The Sweetest Fix
Nothing Leo ever said seemed to be anywhere near as important.
It wasn’t that he wanted attention. Jesus, no. But his youth had been spent listening to a master weave magic to get the emotional response he wanted from dancers. Giving interviews in the living room to the New York Times. Bernard would hold anyone within earshot in his thrall. Eventually Leo was relieved that no one spared him much more than a glance.
It was easier to say nothing than say something less than brilliant.
When the customer looked over at Leo, seeming hesitant to call out, he headed toward where she stood, opening the display case she indicated.
“A half dozen of the mini snowballs, please.”
“Good.”
He packaged them up in a box and sent the woman on her way without exchanging another word, relieved when Jackie blew in as the customer was walking out the door. “Well hello, Miss Mary. Did you get yourself something yummy?”
The lady nearly fainted with relief to have the silence broken. “Yes! I picked up some snowballs to share with my grandson when he gets home from school.”
“Fantastic. You’ll be a hero!”
Mary beamed. “Have a good day, hon.”
Leo stared as the woman left and Jackie bustled in behind the counter. He’d kind of gotten comfortable being antisocial. After all, he’d never been anything but. Was it time to start making more of an effort to fix that, though? This was his business. People probably shouldn’t dread running into him when they walked through the door. Based on how often Tad’s mother fell off the couch, this wouldn’t be the last time he worked the register.
The memory of Reese standing on the other side of his display case came to mind. What if he’d scared her off that night? Sent her running with a dark look and never found out how…easy it could be to talk to her?
An unexpected prickle of alarm crawled beneath his skin.
Yeah. Maybe it was time to adapt a little.
“Where’s Tad?” Jackie asked, approaching while tying on her apron.
“Putting his mom back on the couch again.”
She stopped short. “Hold up. Are you wearing cologne?”
He shook his head. “Already went through this once. Not doing it again.”
All right. So he’d start adapting tomorrow.
Deep in thought, Leo pushed through the swinging door, his gaze immediately straying to the clock. Eight twenty-one.
Chapter 9
Reese’s sides heaved, perspiration sliding down her spine beneath her lucky red bodysuit. The blisters in her LaDucas were sprouting blisters. And the woman leading them through the choreography for the audition sure as shit wasn’t doling out recovery time. It was put up or shut up. Reese had made it past the first round of cuts, but there were three more to go. Her legs were as limp as the noodles she’d eaten for dinner last night and her lungs were laboring to keep up with the exertion.
Boom.
On came the song again.
“Positions!”
Some fuzziness encroached on the edges of her vision. She shook it off and found her mark, the count coming over the loudspeaker. Waiting for the sequence to start, she couldn’t help but observe the competition. The imposter syndrome was real. These girls barely looked winded, so chic in their wrap skirts and crop tops. Their arms were cut, calves toned, lines immaculate. Not a hair out of place.
She looked like she’d just come out of hibernation.
And the log she’d been sleeping in had rolled down a hill.
How did I even make it past the first round?
Not for the first time today, she longed for someone to talk to. Someone to give her advice, a mentor to point her in the right direction and help her feel a little less lost in the shuffle. Did such a thing exist or was it truly every woman for themself?
The intro faded and Reese poised her body to execute the steps she’d learned only five minutes earlier, right knee out front, bent, hands extended up. She was auditioning for the chorus of a long-running musical about rival gangs. Getting a part would more or less put her in the background, but what a lot of people failed to realize was the background needed to be completely flawless. It was a swath of fabric and one tear would throw off the balance of an entire number. She chose to think of being in the chorus as creating a foundation for the show to thrive. To build upon.
God, she wanted it so bad.
You’ll do it. You’ll get there.
The beat picked up. Reese kept her default earnest expression on her face, knowing now was the time to let her body do the talking. She rolled her hips, careful to keep any modern energy out of her steps, as the musical was set in the nineteen fifties. Hands up. Pause. Clap clap. Leap. Three, four. Bompbompbomp.
She shouldn’t have looked at the table where a panel of casting directors and choreographers sat with a stack of headshots in front of them. If she hadn’t looked, she never would have seen them passing her headshot down the line, making notes on the back in Sharpie. What were they thinking? Were they discussing her talent or lack thereof?