Page 54 of Just Like Home

“Kind of like the place inDirty Dancing.”

Now he glanced at her, his brow quirked.

“Have you seen it?”

He looked away and appeared to be chewing on the inside of his cheek.

She smiled. “You have, I can tell. There’s no shame in loving a good Patrick Swayze movie. About dance, no less.”

“I didn’t choose that movie,” Cole said. “It was forced on me.” He parked the truck across from what must’ve been the theatre building.

She didn’t say anything else about the movie or Patrick Swayze, though she did wonder who’d forced him to watch.

“We’ll go in there,” he said. “The stage door entrance.”

Charlotte’s gaze lingered over the nondescript black doors at the back of the building. If she stared long enough, they could become the doors of her theatre in Chicago—though nothing about her surroundings was similar. She smiled—how many times had she exited the theatre into the alley to find fans waiting there for her? An unexpected sadness raced through her, but she quickly pushed it away.

The door opened and Rachel appeared. She motioned for them to come in. “Dad’s taking a nap,” she said as they reached the door. “So, the coast is clear.”

Cole took the door from Rachel and motioned for Charlotte to go in ahead of him. She had to give him one thing—he was a gentleman. For a brief moment, she saw a flash of him in a tuxedo at a ballet fundraiser. He’d certainly look the part.

But he’d be bored silly.

What a ridiculous thought. Her imagination was really working overtime today.

She walked into the space and found herself standing in the stage right wing. In front of her stretched a stage, not all that different than the one where she’d spent years performing as a principal in one of the country’s most prestigious ballets.

For being in the middle of nowhere, the space was really beautiful.

“This is it,” Rachel said. “Our little theatre.”

Charlotte drew in a deep breath. Behind them was the scene shop, where sets were built, and even though this place seemed nearly abandoned, she could smell the sawdust and practically taste the memories that had been made right there on that stage.

Names had been painted all over the backstage brick wall, commemorating the actors, the shows, the roles that had come to life right there where they stood.

“Here, I’ll get the lights,” Cole said. He took off in the direction of what she assumed was the sound booth, typically situated at the back of the theatre. A minute or two later, the stage lights were on and the house went dark. Rachel’s phone rang, and she went out into the alley to answer the call, leaving Charlotte alone.

“I think there’s a pretty decent sound system,” Cole called out from the back of the theatre.

She stepped out onto the stage and into the light, looking out across the darkness that fell over the seats. Even Cole was hidden in the shadows, and for a moment, it was as if she was all alone up there.

A familiar song began, filtering through the speakers overhead. It was a piece from a movie soundtrack, and it stirred something inside her right away. She felt her toes curl inside her shoes, as if her body were made to do this thing she desperately did not want to do anymore.

Was it possible to still love to dance but to not want the life dancing had forced her to have?

The volume increased as Cole tested the speakers, and Charlotte’s brain spun with ideas—choreographing a dance in her mind, as if her body was made to move. She was shocked (and a little sad) to realize a part of her missed dancing. How could she not? It was all she’d ever known, all she strived for.

Had she been too hasty in walking away? Why were there no guarantees that she’d made the right decision?

She turned gently, away from the back of the auditorium, trying a move, feet playing out the steps she saw in her mind. She reminded herself Cole was watching—he could see her internal struggle as it surfaced right there on the stage in front of him, but after several seconds of holding it in, the music swelled and Charlotte’s shoulders snapped back into position, her arms delicate but strong, outstretched on either side of her.

And it was just her and the music.

She let her body flow with the familiar orchestral piece, the sound of the strings filling her, leading her on a path across the stage. Her muscles tightened as she turned—not full out, but not cautious.

She closed her eyes, marking the steps as they raced through her mind, reminding her how it felt to be sure of herself, to have the confidence that she was excellent, that she was made for this exact thing.

Why would she ever think she could be anything else?

---