“Umm.” I turn to Cal, who nods. “And about the camera?”
“I’ll think about it. Now go ahead. I’ll ring the bell if I need you.”
“Thanks.” I lead Gemma down the book aisle where there’s the fewest customers. “What’s up?”
“Do you have everything ready for Operation: Apology Ambush?” Gem steps back and sweeps her gaze over my outfit. “Please tell me you packed a change of clothes.”
“Of course I did.” I’m not going to beg for forgiveness wearing the same work uniform I wore to the disastrous first date.“And I finished my apology gift this morning. It’s in my bag.”
“Perfect!” Gemma reaches out and straightens my name tag. “How much longer do you have in your shift?”
I pull my phone from my back pocket and check the clock. “About twenty minutes.”
“And you know what you’re going to say when you see her?”
Not exactly. My apology works on a surface level—she can’t blame me for being worried about an ex who was under attack—but if she digs into why I went to her house instead of calling the police, things get tricky.
“Hannah.”
“I’ll think of something,” I say, not altogether confident in my ability to pull this off.
Gemma shakes her head. “This has to be perfect. Come on, practice on me.”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes.”
I groan, but we practice until my apology is perfect.
15
I HOLD A SMALLbox tied with ribbons and stand immobile outside the dressing room door. I can’t believe I let Gemma talk me into this. Tonight’s the dress rehearsal for their spring dance recital, and Gemma thought this would be the perfect chance to surprise Morgan with an in-person apology. The grand gesture sounded exciting, but now I feel ridiculous.
The door swings open, and Gem sticks her head out into the hallway. Her blonde hair is pulled into a perfect dancer’s bun with enough hairspray to set fire to the whole building. The exaggerated makeup looks cartoonish close up but will make her features pop when she’s onstage.
She scowls at me. “Hurry up. We have to be backstage in five.”
“Perfect. I’ll be ready in ten.”
“You’re impossible.” Gemma rolls her eyes and reaches into the hall. She latches on to my free arm and drags me through the door.
The toxic, too-sweet smell of forty kinds of hairspray assaults my nose. Dancers of all ages, from four-year-old baby ballerinas to high school seniors in pointe shoes, mill about the room.
Now that I’m here, the hustle and bustle of the dressing room seems like the worst possible place to apologize to someone for ditching them in the middle of a date.
“She’s over there, with the level two kids.” Gem gestures vaguely to the right and hurries off to a group of dancers whose bright-pink tutus match hers.
I glance in the direction Gem pointed, but I don’t see Morgan anywhere in the crush of flustered parents. “Where?”
Gemma spins back to face me, rising into the air as she balances on the toes of her pointe shoes. “Over there. With the six-year-old tap dancers.”
This time when I look though the scrambling masses, I spot kids in black sparkly costumes and tap shoes click-clacking on the hardwood floor. Among the older adults adjusting bows and tying ribbons, I spot a flash of red hair.
Gripping the delicate box harder than I should, I weave my way across the room to the energetic baby dancers. Their cheeks are flushed with an excitement that cuts through even the thickest coats of makeup. Halfway there, I catch sight of Morgan, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
Unlike all the other dancers in the room, Morgan’s hair falls in waves past her shoulders. The jeans sitting snug on her hips mold to her curves, and the plain green tee looks comfy and well worn compared to the sparkling new outfits around her. Her face is free of makeup, and it makes her look real, almost vulnerable, amid dozens of dancers who wear blush like armor. She must have moved to Salem too late in the rehearsal season to perform in the recital.
Morgan glances up and catches me staring from the center of the room. Dancers and parents brush past me, but I’m an unmovable boulder stuck in a river’s mighty current. Morgan raises one brow in a silent question. I lift my offering higher, into her line of sight.
