Page 23 of Pas de Don't
Marcus sat patiently, trying not to think about Heather undressing over and over again, mere metres away from him. She was off-limits, and today was his final day of showing her around. Starting next week, she’d be in rehearsals all afternoon and she wouldn’t have time to see the sights with him. He knew he should feel relieved, but all he really wanted was to get over to the zoo, so he could see the look on her face when she saw a real-life koala.
Eventually, after Heather had tried on seemingly every leotard in the shop, she called to Izzy that she’d found a few she wanted to buy.
Izzy rushed to the door, holding a white tutu skirt.
“Do you need a rehearsal tutu?” she asked loudly.
Say no, Marcus thought,the company has ones you can borrow. Say no.
“Oh.” Heather sounded surprised. “I guess I do. I left mine in New York.” Marcus swallowed a groan.
The door cracked open, and Izzy slipped the wide, stiff skirt through to Heather.
“It’s free if I can take a photo of you in it for our Instagram feed,” Izzy said, hopefully.
“Uh, sure. Thank you, that would be great. Marcus, just one more thing and then we can go, okay?”
“No worries,” he called back, trying to ignore how good his name sounded coming out of her mouth.
He glanced around the shop, noting that the tiny boys’ and men’s section had hardly expanded in the decades since he’d first come here with his parents, his dad clutching the school-issued list of clothes and accessories Marcus would need. Davo had spent the whole afternoon snarking impatiently, and eventually his dad had ordered him to go across the way to the sporting goods shop and wait for them there.
Just then, Marcus’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Speak of the snarky devil.
Davo, 1:30PM: U right to go see mum tomorrow?
Marcus sighed. He’d allowed himself to hope Davo would be too busy this weekend to push on with Operation Sell the House. He should have known better. Once his brother decided to do—or not do—something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way.
Marcus, 1:31PM: Yeah no worries, what time?
Davo, 1:32PM: 4?
Marcus, 1:32PM: Works for me.
“Wow, it fits you perfectly,” Izzy said, clearly awestruck.
Marcus looked up, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. Heather stood in the doorway wearing a forest green leotard with a deep scoop at the front, the mirror behind her revealing a panel of delicate green lace in the back. She’d pulled the practice tutu on, and Izzy was right: it fit her slim waist perfectly. She wasn’t wearing tights, and Marcus stared, realizing that he was seeing her bare legs for the first time. They were taut and muscular, and even as she let Izzy fluff the skirt out, they were turned out in a loosefourth position. He spotted a birthmark just above her left knee, a small patch of darker skin, like she’d spilled milky coffee on the inside of her thigh.
“How does it look?” she asked him.
Marcus gaped, aware she was waiting for his answer but unable to find the appropriate words.Perfect. Better than I let myself imagine. Ruinously beautiful. None of those would do.
“Yeah, good,” he finally managed, hardly knowing what he was saying.
“Okay, this’ll just take a minute,” Heather said, and she followed Izzy to the area reserved for pointe shoe fittings. One wall was fitted with a mirror and barre, the other wall taken up by floor-to-ceiling shelves crowded with glossy shoes. The tutu bounced gently around her hips as she walked.
Marcus watched, still a little dazed, as Heather took the barre with one hand and rose up into sous sus, one strong leg tucked behind the other and the balls of her feet pressing against the floor.
As Izzy directed her, crouching and kneeling to find the perfect angle, Marcus watched Heather move slowly through a series of positions—coup de pied, retiré, and then a slow, high developpé in second. Each of them was technically perfect, the result of decades of practice, but the way Heather’s face lit up with joy as she moved made it look as though she was discovering each position for the first time. For a split second, as she balanced on one leg with the other foot level with her shoulder, she caught his eye, and there went his breath again. Then she lifted her hand off the barre and brought both arms to high fifth, beaming at him as she did. In that moment, there was nothing in the world but Heather Hays’s radiant smile. No pounding techno music, no chatty, enthusiastic photographer. Just Heather, with her graceful arms, strong, steady legs, and the smile that stole all the air from his lungs.
“Perfect, that’s the one!” Izzy exclaimed, and Heather brought her hand back to the barre and came down from relevé as fluidly as she’d gone up. Marcus gave his head a little shake, remindinghimself again that Heather—and her smile, and her milky-coffee birthmark—were totally off-limits to him.
She hurried back to the dressing room, and Izzy followed behind, taking the leotards Heather had chosen to the register to ring them up. Marcus sat back and dug his hand into his pocket to check the time again. At this rate, they’d never make it to the zoo.
“Darn it,” Heather muttered through the dressing room door.
“You right?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said quickly, her voice faint and muffled. “I’m just...dammit! I’m just stuck in this thing.”
