Page 26 of The Last Pirouette
“Exactly,” Harper said, a spark of excitement flickering within her. “It’s about finding the harmony in the contrast.”
Liam grinned, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. “That’s… actually really cool. So, what else have you got?” He gestured to the whiteboard. “Lay it on me. I’m a blank slate.”
And just like that, the tension in the room dissipated. The sterile air seemed to crackle with a newfound energy, a shared creative spark. Harper grabbed the chalk again, and began to sketch, to explain, to build a vision. Liam, instead of getting defensive or asserting his own ideas, listened intently, asking questions, challenging her assumptions, and eagerly absorbing every detail.
They spent the next hour huddled around the whiteboard, a chaotic mix of lines, arrows, and scribbled notes taking shape beneath their hands. Liam, surprisingly, had a good eye for spatial relationships, suggesting formations and skating patterns that Harper could then translate into choreographic ideas. Harper, in turn, helped him understand the importance of musicality, of finding the rhythm and pulse within the hockey drills.
The whiteboard was covered in their chaotic diagrams—lines of motion for skaters, notes on lighting, and potential song lists.The studio, once a symbol of her loss, now felt like a blank canvas, a space of possibility. They stood side-by-side, looking at their work, a rare, small, genuine smile exchanged between them. The physical and emotional space had closed, leaving them as partners with a shared vision.
Chapter 17
The sun streamed through the tall windows of the library study room, bathing the oak table in a warm, honeyed light. The air hummed with the quiet energy of accomplishment. Charts filled with chicken scratch hockey plays mingled with Harper's elegant dance diagrams. Notes scribbled on loose-leaf paper overflowed with ideas, compromises, and the occasional inside joke only they would understand. It was a beautiful, organized chaos, a testament to the last few hours.
Harper leaned back in her chair, a genuine smile gracing her lips. It felt good. No, it feltamazingto be creating again, to be so absorbed in a project that she’d almost forgotten the ache in her leg. Liam was mirroring her position, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. The tension that had been strung between them like a barbed wire fence was gone, replaced by the easy camaraderie of two people who’d just built something cool together.
"So," Liam said, the word drawn out with satisfaction. "I think we just might have saved the physical therapy center."
Harper laughed, a light, airy sound that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back. "Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hayes. We still have to execute this thing."
"Execute?" He feigned offense, clutching his chest. "Quinn, I am wounded. I am a master executor. Give me a stage, a spotlight, and a team, and I willexecuteflawlessly."
"Right," Harper said, rolling her eyes but still smiling. "Because hockey is exactly like directing a dance performance."
"Hey, both involve costumes, dramatic lighting, and the occasional questionable artistic choice," he countered, winking. "Besides, I have a secret weapon."
"Oh yeah? And what’s that?"
He tapped his temple. "My unparalleled ability to take direction from the ridiculously talented artistic director."
Harper felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a feeling she quickly tamped down. Compliments from Liam were… complicated. Especially after the whole “project” debacle.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she said, trying to keep her tone light.
"Is it working?" He leaned forward, his grin widening.
"Maybe," she admitted, a playful glint in her eyes. "But you’re still buying the post-victory celebratory snack."
Liam’s face lit up. "Speaking of which… Ice cream?" He asked it casually, but there was a spark of something more in his eyes, an eagerness that went beyond just wanting a sugar fix. "We deserve it. Brains need fuel."
Harper hesitated for only a split second. Theyhadbeen working for hours. And the thought of spending a little more time with Liam, outside of the structured environment of the library… it was tempting.
"Okay," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Ice cream sounds… good."
Liam practically bounced out of his chair. "Yes! Let’s go before I spontaneously combust from pure genius."
They gathered their things, the easy banter filling the space. As they stepped out of the library and into the early evening air,Harper noticed the campus was bathed in a soft, golden light. Students were milling about, laughing and talking, the sounds of their lives a vibrant backdrop to her own. It was a far cry from the isolation she’d felt just a few weeks ago.
The walk to the ice cream parlor was short, but as they strolled along, the transition from the focused intensity of their work session to the casual openness of the campus evening began to shift the dynamic. The conversation drifted away from the showcase, becoming lighter, more personal.
"So," Liam said, kicking a small pebble down the sidewalk. "What flavor are you thinking? Are you a classic vanilla kind of girl, or are you going to get crazy on me and order something with, like, sprinkles?"
"Sprinkles are a food group," Harper declared, feigning indignation. "And I’m thinking… maybe something chocolate. Or maybe coffee. Decisions, decisions."
"Living on the edge," Liam teased.
They approached a crosswalk. As they waited for the light to change, Liam reached out, his hand instinctively going to Harper's elbow to guide her. It was a casual, friendly gesture, but the briefest brush of his fingers against her skin sent a jolt through her. She stumbled slightly, catching herself, and a charged silence fell between them.
Harper quickly averted her eyes, focusing on the changing light. When the signal turned white, she hurried across the street, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on her arm and the sudden quickening of her pulse.
