Page 119 of After All This Time

"That's the problem." She sighs, and her words mirror all the relationship fears I've been trying to ignore.

"We're best friends," she continues, her voice so quiet I have to lean in to hear her. "And I'd rather keep him in my life that waythan lose him completely. We're young—what are the chances we'd actually end up together forever if we tried dating now?"

"It's cute that you're alreadythinking about forever." She grins, a blush creeping up her neck as she pulls on her sweatshirt.

"Hewould make the most amazing husband, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah," I admit, changing into my own comfortable clothes. "He's basically perfect. But don't wait too long, Harper. Someone else might see what you see."

She freezes, one hand clutching her bag. "You really think I should tell him?"

"Why not?" I shrug. "You're confident and beautiful, and that guy is so into you."

Her face scrunches up. "You know I can't actually tell him, right? I'd rather do fouettés until I black out." She shakes her head, voice dropping. "If it was meant to happen, wouldn't it have already?"

"Unless he's as terrified of screwing things up as you are," I point out, meeting her gaze. "I bethe's just as scared of losing his best friend."

"Maybe one day one of us will be drunk enough to just throw it out there."

"It's not a bad idea. At least you can blame the tequila if it all goes to hell."

We push through the heavy studio doors into the cooling evening air. "You should go down to the bar tonight. Logan's working."

"I would, but I've got a family thing with my sister and her husband. Once a month, I have to go round for dinner so she can interrogate me about my life."

"Overbearing?"

"She thinks being married with a house in the suburbsmeansshe can judgehow everyone else lives."

"My mom's the same."

"At least she isn't in Chicago. Imagine havingherbreathing down your neck all the time."

"Yeah, no thanks." I laugh, the sound echoing in the nearly empty parking lot.

We say our goodbyes, and I watch Harper's silver Civic disappear around the corner before sliding into my car.

Back at the apartment, I take a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the day's sweat and tension. After throwing on fresh clothes—black leggings and an oversizedT-shirt that slips off one shoulder—I head to my little studio.

Fully stretched from a long day of dancing, I take a deep breath and let the music fill theroom. In my head, I can see the routine playing out perfectly—every beat, every moment designed to make the audience forget to breathe.

I step to the center of the room, toes pointed, spine long, and start to move. My body knows the steps before my mind catches up, and it comes together seamlessly like the choreography has been waiting for me all along. I can feel the story taking shape with every leap, every turn, every aching extension.

I know most dancers will play it safe, sticking toRomeo and Juliet. But that's not me. Not when I need to stand out in a crowd of insane talent.

That's why I pickedGiselle.

It's a risk, but if I'm going to make it, I can't play it safe. The tragic, ghostly tale of betrayal and forgiveness resonates in a way that feels right. It's haunting. It's heartbreaking. And it's exactly what I want to channel in this audition.

I launch into an arabesque, arms sweeping like whispers of the wind, the music building to a crescendo. My body drives through the haunting notes, every muscle pushing past exhaustion as I embody the sorrow, the longing, and the sacrifice of the character. My chest tightens as I hit the peak, my pointe shoesbarely touching down as I spin like I'm possessed, catching glimpses of myself in the mirror—sweat-slicked and wild-eyed with determination.

The final note hits, and I collapse in a graceful wreck, lungs burning while my heart tries to break free of my ribs. For a second, everything freezes, and I let it all sink in. If I can feel this much dancing alone in my apartment, I can't imagine what it'll be like under those lights.

I stop for a moment, attempting to catch my breath, when I notice Tobias leaning casually against the doorframe. Time slipped away, and I was too lost in the dance to hear him come home. His eyes track every inch of me, perusing in ways that make my already racing heart skip.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you dance, Firefly?"

I shake my head, my throat too tight to answer, as he steps forward and drops onto the black stool in the corner of the room, the one I should probably be using, given how my legs are shaking. But the heat in his stare has me pinned in place like a butterfly under glass.

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