The Sweetest Fix

That split second of distraction cost her. The toe of her LaDuca caught the floor in the middle of a turn and she stumbled, watching her headshot float down to the table an instant later, forgotten. They didn’t even let her finish. None of the other dancers broke pace or paid her the slightest attention. The woman reciting the counts waved Reese toward the side exit—and she went, red-faced and panting, managing to scoop up her bag and coat on the way out.

“Dammit,” she heaved as soon as she hit the street, the cold air turning her sweat icy on contact. Shivering from the cold as much as the humiliation, she shrugged on her jacket, leaning back against the building to swap her heels for flats. When that task was done, she mashed the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to dull the fresh slap of failure.

She didn’t belong there. Get thee to Penn Station and get on a bus, Gus. This city is not your friend. More importantly, it didn’t need her. She was trying to shoehorn her way into a seamless process that operated without a hitch. What was she thinking? Spending a sickening amount of money on a closet, embarrassing herself in front of veritable theater gods, missing the audition with Bexley in the first place. She was the mayor of Fuck Up Town. Population one.

All right, a public pity party wasn’t helping matters, but damn did it feel good. Her nose burned from unshed tears, her feet throbbed, heart twisting painfully as she took one last look at the theater door and limped her way toward the West Side.

When her phone started ringing, she almost didn’t answer. Unless it was one of the casting directors calling her back to resume the audition, she wasn’t interested. Swiping a wrist across her damp eyes, she tugged the phone out of her coat pocket, skidding to a halt when she saw Leo’s name on the screen, complete with heart emojis on either side of those three simple letters.

But there would be nothing simple about cancelling their lunch date.

No way she could go feeling so trampled on.

Like she’d blown it—again.

It was more than just failure weighing her down, it was fear of time running out and her having nothing to show for her very expensive last-ditch efforts. Nothing to show for her mother’s encouragement and dedication. This was not a date mood. This was a silent sobbing in the shower with vodka mood. And dammit, she couldn’t deal with her guilt over Leo on top of today’s screw up.

With a blown-out breath, she answered the phone. “Hey Leo.”

An oven closed on the other end of the line and Reese could almost smell the chocolate cinnamon heaven of the Cookie Jar. “That doesn’t sound good.”

She wasn’t expecting his voice to comfort her so much, but it did. So much that she veered out of the dense sidewalk traffic to plop down on a bench. “I’ve had a pretty rough morning.” Her voice caught, making her wince. “Do you mind if we do lunch tomorrow instead?”

Only the slightest pause. “Sure.” The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. More like they were both giving themselves a few seconds to be disappointed. And Reese found herself squinting in the direction of the bakery, even though it wasn’t within seeing distance. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked, finally.

The fact that she couldn’t made her throat ache. “Just your average, run-of-the-mill dance stuff. My brain wasn’t connecting with my feet today.”

“I’m sorry.” A beat passed. “You probably already know this, but off days happen all the time. For dancers, I mean. Even my father had them.”

She swallowed hard. “Really?”

“Not that he would admit to it, but yeah. Of course.” She pressed the phone closer to her ear, settling into his voice. “You have a hard job. If everyone was perfect on the first try, there wouldn’t be rehearsals. Tomorrow will be better.”

Gratitude welled in her chest. “Thanks, Leo.”

His grunt made her smile. “If it makes you feel any better, my brain wasn’t connecting with my mouth today.”

Her smile dimmed slightly. “You seem to be back on track now.”

“Don’t I?” He muttered something under his breath and more bakery sounds ensued, soothing in her ear. “You already know I don’t specialize in customer service, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She noticed a sketchy splotch of liquid on the bench and scooted a little farther away. “I was a customer and now you have my number.”

“You’re…that’s different.”

Warmth spread in her belly, the splotch no longer a concern. She suddenly regretted rain checking their lunch date. Three minutes on the phone with this man and she already felt remarkably better than when she’d fled the theater in shame. “Hey, I was thinking…maybe we should have lunch today.”