Don't Tell (Don't 1)

“You’re killing me, here. Your face is blank.” He slid the aviator shades from his face. “What happened?

How did it go?” He held my shoulders. “Natalia, say something.”

I wasn’t sure who was more nervous going into the audition today, Sam or me.

He had driven to Austin with me and we stayed in the same hotel where we had our first night together. He thought it might help with the jitters, and he was right.

I looked up at him. His head blocked out most of the sun.

“Well? Did they tell you? Are you in?” His voice was urgent.

I bit my bottom lip before I cracked a smile. “Yes.” I jumped into his arms. “They loved the dance. I’m officially a professional ballerina again.”

He held me close to his chest. “You had me freaking out, out here. You know that?”

I giggled. I didn’t want him to put me down. “I love that you’re so nervous.”

“I didn’t love it.” His brow pinched together in annoyance. “But I love that you made it. I’m so proud of you.”

His lips were tender at first, but soon were kissing me hungrily. I sighed. “Not in the theater parking lot,” I warned.

He laughed. “God, please don’t tell me the ballet has rules about you dating a Wrangler.”

“It’s not so much that, but as the prima ballerina I need to keep a certain image.”

“Holy shit! Natalia!” He spun me around. “Why didn’t you say that part first?”

I shrugged. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

He carried me to the passenger side of the car. “In you go.” He dropped me in the seat and closed the door.

I waited for him to slide in behind the wheel. He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. We have to celebrate. Here, or do you want to head home?”

I was too giddy to latch on to either idea.

“You decide.”

He pulled out of the parking lot. “I think I know the perfect spot.”

He started driving west and I guessed we were headed back to our apartment. Since moving in together five months ago, Sam and I had been through our share of challenges.

There’s nothing easy about moving in with someone, no matter how much you love them. We both discovered that the hard way. I was used to quiet, while Sam seemed to revel in the noise of football games and rock music.

He wasn’t wrong about being an amazing cook, but he never mentioned that he didn’t clean the kitchen after he prepared a delicious meal. I don’t think I ever told him about my extensive fingernail polish collection that took up two drawers in the bathroom.

But we figured it out. We learned how to move around each other, and to move together when it was right. I loved what we had. I loved the studio he built for me. I loved sharing a home with him, a bed, a life.

I looked up from my phone. “Wait, a minute. Is this?” I recognized the turn off road he had taken.

“What do you think it is?”

I chewed my bottom lip. “What if they don’t have a cabin? What if it’s booked?”

He looked at me over his sunglasses. “Darlin’, it’s March. I don’t think anyone is tubing down the Guadalupe right now. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.”

The gravel crunched under the tires as he parked under the same scrubby oak tree. I looked over at Cottage 11.

“Wait? Did you already plan something?” I was suspicious. He had driven past the reservation office.