The beginnings of a smile light her face, but then someone clears their throat. Loudly.
“All right, people.” The director of the dance studio stands in the doorway, surveying the chaos. “People!” When no one responds, she claps her hands in a quick rhythm. Dancers and helpers alike stop what they’re doing to repeat the pattern. Silence falls over the crowd. “Right then. Let’s get this show on the road. Level five, you’re up first. Level two is on deck. Parents, let’s get our tap dancers waiting in the wings. Everyone else, I want you in the audience. Move out!”
Noise swells as dancers check their reflections in mirrors one last time and hurry out of the room. I lose Morgan in the rush for the door; the box falls to my side, the contents jostling. So much for Gem’s master plan. I turn to leave.
“Is that for me?”
Morgan’s voice washes over me like the mist off a waterfall. Gentle yet inescapable.
I pause, my feet rooting to the earth. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and wish I had done something more than a messy bun this morning. “Yeah.” With a final breath to steady my nerves, I face the near-empty room. “There’s a card, too.”
“What’s in there?” She approaches cautiously, and I hold up the box for her. With gentle, sure fingers, she unties the bow and reaches for the card. “Did you make this?”
Heat burns my cheeks, but I nod. “I thought that might last longer than real flowers.”
Morgan traces a finger along the edge of the card I painted for her last night. The front is a scene of wildflowers, done in watercolors. I may have cheated slightly, using my magic to shift the colors around the paper just so. Inside, I painted thebackground in overlapping splotches of pink, purple, and blue and used a calligraphy set I got last year for my birthday to write in my fanciest scriptI’m Sorry.
“This is beautiful,” she says, her words breathy. Then she tilts her head to one side, holding the card at arm’s length. “Was the color choice intentional? It looks like the—”
“Bi pride flag?” I finish. “Yeah. The whole thing is an apology for bailing on our date, but I’m also sorry for assuming you couldn’t be out and date a guy.”
She nods and falls quiet, tracing her fingers along the edge of the card. Finally, she gives herself a small nod. “What’s in the box?”
“Remember the first night we met? You asked me to bake for you.” I lift the lid, revealing my favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies. “I figured now was as good a time as any.”
Morgan smiles wide and takes the top cookie out of the box. “You really didn’t have to go all out. A text would have been fine.” She takes a bite and her entire body shudders with delight. “Not that I’m complaining. These are delicious.”
Her approval warms me from the inside out as she finishes the cookie. “I’m glad you like them. I swear I’m not usually that flaky.”
“I get it.” Morgan takes the box from me, carefully securing the lid. “It’s okay if you’re not over your ex. I shouldn’t have rushed you into something new.”
“But I am. I swear. I’m totally over Veronica.”
“Really, Hannah. It’s okay. You don’t need to make up excuses. If you want to be friends, I understand.”
My heart sinks, falls straight to my feet, and plummets into the earth. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.” She traces the top of the pastry box instead of looking at me. “The cookies and the card are great, really, they are. But when I’m with someone, I want to land the part of girlfriend, not understudy for an ex.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it? She called you nonstop until you picked up. And when you did, you immediately ran out to be with her.” Morgan crosses her arms. “What am I supposed to think?”
That same lock of hair falls free again, and I shove it back into place. I didn’t want to bring this up, but I won’t let Veronica ruin this for me. “There was an intruder in her house.”
“What?” Morgan looks up, concern tightening her voice. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.” I interlock my fingers and flatten my hands on top of my head. “We think he was there to rob the house and didn’t realize Veronica was home. She startled him when she came out of the bathroom.”
Morgan lets out a long sigh. “Wow. I’m sorry.” She taps her fingers along the top of the box. “I feel like a terrible person.”
“You didn’t know.”
Morgan looks up and meets my eye, holding my gaze with a challenge in her own. “So, you’re really over her then? She’s not your leading lady anymore?”
A flicker of hope burns inside me. “That spot is currently wide open.”
Morgan blushes, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Second perhaps to the way she bites her lip when she tries to hide her smile. “Good to know.”
