Page 8 of Secrets in Love
Such a simple act set off a reaction my body had rarely experienced, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. It must have been an attraction as my heart raced, my hand shook, and I could feel and hear my breath falter. “Hmm, hmm. Yes, well, I’ll take your word for it. But only because you gave me chocolate, and you smell nice.”
He leaned in again. “You think I smell nice, do you? I must remember to spill hot chocolate on my shirt more often.”
He was so close. So flirty. So sexy. And I had no idea what to do—other than my go-to snippiness. I suppressed my glee, rolled my eyes, and surprised both of us by looping my arm inside his and dragging him down the street. “Make yourself useful and open these, will you?” I said, shoving the cookies into his hand.
Attempting to teach ballet to toddlers was a little like herding feral cats. It could be done, but it took skill, patience, Advil, and a big, soppy heart.
When it came to kids, I possessed these qualities in spades. Adults? Not so much.
This was why I loved the no-parents-in-studio rule we had in place. I got to have all the fun with the kids without hearing little Tammy’s mom’s query if I was teaching first position correctly or explaining to Jeffrey’s dad, Bryce, why we were singing songs in ballet class. And yes, Bryce, we sang songs. Pre-K dance was about laying the framework for future learning, basic skills, coordination, and flexibility. Singing a fun song and learning some movements and positions that go with it taught timing, how to listen for and hold a beat, how to take turns, and it helped improve memory. So, while it may have looked like a series of games or a bunch of kids skipping and jumping, everything was done for a reason.
Except maybe the tantrums. Oh, and the pee-pee accidents, of which there are many.
“Okay, kids. Does anyone need to use the bathroom before we start?”
“No, Miss Evie.”
“Excellent. Let’s begin, then. Should we sing our welcome song?”
“Yes, Miss Evie.”God, I love that.The welcome song was a favorite. I’d introduced it, and within the three classes I’d taught, the kids had memorized it and seemed to love it.
“Gracie let’s start with you. Let’s sing, everyone. 1, 2, 3… Good morning, good morning. How are you today? We’re—”
“Jumping!” yelled Gracie. The kids started jumping as we finished the song. “We’re jumping with Gracie, having a lovely day.” Everyone clapped, and then it was on to the next child, Phillip, who had selected the same action each time and did it again. “Farting!” he screamed, laughing hysterically. All the kids then lost it and began singing and sticking out their bums and making farting noises with their mouths—at least, I hoped it was with their mouths. We were all singing, dancing, hopping, and flopping when I heard a door open and close behind me and felt a heated gaze. I was just about to ask the parent to leave when I looked up from the little faces and saw HotBoss’s perfection reflected back in the mirror.
“Good morning, everybody.”
“Good morning, Mr. Alarie.”
“I was just walking by and heard an awful lot of giggling… lots of farty sounds too. Was that all coming from you kids or Miss Evie?” Mass hysteria broke out. “MISS, EVIE!” they all screamed. Kids were dropping like flies, bodies were rolling in hysterics, and farts were flying left, right, and center. It was brilliant, and I knew I had zero to no chance of accomplishing anything useful for the rest of the class.
“Okay, boys and girls. Since we are lucky enough to have Mr. Christian here today, why don’t we ask him if he will do a dance for us?”
A massive, “Yayyyyyyy!” echoed through the room, and the kids quickly all sat on the floor before Christian could say no. “Well, okay, then. But only if Katie will come and dance with me.” Katie squealed with delight, as did her mom in the waiting area. Katie was a gorgeous five-year-old, a bit of a star, and a child with Down Syndrome. Many kids with Down Syndrome had issues with lax muscles and walked with their feet wide apart, their knees stiff, and their feet turned out. Dance was excellent for this as it increased muscle tone and flexibility, and it was great for the other kids in the class to experience learning alongside a kid with a disability. Benefits all around.
Christian leaned down and took Katie’s hand, and after a quick wave to her mom, Katie was whisked off her feet and into the arms of one of New York’s most incredible dancers.
Every woman, and possibly a few of the men, was jealous of that kid as she was twirled and whirled, pranced, and danced across the floor. Squealing with glee the whole time, Katie smiled and waved her hands in a fashion remarkably similar to Elsa inFrozen. It gave me a brilliant idea. Several, actually. Most involved Christian’s body lifting and throwing mine around in a similar, yet naked, fashion, but at least one was related to the class.
For the grand finale, Katie was gently placed on her feet before Christian got down on his knees and whispered into her ear. She took his hand and spun beneath his arm with a cute giggle. It was adorable. The duo then took a bow to a standing ovation. I had never seen a kid look so thrilled in all my life.
Despite the thoughts of Nate still swirling in my head, I reminded myself where he was, where I was, and who was before me. Softly, I padded my way over to the then-standing Christian, stood on the tippiest of my toes, and did a little of my own whispering. “If the offer still stands, I would love to go out sometime.”
Nate
Iloved farming. I really did. ButI hatedshearing. It paid the bills and kept the farm afloat in the years we had poor crops, but it still sucked. I wasn’t even on the clippers this year, and I still hated it. It was hot, sweaty, smelly, itchy, and exhausting.
Our farm was a whopper, as in large. We had thousands of heads of sheep and were lucky enough to have a team of gun shearers that came in every year. A gun shearer could tally over two hundred sheep in an eight-hour day. They were incredible, paid well, and could cut our shearing period by days. That was why I was not shearing this year. These guys—and girls this year—could do it much better than I could.
I looked after the wool once it was off the sheep. In layman’s terms, I made sure it was thrown onto what we called a wool table, cleaned up to get the quality fleece separated from all the crappy short bits, rolled out and classed into different qualities. It was then placed into the appropriate wool bin press and stored until transported.
Today was a big day, and by the time I’d dragged my sorry ass into my little cabin, showered, and choked down the shepherd’s pie Mum left in the fridge for me, I was done. Bed was calling, and I was ready and willing to answer. I switched onSexandtheCity—something I had started watching when Evie first left for NYC—and pictured my Lil Gidge walking the same streets that Carrie did in her stilettos and her thongs, and poorly painted toenails, and fell asleep.
At one a.m., a series of notifications woke me.
Evie: Nate, I had the best class today. It was brilliant.
Evie: Christian, the senior instructor, came into my class and danced with one of the little girls. It was so friggin’ cute. He is so amazing. So talented. So hot. Shit! I just realized it’s 1am there! I’m becoming a real New Yorker. I totally forgot the time difference. Sorry, Natey. Message me when you wake up. xo
