30. Chapter 30

Chapter thirty

Caleb

Juliette's laughter flittered through the door to the studio, over all the other chattering voices. She was telling a story to an audience hanging on her every word, paint dripping from their brushes and rollers onto the canvas drop cloths.

"And then," she chortled, "he pairs me with this big, brawny, unbelievably dreamy upper school dancer. And I, being the very confident, supremely talented sixteen-year-old I was, took my place at the front of the class with him." Everyone was enthralled. Juliette was a great actress, exaggerating her stride across the room, waving the paintbrush around for effect. "First of all, I didn't know you weren't supposed to lace your fingers." She raised her brows at the dancers who had stopped painting to giggle. "I'm fumbling my clammy hands all over his until he finally smacks me—smacks me!—and tells me to place my hand in his. Strike one. Then, I lift my arms and realize, I forgot to put on deodorant."

A chorus of " No ," filled in the pause of her cadence.

"Yes. And I reek of onions. You know when I tell you all that you smell and need to carry deodorant on you, this is why. Anyway, we're dancing, and I can see him wincing when my arms move, which in turn makes me sweat more. A nice little snowball effect of pungency and embarrassment."

I laughed with the rest of the parents and students who came to help repaint the studio. We had been at it all day. There was so much laughter and playful affection in the rooms that a dull ache resonated in my chest. A few of the teens I recognized from Kelsey's class had come. From my place painting all the trim and doors, I could see Kelsey goofing off in the second studio (which we'd finished painting hours ago).

She was laughing and dancing with them as they choreographed a silly dance and posted it on social media. It was the laughter of their inner-child come out to play. Over the months we'd known each other I ruminated over how awful it was that I would never get to see my girl as a child; playing on a playground, or getting excited over Barbies. But the melancholy that had plagued me over the loss of those fifteen years melted away as I watched Kelsey dissolve to the floor in a fit of giggles with her friends.

There was still time to watch her grow up.

I thought painting the studio was going to feel like work—that everyone was going to be efficient and helpful out of a sense of loyalty for Juliette. Instead, it felt like a celebration of these friendships that all wove together around and because of Juliette. She was this dancing flame in the center of it all that everyone was drawn to, absorbing her energy. I had never experienced this.

It was euphoric. I understood, now, how Juliette's school had a waiting list. This feeling of familiarity with strangers, it could be addicting.

And my God she was beautiful.

At the end of the night, after everyone had gone home and it was just the two of us cleaning up and touching up spots that were missed, Juliette's paint-stained short overalls hiked up as she sat exhausted against the mirror. She blew the hair from her face and winced as she massaged her calves. I struggled not to look. Without black tights covering the smooth skin of her thighs, it was impossible. There weren't twenty other people in the room to hide the fact that I couldn't tear my eyes off her. I turned back to the door and dipped the brush one last time into the black paint.

"Thanks for staying," she said above the quiet music in the background.

"You were never going to finish this tonight without me," I grinned.

"Says the man who has been painting the same door for an hour."

"It has not been an hour. Plus, the view from here is exquisite."

"Chinese?" She was laying on her back now, looking at her phone .

"Sesame chicken." I listened as she ordered, reminding her to ask for extra egg rolls.

I tossed the paint brush into the bucket and headed to the sink to wash up. When I came back in, Juliette was stretching her legs in a wide center split, her breath deep and slow. She propped her head on her hands and wiggled her toes, the worn sneakers bending as she pointed them.

"Impressive."

"I used to have an overspilt, but now that I'm prehistoric, even this hurts."

I dropped to the floor next to her and reached for my toes, my hamstrings snapping in protest.

She laughed. "You don't want to jerk your muscles like that. You ease into it and breathe. Like this. Lay down."

"Are we charging by the hour?"

"Consider this session paid for in kind." She settled down next to me and curled her knee into her chest. I followed. "Now grab the back of the thigh or calf, and straighten the knee slowly."

"Easy peas—fuck!" We both dissolved into laughter as I grabbed my knee to my chest and cried out.

"I said slowly! Listen and do as I say."

"You just yanked your leg up to your ear, so what was I supposed to expect there?"

Juliette pulled her ankle an inch closer to her ear and side-eyed me. "Your own range of motion."

"I can hardly touch my toes. This is too advanced. I demand a refund for improper training." I turned to my side. We were close enough that just a few inches separated our bodies. Juliette had laid this close to me—she had chosen this spot. I tried not to read into it. She had ignored my last text, but she was here now, beside me.

"Okay. File a claim for your injury, too," she deadpanned and let go of her leg. "Lay down—"

Yes, ma'am .

"You're going to pull the knee to the chest like this." Juliette kneeled at my feet and pressed my knee to my chest.

My heart started to race with her leaning over me. I searched for a signal, anything in her expression that was an invitation to cross the line that we kept moving between us. I prayed for a pause in our conversation so that I could grab her by that stubborn jaw and kiss her.

"No. Don't curl the spine up. Good, relax the spine and keep it straight. Now think about length." She put a hand on my knee and one on my ankle and stretched my leg up towards the ceiling.

"I'm going to break in half."

"It's not pain, it's discomfort," she said looking into our reflection in the mirror, to judge my range of motion. When she looked back down at me, her gaze dropped to my lips, but I hadn't said anything.

There it is.