Dr. Noah and the Sugar Plum Fairy by Carla Rossi Page A

really. Family’s not in until Christmas day, and let’s just say I needed an escape this evening. I’m not ashamed to admit I may have used this visit as an excuse to stay out of the final performance of The Nutcracker . I’ve been dodging that bullet for a week now. My wife and her sister have gone on without me.”
    Noah twisted open a bottle of juice. “Can I get you something?”
    “Maybe some water. Ate too much homemade peanut brittle today and don’t need any more sugar.”
    Noah chuckled as he passed a bottle and sat at his desk. “Feel free to hide out here as long as you like. My parents took me to The Nutcracker when I was little. I can’t remember what all the fuss is about, but I’ve been hearing a lot about it this week.”
    “How so?”
    “Your clients and mine—the Trumbulls.”
    “Great people. We attend the same church. Their daughter has a big part.”
    “That’s what I hear. I haven’t met Melody, but I know she’s been sick. Glad she’s well enough to dance.”
    “No, my wife saw on Facebook that she still has the flu. Her sister Jane is taking her place.”
    Noah’s pulse did a flip and then settled back down. “That’s great.” He tried to look uninterested while in his heart he cheered her on.
    Dr. Salmons looked him over and took another drink. His bushy eyebrows met and formed one long line. “Why don’t you head over there and check it out?”
    “Me? No. Ballet is not one of my bigger interests. And I’m working. You know I can’t leave the interns.”
    “I’m here.” The older man stood and headed for the treatment room. “I’ll cover. You’ll get back here, and I’ll be home before my wife is. The auditorium’s not far.”
    “That’s not necessary.”
    “Git now, ya hear? Your being there makes my being here more believable.”
    “You’re saying I have to go to the ballet to corroborate your story?”
    “Sure son, that works. See you in a bit.”
    Noah ducked into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. Bridget followed and stood by the door to monitor the situation. He yanked a clean shirt off a hanger on the back of the door.
    “What?” He asked the dog. “I don’t have time to go home and put on a suit. I don’t even know where my suit is.”
    He snatched his keys off the desk. He felt a little foolish. And somewhat excited.
    By the time he got to the theater, Act Two had started and there was no one left at the door to sell him a ticket. He’d stopped at the grocery store for flowers because he remembered that was appropriate. Amidst the bunches of red and white carnations with pine cone branches and other Christmassy decorations, he found a bundle of tiny pale pink roses. They looked like Jane.
    He slipped in the heavy back doors and found a place to lean against the wall. When enough light filtered from the stage, he studied the discarded program he’d found in the lobby.
    It didn’t make much sense to him.
    But what suddenly did make perfect sense was Jane’s magnetic appearance as she twirled and jumped and swayed and drifted across a stage decorated with tall, glittery peppermint stick pillars and oversized pink, yellow, and purple set pieces made to look like candy. She danced with incredible poise and not once did he spot the same woman who dozed off and tumbled from a rolling stool in his treatment room.
    Later she was back on stage—with a partner this time. With expert timing and precision, the couple made their way through a five-minute dance with fixed but genuine smiles. At the end, Jane answered the audience’s enthusiastic response with a deep, sweeping curtsey. She turned to her partner with a huge smile of relief and admiration, and acknowledged him with an additional bow. Her chest rose and fell as she slowly regained normal breathing after what Noah guessed was an exhaustive workout. As if handling delicate and very important glass, her partner graciously took her hand accompanied her offstage.
    Now he understood the