wrong. His posture was far too laid-back and casual. He seemed like a regular person out for a stroll on his lunch break, whereas Anders had been brimming with intensity, much like the city itself—gritty and glamorous. So beautifully electric.

Not that she’d been thinking about him for the duration of her two-hour shift. She quite purposefully hadn’t. But being on flyer duty was such a mindless job, and while she flashed her Rockette smile for the tourists and ground her teeth against the wind as it swept between the skyscrapers, he kept sneaking back into her consciousness. The harder she tried not to think about him, the clearer the memory of their interaction became, until it spun through her mind on constant repeat, like a favorite holiday movie. Love Actually or It’s a Wonderful Life.

Chloe huffed out a sigh. If life was even remotely wonderful, she wouldn’t be so hung up on a meaningless encounter with a stranger. Which was precisely why she had to stop pretending everything was fine and come to terms with reality. She was no longer a professional dancer. She might never perform that loathsome toy soldier routine again, and if she didn’t humble herself and come clean with the rest of the Wildes, they were sure to find out some other way and her embarrassment would be multiplied tenfold. Emily Wilde was practically omniscient. It was a miracle Chloe’s mother hadn’t busted her already.

Sure enough, the minute Chloe pushed through the door of the Wilde School of Dance, she could feel Emily’s eyes on her from clear across the room. Her mother was deep in conversation with a slim girl in a black leotard—one of her ballet students, no doubt—but her penetrating gaze was trained on Chloe.

Here we go.

Chloe smiled and attempted a flippy little wave, as if this was any ordinary day and she stopped by the studio all the time. She didn’t, of course, making this whole situation more awkward and humbling than she could bear.

When was the last time she’d set foot inside this place? A while—even longer than she’d realized. She didn’t recognize half the faces in the recital photographs hanging on the lobby walls, and the smooth maple floors had taken quite a beating since she’d twirled across them in pointe shoes as a teenager. The sofa in the parents’ waiting area had a definite sag in its center that hadn’t been there when Chloe spent hours sprawled across it doing her homework after school.

Was her mother still using the same blue record player and worn practice albums instead of a digital sound system? Yes, apparently. The turntable sat perched on a shelf in the corner of the main classroom, right where it had been since before Chloe was born.

At least Emily was no longer teaching back-to-back classes all day, every day. Chloe’s sister-in-law, Allegra, had taken over the majority of the curriculum. From the looks of things, Allegra’s intermediate ballet class had just ended. She waved at Chloe from behind the classroom’s big picture window as happy ten-and eleven-year-olds in pink tights and soft ballet slippers spilled out of the studio, weaving around Chloe with girlish, balletic grace.

Her throat grew tight as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. Everything was all so different, and yet still exactly the same as she remembered.

She’d grown up here. In total, she’d probably spent more time between these faded blue walls than she had in the grand family brownstone on Riverside Drive. If family lore was to be believed, she’d taken her first steps in her mother’s office between boxes of tap shoes and recital costumes. Just months afterward, she’d learned to plié at the barre in the classroom with the old blue record player.

Chloe’s first kiss had happened here, too—with a boy from the School of American Ballet Theatre during rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet. It had been a stage kiss, but her heart beat as wildly as hummingbird wings, and when the boy’s lips first touched hers, she’d forgotten about pointed toes and the blister on her heel from her new pointe shoes.

The kiss might have been fake, but the warmth of his lips was real, as was the feeling that this school, this place that she knew so well, was etched permanently on her soul. She’d always come back here. It was her home.

I should have come back sooner.

She’d meant to. But somehow days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and then her father died. Walking in her childhood footsteps after his heart attack was just too painful, so she’d taken the easy way out and stayed away. She’d thrown herself fully into the Rockettes and, like everything in her life, the family dance school took a back seat to her career.

And now here she was—jobless, with no close friends, superficial relationships with her family members and no love life whatsoever now that Steven had so unceremoniously dumped her after the Thanksgiving parade mishap.

Perfect. She’d somehow become the horrible character in a Christmas movie who required divine intervention to become a decent person again. Except there wasn’t an angel in sight, was there?

Again, Anders Kent’s chiseled features flashed in her mind. She blinked. Hard.

“Chloe!” Allegra clicked the classroom door shut behind her and pulled Chloe into a hug. “What a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here? Isn’t this your busy season? Aren’t you performing ten times a day or something crazy like that?”

Before she could form a response, the teen ballerina bade Emily goodbye. Chloe stepped out of the hug and held her breath as her mother approached.

“Hello, dear. Isn’t this a lovely surprise.” Emily kissed her cheek, but the warm greeting didn’t alleviate her sense of shame.

If anything, it made her feel worse.

“Hi, Mom. Allegra. It’s great to see you both.” Chloe could feel her smile start to tremble.

Don’t cry. The only thing that could make her confession more painful was if she fell apart before she could get the words out.

“Are you okay, dear?” Emily glanced at the dainty antique watch strapped around her wrist. She’d been wearing it as long as Chloe could remember. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be performing in the matinee?”

This was it. This was the moment to spill the beans and admit she was the Rockette who’d become YouTube famous for ruining the Thanksgiving Day parade.

She took a deep breath. “No, I’m actually not performing anymore. For now, anyway.”

“What do you mean, you’re not performing?” Emily’s face fell.

The disappointment in her eyes was a knife to Chloe’s heart. For all Chloe’s mistakes, Emily had always been her biggest supporter. Chloe had missed months’ worth of family dinners and get-togethers, but when it came to performing, she’d never failed to make her dancer mother proud. Until now.

“I’m on hiatus for a while.” She swallowed and shifted her gaze over Emily’s shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see her mother’s crushed expression, but then she found herself staring at a slick, glossy poster from one of her own Christmas shows.

The poster hung in a frame surrounded by photographs of herself in various Rockette costumes. The arrangement was practically a shrine.

“Oh dear, you’re not injured, are you?” Emily’s hand fluttered to her heart.

“Please don’t worry, Mom. I’m fine.” I’m just a world-class coward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t confess to being fired, not while she was standing there, facing the Chloe wall of fame.

Besides, her mom had just given her an excellent idea. An injury, even a small one, would buy her some time to make things right. She could start helping out at the school. She’d answer the phones, manage the dance moms—anything—and once she’d proved her devotion to her family again, she’d finally tell them everything.

Because she was definitely telling the truth, 100 percent. She was just delaying it a tiny bit longer.

Seriously? Just fess up already.

“It’s only a sprain,” she heard herself say, and immediately wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Allegra gasped. “Oh, no. Please say it’s not your ankle.”

Chloe looked down at her feet. She’d worn Uggs, because it was freezing out, but if she’d had an injured ankle, it would be wrapped. She might even be on crutches. “Um, no. It’s my calf.”

“Your calf?” Emily lifted a brow.

“Yes. There’s a terrible knot in it.” Could she have come up with a more ridiculous lie? There was no way her mother was buying this.

“I see,” Emily said quietly...so quietly that Chloe had the distinct impression that her mother really did understand what was happening, but was so unable to face the truth of the situation that she couldn’t even say it out loud.

But if Emily sensed Chloe was being less than truthful, she didn’t admit it.

“That’s a shame, sweetheart. But whatever circumstances brought you back, I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled. “Really glad.”

Chloe took a deep breath. “Me, too. I was actually hoping you could put me to work.”

“Here at the studio?” Allegra said.

“Yes. I’d love to help run things around here with the two of you. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“But your calf...” Allegra’s gaze drifted downward.

“She’s right,” Emily chimed in. “Your calf could get in the way of doing any teaching. Plus, I’m afraid we can’t really afford it.”

The school was having money troubles? No wonder things looked a little worse for wear. “I didn’t realize...”

Of course she didn’t. Maybe if she’d bothered to show up every now and then, she’d know what was going on.

“I think I might have an idea, but it would only be part-time,” Emily said.

“That’s okay.” She needed a few hours a week off for flyer duty, anyway. “I’ll do anything.”

“We’re doing Baby Nutcracker this year, and you’d be a perfect director.”

“Baby Nutcracker?” Chloe had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t ask. Whatever it was must have been added to the school’s annual repertoire, and she didn’t want to draw yet more attention to her prolonged absence. “That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

Emily and Allegra exchanged a glance.

“Are you sure? It might be part-time, but it’s not an easy job,” Allegra said.

“And you’d need to be around until Christmas Eve.” Emily raised her brows, waiting for an answer.

Perfect. “I’m sure.”

“Great. You can start right now.” Emily brushed past her and held the door open for the crowd of parents with small children who’d appeared out of nowhere and were lined up on the sidewalk outside.

Wait. What?

“Now?” Chloe gulped.

“Now.” Emily nodded.

Allegra leaned closer. “I’ll help. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

Thank God for sisters-in-law. “I’m clueless.”

“Baby Nutcracker is a Christmas recital for the preballet students, aged three to five.” She pushed open the door to the main classroom and waved Chloe inside. “It’s an abbreviated version of the traditional Nutcracker ballet—same music, same characters, just a bit shorter.”

Preschoolers dressed as mice, nutcrackers and a sugarplum fairy? Yes, please. Who would turn down this job? “That sounds adorable.”

Allegra crossed her arms. She seemed to be biting back a smirk. “When was the last time you taught preballet?”

Was this a trick question? “Never. I might have helped out back when I was a teenager, but that’s the extent of my teaching experience.”

Chloe slipped out of her coat. Luckily, she’d worn a black wraparound sweater and yoga pants—clothes she could move in.

“You can borrow these.” Allegra tossed her a pair of ballet shoes. “If you think your calf will be okay.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed and slipped the shoes on. “I’m excited. This should be fun.”

“The little ones are precious, and the production is definitely adorable. But they’re a handful.” She glanced over Chloe’s shoulder. “And they’re here.”

Right. She could do this. She was usually onstage for a minimum of three shows a day for the entire month of December. Putting together a half-hour ballet recital for a few preschoolers would probably be easy by comparison.

You wanted to be involved, and now you are.

She took a deep breath and turned, following Allegra’s gaze toward the picture window that overlooked the lobby. The space was suddenly packed with strollers and tiny bodies dressed in candy-colored ballet clothes. It looked like every mom in the Village had turned up with a toddler in tow.

How could they possibly have money problems? Enrollment seemed to be booming. “Allegra, how bad is the school struggling?”

“Pretty bad.” Allegra sighed. “We had the big dance-athon fund-raiser a while back, so the business is out of the red. But we’re still barely getting by. We’ve got just enough to pay the bills every month. I keep thinking that if we could give the studio a major face-lift, we could attract serious dance students. Maybe we could even hold a summer intensive for one of the dance companies.”

“That’s a great idea.” But it would never happen in the school’s current condition.

Chloe looked around again, and her gaze snagged on all the little things that needed to be fixed—the cracked walls, the scuffed floors, the faded furniture. Even the window overlooking the lobby had a tiny spiderweb of cracks in the corner. She frowned at it, until something beyond the glass caught her attention.

Correction: not something. Someone.

His head towered above the crowd, and his expression was as grim and intense as ever. Chloe had never seen anyone look so woefully out of place at a ballet studio before. It would have been comical if the sight of him hadn’t been such a shock.

“Brace yourself. I’m going to open the door and let the kids inside.” Allegra paused midway across the room. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost. A thief.

A puppy thief.

The man on the other side of the window finally glanced her way. He did a double take, and then his gaze collided with hers.

She forgot how to breathe for a second. All day long she’d kept imagining that she’d seen him, and now here he was in the flesh, as if she’d somehow conjured him.

Anders Kent.

Her would-be fiancé.