Well…

Good.

The rest of the ride wasn’t long, but it thankfully also was no longer uncomfortable.

A lady in a pink dance leotard with a short filmy skirt who was hanging out at the front desk told us how to get to the space Hattie had rented, and she did this with this her eyes glued to Axl.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw some drool forming at the side of her mouth.

Not a surprise.

Axl and I headed that way, Axl in the lead, the garment bag with my fur coat in it slung over his shoulder, me following holding my cowboy hat in one hand, the box with my gold sandals in it clutched to my chest.

But I nearly bumped into him when he stopped abruptly.

I was about to say something when I looked up at him and saw his head was turned to the right.

And he was statue-still.

Weird.

I looked to the right.

There was a little rectangular window there.

And in the studio beyond was Hattie.

Dancing.

I stood, staring, mesmerized.

I’d never seen her dance.

I’d seen her strip, yeah.

But dancing?

Oh…my…

God.

She was wearing some gray capri leggings with a design of laser cuts down the sides and a light pink crewneck tank with gathering along her ribs, her feet bare, her long, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail.

And she was leaping.

Again.

Again.

Again.

She’d land soft and bound up like she was on a trampoline, back leg straight, front leg bent before her, arms held to her sides.

Flying like an angel.

I was watching and holding my breath.

She was magnificent.

She did some pirouettes, then suddenly fell in the most graceful splash to the floor, on her side, bottom arm stretched out in front of her, before she found her feet in a miracle of motion and pirouetted again.

Thus commenced some moves where she used the room to its fullness with skill and poise and talent and imagination.

Her leaps were works of art.

The line of her arms should be captured by a sculptor.

My God, seriously.

I knew she’d trained, but I had no idea.

No freaking idea.

On this thought, in the midst of a sequence of moves, abruptly she stopped.

She went back.

She did them again.

But stopped.

Went back.

Did them again.

What on…?

She stopped, went back, did them again, but when she stopped that time, I tensed when I saw the way she tensed, every muscle in her body standing out in sharp relief.

This happened before she did a half squat, balled her fists and slammed them on the tops of her thighs in a way that had to cause pain.

“What on…?” I said out loud this time.

She did it again.

And again.

Shit.

This couldn’t go on.

When I was about to move, I felt Axl do it.

Straight to the door, he knocked hard twice, then walked right in.

“Yo,” he said like it was a casual greeting.

But Hattie whirled on us.

“Ha—”

That was all I got out before I was arrested by the look on her face.

She was staring at Axl and she knew.

She knew he saw her dancing, maybe.

But she knew he saw her hurting herself.

Definitely.

This was bad.

This was lockdown-and-never-open-up-again bad.

“Hattie,” I said carefully, making a move toward her.

She jerked away, walking swiftly, muttering, “Sorry. I’ve gotta go.”

“Hattie,” I repeated, walking swiftly too, toward her.

She’d grabbed up her shoes and workout bag by the time I got to her, and she skirted me, not surprisingly doing this gracefully.

I dumped my hat and shoes on a chair.

“Hattie, honey, hang on,” I urged.

“You can use the space,” she said, rushing toward the door and doing it wide to give Axl, who was standing only a few feet into it, plenty of room. “Sorry, I just…” She didn’t bother finishing that.

She got close to the door and Axl moved like lightning.

He caught her hand.

She jerked to a stop and her head snapped back to look up at him.

“Hattie.”

Oh…

Man.

I was melting.

Serious puddle-of-goo time.

His deep voice wrapped around her name in that achingly gentle way?

Amazing.

Hattie didn’t think it was amazing.

Violently, she pulled free of his grip, whispered in a very different aching way, “Sorry,” and then she dashed out of the room.

Axl turned to the door as she did, but he didn’t go after her.

I stood where I was.

Eventually, I called, “Axl.”

“I’m on it,” he said to the door.

“Axl,” I said his name softer this time.

He turned to me.

And I full-on took a step back at the look on his face.

“I’m on it,” he growled.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“You know what that was?” he clipped out, each word so short, it was a wonder he pronounced all the letters.

“Well, I think her dad was kinda hard on her considering the fact she’s not the principal of the New York City Ballet and he found anything less seriously unacceptable. And by ‘kinda hard,’ his disappointment could be communicated in physical ways. So, until what we saw just now, I didn’t know she still danced, outside of stripping.”

I fought taking another step back at the heightened look of displeasure my words put on his face.

“What on earth is happening with Hattie?” Pepper asked, strolling in with her daughter, Juno, who saw me, her face lit up, I forced mine to do the same as I put my arms out wide to invite her to come to me, something she did, running right to me to give me a hug. “She nearly bowled us over when we were on our way in here,” Pepper finished.

“Hey, sugar,” I said to Juno.

“Hey, Rinz,” she said back, still holding on to my hips.

I gave her a squeeze. She gave me one too then stepped to my side and I looked to her mom.

Pepper was staring at Axl contemplatively because Axl had only minorly adjusted his terrifyingly wrathful expression in the presence of a child.

“I’ll be outside,” he grunted, then he went right to some hooks by the door, hung my coat on one, then out the door he went, closing it behind him.

Pepper approached me, asking, “Did Hattie and him have a thing?”

I glanced down at Juno, then said to her, “I’ll share later.”

“Oh, I know you get Boone like Evie got Mag and Lottie got Mo and Hattie is gonna get Axl,” Juno told me.

What she did not add was that Pepper was going to get Auggie.

“Did they fight?” Juno asked.

“No, honey, he saw her dance,” I told her.

“He saw her dance?” Pepper asked quietly.

So I was right.

Pepper didn’t know she still danced either.

And maybe she didn’t until she had a big studio space open to her.

I looked to my friend. “Yes. And I couldn’t tell what she was doing wrong, but we also saw her mess up.”

Pepper pressed her lips together.

In other words, she got me.

So, the rundown was, my dad was an absent dick. Evie’s dad was a neglectful dick. Pepper’s dad was a judgmental dick.