The peephole darkened, followed by the turning of three locks and finally the door was opened to reveal the most graceful-looking woman Reese had ever seen. Her hair was in a tight bun on top of her head, her mouth in a thin, straight line. She reminded Reese of a mannequin, her features seemingly made of marble.
“I am Marie LaRue. You are…”
She widened her smile, holding her hand out for a shake. “Reese Stratton.”
Marie didn’t spare her gesture a glance. “You can pay up front?”
Taking her hand back awkwardly, Reese nodded.
It was impossible to ignore the fact that her potential new landlady had the unmistakable posture of a dancer. That theory only furthered itself when the woman stepped back and waved Reese inside, her fingers carrying and unfurling slowly in the air like a principal dancer reaching out to caress her love interest’s face.
“I am having breakfast, so give yourself a tour. Your room, if you find it acceptable, is the second door on the left side of the hallway.”
With that, Miss LaRue took herself back out to the balcony overlooking Eleventh Avenue, where an espresso cup and a croissant was balanced on the metal railing. When the croissant made her think of Leo, Reese rubbed at the lump in her throat and went to check out the room.
From the entrance, the apartment looked small. But stepping inside, she could see that is was actually huge. The kitchen and balcony were to the right, a massive living room connecting to a hallway with five doors. Holding her duffel bag to her chest, Reese made a beeline for the room that had been indicated, her mind conjuring up a small but respectable space that made up for its lack of room square footage with a view of the avenue.
That’s not what she got.
“This is a closet,” she whispered to herself, staring at the upright coffin in front of her.
Turning, she counted the doors again. Maybe she’d made a mistake?
Behind her, a door opened and slammed shut, hurtling Reese’s heart up into her mouth. “Jesus,” she breathed, whipping around and throwing herself backward against the hallway wall, coming face to face with another girl, her expression amused. “I didn’t know there was anyone else home.”
“Sorry about that,” the girl said casually, removing one of her AirPods. “You renting the other room? Damn. LaRue works fast. The other tenant only left this morning.”
Reese split a horrified glance between the newcomer and the closet. “Sorry, can this even be referred to as a room?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, right?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I have an extra beanbag chair if you want it.”
Reese blinked.
Chuckling, the girl extended her hand. “I’m Cori. You’re a dancer?”
“Yeah.”
Cori nodded, giving her a perfunctory once-over, popping her headphone back in. “I guess I’ll see you at auditions, then.”
“Wait,” Reese blurted, before she could leave. “Is this…legal?”
Her apparent new roommate laughed. “I don’t know. My room is just as small, if it makes you feel any better. Maybe even smaller.” She hesitated, then turned to face Reese more fully. “LaRue doesn’t volunteer a lot of information, but over the last two months, I’ve cobbled together the gist. She’s a former dancer. Might be on the militant side, but she could probably rent these shoe boxes out for even more.” Cori appeared a little thoughtful. “It’s her way of giving us a shot, even if she probably wouldn’t admit it.”
“Right.” Reese took in a breath and let it out. “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of options. None, to be exact.”
“You’re like, new-new in town, huh?” Cori asked, a hint of a smile tilting the corner of her mouth. “You need help finding open calls, or…”
“No, thanks.” Reese gave her a grateful look. “I’ve got that much covered.”
“What about the free classes?”
Reese did a double-take. “The what?”
“Oh boy.” Cori clapped her hands twice. “Get changed, new girl. Let’s go.”
Chapter 6
Risk-taking simply wasn’t in Leo’s blood.
He didn’t give a new creation a spot in the display case until it had been perfected, taste tested and even after that quality control, he still allowed himself a week to change his mind.
But there was no changing his mind about that kiss.
About that girl.
Reese.
That’s how he found himself in the Theater District on a Tuesday afternoon, fresh from his shift, nursing a cup of cold coffee. Just, what? Hoping to run into her?
As usual, he’d screwed the pooch by clamming up on Saturday night, giving her time to second-guess giving him the time of day. He’d made that mistake several times before, but this time…it really felt like it mattered. Not just seeing her again—and the need was growing more urgent by the moment—but he didn’t want Reese’s opinion of him to be negative. Usually, when women backed off, his chief emotion was gratitude. At least he could say he’d tried and now he could go back to flour, sugar, eggs.
Things he understood.
This morning, he’d burned two cakes and a batch of his butterscotch panna cotta because he’d been trying to find Reese on social media without the use of her last name. That left him one option. Pacing the sidewalk outside of her theater where Daliah’s Folly was in its second run in the wake of critical acclaim. By the time she’d shared that nugget of information with him Saturday night, he’d already been kicking himself for his hesitation to ask her out.
Reese didn’t seem to need his connections, she was killing it on her own.
All right, there was always a chance that even the most successful dancer could benefit from having an in with Bernard Bexley, but Reese’s success took that possibility almost down to nothing. Not to mention, his gut told him she wouldn’t do something like that.
Not like—
A storm of male and female voices derailed his train of thought. There was no other way to describe it. A lot of energized people were speaking excitedly at the same time, a door slamming somewhere in their vicinity. He’d been pacing in front of the Daliah’s Folly theater, but he stopped short now and turned to find a stampede of dancers breezing in his direction, sweat soaking their shirts, jackets hanging loose from their shoulders, bags in hand.
Even as he sidestepped out of their path, he couldn’t help searching their numbers for Reese. Thousands of dancers and actors came and went from this spot every day. How often had he witnessed that singular parade while standing at his father’s side growing up? It was a long shot that he would find Reese among their ranks. Still he looked, time grinding into slow motion when a toss of dirty-blonde hair revealed the face that had remained in his mind’s eye long after he’d managed to fall asleep the last three nights.
“Reese.”
In a scene from his worst nightmares, the entire pack of dancers stopped and wheeled around to face him, eyebrows in the air. Not surprising, since his intention had been to call her name, but instead it had come out sounding like a barking Doberman.
The girl he’d come to this part of town—which he typically avoided—to find, was the last to turn, her face pale in the winter afternoon light, a bright purple coat wrapped around her upper half. “I…Leo. Hi.” She shook her herself. “Hi.”