My body aches, and anti-inflammatory drugs haven't helped, but it’s the least of my worries now that the day has come. It’s finally here.
The day that tells me whether this town is ready for me or not. The day that helps me decide whetherIam ready forit.
I hear a light knock on the bathroom door and manage to extricate myself from the spot I’m rooted to.
I open the door to find Ryder smiling brightly at me, his arms behind his back. His smile drops as he takes in my sullen expression.
“Lola, what’s wrong, baby?”
“I’m going to fuck this up, Ry,” I whisper. “Nothing about this has been easy, and it has me wondering if that’s a sign it isn’t meant for me.”
He shakes his head adamantly. “Cut that out. You know just as well as I do that the best things in life are worth fighting for. Now, tell the nasty voice in your head to shove it where the sundon’t shine.”
“But Ry?—”
He cuts me off, gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger. My lips part on an exhale with the unexpected movement. “Stop worrying about it, darlin’. Now, go take a seat on the bed so I can give you your gift,” he tells me, producing a box from behind his back.
I sit down, holding the box with shaky hands. I take my time untying the black ribbon and slowly lift the top off. Lying between layers of black tissue paper is an eggplant-purple two-piece dance set with a shimmering chiffon overlay.
“This is stunning, Ry,” I say, gawking at the fabric bunched in my grasp.
“Put it on, and we can get out of here,” he whispers, pecking me on the cheek.
The outfit fits like a glove. It’s possibly one of the nicest things I’ve ever owned, and I think I might want to be buried in it.
The top is a deep purple, an almost eggplant color that shifts in the light. The back is strappy, with gold rhinestone-ed strings that wrap around my neck in a halter. The front is comprised of two pieces of fabric: one that’s thicker, sitting tightly across my chest to hold my breasts in, the other a sparkly chiffon piece that gives the illusion of being draped from my shoulders to right below my breasts, tapering in the middle, with a cowl neck in front that shows off the right amount of cleavage to be tasteful.
The skirt is a bikini-style bottom that hugs my waist securely, lots of matching glittery chiffon layers hanging down the sides and back.
It goes perfectly with my black, classic series ballroom shoes.
We lock up the house, and Ryder carries me to the truck, insisting I’ll lose my heels in the soft dirt. When we’ve parked in front of the barn, a calm washes over me at the sight of thetrucks, cars, and motorcycles surrounding the back of the building.
They came.
Maybe this really is my second chance.
“You’ve got this, Lols,” Ryder whispers, leaning across the seat to plant a kiss on my cheek.
He exits the truck, rounding the front to open my door, unbuckling me and lifting me onto the ground before closing the door and locking it. The sun has set, and the sky is bright with stars, the crescent moon hanging overhead.
He slides the door to the barn open and leads us inside to the studio of my dreams that has just become my reality. It feels so damnsweet.
My eyes widen as I stand here, gaping at the fifty or so people standing in their nicest dresses, slacks, and boots. More people showed up than I could have ever imagined; my heart feels so full.
Ryder squeezes my hand reassuringly. Tears threaten to spill, but I coax them in, wringing my hands out as I take everything in. When my gaze lands on the floor-to-ceiling paintings hanging along the back wall, my eyes go wide. These were not here last night when we left to get cleaned up for our counseling session. Each one of them stands at least twenty feet high, and they’re all ofme.These are photos from dance competitions I’ve competed in, wearing some of my favorite outfits with the widest smiles on my face.
The front of the space has a wall of mirrors, and the floors are a sleek, light-colored pine. There’s a central chandelier hanging between the rafters, strands of lights coming off it in ribbons, illuminating the space in a calming but bright, warm light. It turned outperfect.
I spin to face Ryder, cupping his cheeks. Emotion takes over, driving my actions. I press my lips to his, reveling in the feel of his arms effortlessly wrappingaround me, the taste of his tongue as it swipes over the seam of my lips, delving into my mouth and tangling with mine.
My senses are overwhelmed with him, with the vanilla and bourbon taste of his mouth, even though he hasn’t had a single sip of alcohol since we were eighteen. My lungs fill with him, every cell in my body vibrating with need, and when he dips me low, my hair grazing the floor, the room erupts in a roar of catcalls and cheers, breaking me out of the spell.
He lifts me up, severing our physical connection but never the metaphysical.
I suck a deep breath in through my nose, filling my lungs with much-needed, Ryder-free oxygen, and allow thoughts and words to find me. Turning toward the crowd and clapping my hands together once, I project my voice in an enthusiastic tone and ask, “I think I owe you all some dance lessons, don’t I?”
My heart beats wildly at the overwhelming amount of support I’m receiving from people who’ve barely seen me in years. So much has changed in that time, and yet, Hidden Valley’s commitment to supporting the people of this town never wavers.
