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“No. Just me, the one and only.”
The one and only. Posy took a slow, measured breath. Seriously, God? Is this Your idea of a joke?
What had she possibly done to deserve this? First she’d broken her foot on opening night. Not just any opening night, but the most important opening night of her dance career. She’d been cast as the Winter Fairy in Cinderella, one of the most coveted roles in the entire production. The principal ballerina had been dancing the role of Cinderella, naturally. The leading parts were always danced by the principals, which was why Posy wanted nothing more than to be a principal herself. It was what every dancer in every ballet company wanted. Members of the corps de ballet dreamed of it. Soloists dreamed of it. Every ballerina did.
Every ballerina did, but only the tiniest percentage of ballerinas saw those dreams come to fruition. Only the best of the best. The charmed few. And Posy’s dance career was looking awfully charmed.
Or it had been, anyway.
The principal dancer cast as Cinderella was retiring. It would be her final role, which meant the company would need a new lead ballerina. The obvious choice would be for Gabriel, the director of the company, to promote either of the two soloists. Posy was one of those soloists, which meant she had a fifty-fifty shot. All she had to do was really nail her performance as the Winter Fairy in all twelve performances of Cinderella and she was sure she’d be the one chosen. She’d wanted this for her entire life, since she’d slipped on her first pair of pale pink, buttery-leather ballet slippers. She was ready. It was her turn.
And then right as she’d lifted herself up for her first arabesque exactly as she’d done so many times before in rehearsal, she heard a crack. It was so loud she could hear it above the strains of the orchestra playing Prokofiev’s dramatic score. At first she thought a part of the set must have collapsed. Maybe something had fallen from one of the rafters backstage. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that sort of sound. This sound was unique to the human body, a body that was breaking down. Her body. It was the sound of a bone cracking in two. She knew it even before her ankle gave way and she went tumbling to the floor.
Opening night. Her big chance. And it had ended in the first ten seconds. She should have been dancing her way to a promotion, but instead she was lying in a heap onstage, snowflakes falling softly on her from the rafters. Not real snow, of course. Theatrical snow.
And now she was here. In Alaska, where the snow was real, where bears took naps and where her new boss was her old love. How things had changed over the course of five short days. She could swear she still heard the echo of that horrifying crack in her foot.
“I suppose you’re the appointment I’m expecting?” Liam said flatly. Clearly he wasn’t any more pleased with this surprise turn of events than she was.
She nodded. “Yes. The senior pastor hired me over the phone. I’m the new ballet teacher.”
Ballet teacher. The words tasted like sand in her mouth.
“Temporary ballet teacher,” she added for clarification. She wanted to make sure that was clear from the very beginning. “I’m only in town for six weeks.”
Once her foot healed, she was going back to San Francisco. Gabriel had promised not to make a final decision about who would be promoted to principal until the parts in Firebird had been cast. She still had one last chance. A small one, to be sure, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight.
“No,” Liam said flatly.
“What do you mean no? Lou already hired me. I flew all the way out here from California.” She couldn’t stay there. She just couldn’t. It would have meant watching another ballerina dance her role in Cinderella. It would have meant watching Sasha, the other soloist, get better and better while her foot rotted in a cast.
At least here she’d be doing something worthwhile. Something still related to ballet. She needed this, regardless of the fact that Liam was her boss.
“No.” This time the protest was so loud that it roused Liam’s massive dog from sleep. He flattened his ears and cocked his giant head. “I never said I needed a ballet teacher. I said I needed help with the girls’ after-school program.”
Maybe Liam didn’t work at the pond anymore, but it was clear that some things around here hadn’t changed in the slightest. He was about as far from being a ballet enthusiast as Alaska was from San Francisco.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m here.” She waited for him to say something. He didn’t. He just stared blankly at her. “You mean Lou didn’t tell you?”
Liam jammed his hands on his hips. “Tell me what, exactly?”
Good grief. Lou hadn’t told him anything? Was she really the one who had to break it to him? Somehow she had the feeling the news would have been better coming from someone else. Anyone else.
Super. Just super.
She pasted on a smile. “The new girls’ after-school program is ballet.”
* * *
Liam stared at his reflection, warped and tiny, looking back at him in the shiny gold nameplate on Lou McNeil’s desk. It was a perfect representation of how he felt at the moment—warped and tiny. As if he were living in some sort of alternate universe.
Posy was back. And according to her, she worked for him now. Teaching ballet. And how was it that she was calling the senior pastor by his first name? Lou. The single syllable had rolled off her tongue as if they were old friends. Liam had worked for the man day in, day out for four years, and he still called him Pastor McNeil.
He was even faintly nervous sitting here in the pastor’s office. He told himself he felt like a teenager appearing before the principal only because Posy was sitting beside him. They’d been inseparable back in their school days. For a while, anyway.
He wondered if he should have left Sundog back in the fellowship hall to continue foraging through the garbage. Presently, he was sprawled on the floor with his head resting on Liam’s foot. Liam had never thought twice about bringing the dog to work. Half the reason he’d adopted the beast was to give the kids a dog to play with. Funny how none of them had mistaken him for a bear.
“Lou.” There it was again. Lou. Seated in the chair beside him, Posy aimed a smile across the desk toward Pastor McNeil. “It seems there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”
The understatement of the century.
Liam leaned forward in his chair. “Posy says she’s here to teach ballet.”
“Posy?” Pastor McNeil’s face went blank for a moment. “Oh, you mean Miss Sutton. Josephine.”
“Josephine?” Liam blinked. Had he gone mad and forgotten everyone’s name all of a sudden? Pastor McNeil was now Lou, and Posy had morphed into someone named Josephine?
“That’s me.” Posy smiled innocently, as if up and changing one’s name was an everyday occurrence.
Liam stared at her. “Since when?”
“Since I left Alaska. I guess you could say it’s my stage name, and it just sort of stuck.” She shrugged, but the implied nonchalance of the gesture was belied by a barely discernible tremor in her hands, knotted in her lap. Nerves. She’d always been good at hiding them.
And Liam had always been good at seeing the parts of her that others missed. Apparently some things, unlike names, never changed.
Did she really expect him to call her Josephine now? He wasn’t sure he could do that. It would probably be better for everyone involved if Josephine, whoever she was, danced back to San Francisco.
He directed his attention back to his boss. “Josephine says she’s here to teach ballet.”
The senior pastor’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them before landing on Liam. “That’s right.”
Liam shook his head. Maybe if he shook it hard enough, he could undo whatever was happening. “I don’t understand.”
“You indicated you needed help with the after-school program, did you not?” Pastor McNeil eyed him over the top of his glasses.
“Yes, I did.” But I said absolutely nothing about ballet.
Liam’s boss shrugged. “You’ve got the boys busy with the competitive snowballing team, right?”
At the mention of the word snowball, Sundog lifted his head, ears pricked forward at attention.
“Competitive snowballing?” Posy slid her gaze toward Liam. “Seriously? That’s a thing?”
He lifted a brow. “Yes, it’s a thing. An Alaskan thing.”
“It’s like dodgeball, only with snowballs,” Pastor McNeil said.
Sundog let out an excited woof. Posy nearly jumped out of her chair.
Likening competitive snowballing to dodgeball was a rather oversimplified explanation, but it would give her a good enough idea. And Liam didn’t feel like elaborating at the moment. They weren’t here to discuss his snowball project with the boys. They were here to discuss ballet at the church. Or, if Liam had anything to do with it, the absence of ballet.
He attempted to guide the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I’m confused. How did this come about? Posy hasn’t set foot in Alaska in seven years.”
“Six years. Not seven. Six.” At least she hadn’t insisted he keep calling her Josephine.
Liam’s jaw tensed. He didn’t need her to remind him how long it had been. He knew, down to the day—the day they’d graduated. It had been six years and seven months, which was closer to seven years than six.
Pastor McNeil, who’d been quietly observing their bickering, spoke up. “As it seems you two know one another, Liam, I’m sure you’re familiar with the fact that Miss Sutton’s mother is a member of our congregation. She read about the job opening in the church bulletin and recommended her daughter for the position.”
Posy sat up a little straighter. “It’s only temporary. For six weeks. My mother told you that, right?”
Temporary.
Of course it was. Now things were making more sense. She couldn’t dance while her foot was in a cast, and she needed something to do. Once her injury was healed, she’d be on the first plane out of here.
But could Liam work with her every day for six weeks? If she’d been healthy, probably. The fact that she was injured complicated things. In a major way. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. And he knew for a fact he couldn’t watch her go through it. Not if the past repeated itself.
“Yes, I understand.” Pastor McNeil nodded at Posy. “But a temporary program is better than no program at all.”
Liam decided to cut to the chase. They were talking in circles. “I’m just not sure ballet is the answer.”
In fact, he was sure it was not the answer. So sure that he’d just about decided to form two competitive snowball teams. The girls could pelt one another with snowballs just as easily as the boys could.
Except the girls had made it pretty clear they weren’t interested in snowballing. If only Ronnie Goodwin hadn’t hit Melody Tucker in the head with a particularly wet snowball on the first day of practice. Maybe Liam could get the girls helmets.
Right. As if the church could afford such luxuries. There was a reason he’d chosen snowballing as a team sport for the boys. If there was one thing Alaska had in abundance, it was snow. Free for the taking.
What he needed to do most of all was get a handle on the apparent feud between Ronnie and Melody. The two teens couldn’t stand one another. Lately, their disagreements had begun to spill over and affect the rest of the kids in youth group. And that was a problem—a problem he could deal with, however, unlike ballet. Ballet was an enemy he no longer had the will to fight. He’d been on the losing end of that battle too many times before.
“There’s nothing wrong with ballet,” Posy said quietly. But she didn’t meet his gaze.
There was plenty wrong with ballet. Was she really going to make him rehash everything, right here in front of his boss?
No. He couldn’t go there. Something about it felt wrong. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re on crutches. How are you going to teach dance?”
If his words wounded her, she gave no indication. She smiled sweetly at Lou and ignored Liam altogether. “My foot won’t be a problem. The girls are beginners, right? Demonstrating the most basic steps won’t be a strain. Besides, I’ll be off the crutches and in a soft walking cast in no time.”
Pastor McNeil—Lou—smiled, as if a dance teacher with a five-pound weight attached to her foot and a pair of wobbly crutches was the most ordinary thing in the world. Were they that desperate for help in the youth department?
Yes. Yes, they were. The job posting had been circulating for months. Posy was the only remotely qualified applicant in all that time.
“That sounds promising, Miss Sutton. Certainly promising enough to give it a try.” Lou aimed a pointed glance at Liam. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Liam didn’t agree. Not at all. But he was running out of objections he was willing to discuss. And Lou was already looking at him as if he were borderline nuts.
“Liam, you’ll work with the boys. Miss Sutton will work with the girls. I fail to see how this is a problem. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
Now was the time to speak up. But what could he possibly say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lovesick teenager?
I loved her. But she loved ballet more, even though it took everything from her.
He glanced at Posy for the briefest of moments, and in her eyes he saw all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. She’d walked away from him so easily back then that he’d sometimes wondered if she ever fully understood what had happened. Did she not see how badly she’d hurt herself, and in doing so, how badly she’d hurt him? He would have walked through fire for the girl she’d been. What they’d ended up walking through together had been far worse.
Looking at her now, he could see those moments shining back at him in her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten after all.
He aimed his gaze back at his boss. “No, nothing.”
“All right, then.” Pastor McNeil stood, a sure sign the discussion was over. “Tomorrow afternoon, the fellowship hall will become Miss Sutton’s ballet studio.”
A ballet studio. Liam’s head was on the verge of exploding.
What have I done?
Chapter Three (#ulink_d216ef5a-6b2e-5781-8bd2-6c4e95a776a9)
Whoever invented circular revolving doors had obviously never been on crutches.
Posy felt like a newborn moose wobbling around on unfamiliar, gangly legs as she spun her way inside the Northern Lights Inn. Then, just as the instrument of torture spilled her out, the tip of her left crutch got stuck between one of the glass panels of the door and its frame. She jerked on the crutch as hard as she could, but it didn’t budge. The revolving door ceased revolving altogether, trapping two men wearing fur-trimmed parkas and unhappy scowls inside.
Pilots, in all likelihood. The Northern Lights Inn overlooked a lake that remained frozen for at least nine months out of the year and served as the local municipal airport. Snow planes took off and landed on skis, making regular runs into Anchorage for supplies, or out into the Bush—the parts of Alaska inaccessible by roads, which was the overwhelming majority of the state. At all hours of the day and night, the hotel’s coffee bar was a gathering place for local charter pilots, along with the severely under-caffeinated looking for relief.
Now that Posy got a better look at the two men she’d trapped in the revolving door, she suspected they fell into the latter category. They looked as though they could each use a cup of coffee. Or three.
Sorry she mouthed at them from the other side of the glass, yanking again on the crutch. All at once it came dislodged, and Posy nearly fell on her backside for the second time in less than an hour. So much for balletic grace and poise.
One of the two men helped her get resituated on her crutches before making a beeline for the coffee bar.
Posy paused for a second before heading that direction herself. She hated this. Absolutely hated not having perfect control over her movements. Ballet was all about control. When she lifted her leg in an attitude position, her knee raised at the exact same angle every time. That was what all those hours of barre work and practice were for—making sure every pointed toe, every classically arched arm and every graceful step were absolutely perfect. She felt out of sorts, as if she were walking around in a strange body.
She looked around the dark wood-paneled walls of the Northern Lights Inn and the sweeping views of the Chugach Mountain Range afforded by the coffee bar’s big picture window, expecting at least a tiny wave of nostalgia to wash over her. It didn’t. Being back in Alaska was even stranger than she’d expected. It no longer felt like home.
Strange body. Strange town.
Somewhere in her head she heard Liam’s voice again.
You’ve been gone a long time.
Her throat grew tight for some odd reason, and she suddenly felt like crying. Which was patently ridiculous. So she had a broken bone in her foot. It would heal. In a matter of six weeks it would heal, and she’d be back in San Francisco doing what she loved most: dancing. Her foot would repair itself, good as new. Just as it had before.
It had to.
Everything was going to be fine. She was rattled, that was all. It might be home, but Alaska was the polar opposite of San Francisco. A sea change. And she’d had her feet on the snowy ground for only two hours. Anyone would be disoriented. What she needed right now was coffee. And her girlfriends.
“Posy! You’re really here. I can’t believe it.” Zoey Wynne, her oldest childhood friend, hopped off one of the bar stools at the coffee bar and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
“I’m here, all right.” Posy kept a grip on her wayward crutches and let herself be hugged.
The moment Zoey let her go, Posy found herself in the arms of Anya Parker, another close friend from the days of skating at the pond and trekking through the woods on snowshoes after school. It was nice being hugged. Dancers hugged one another all the time on performance nights—good-luck hugs in the dressing rooms, congratulatory hugs in the wings. But it had been a while since she’d been embraced like this.
