worked.”
Chase’s eyes glaze over as he looks at the gallery across the street. “In their view, art meant something different to everyone. It was more about the artist than the work, like all artists have their own paths and shouldn’t be judged. When they opened the gallery, they displayed everything available, even if they didn’t particularly like the piece, as long as they liked the artist. People from all over the country would ask them to display their work. They rarely said no.”
I remember Justine’s passion for art. She’d only been fourteen when she’d died, but she had been so talented. “People don’t realize that having a talent and a love for a creative art is a special gift.”
Chase puts his hand over mine on the barre . “All my life, I’ve lived in that apartment with my grandmother.” He looks toward his living room window. “As a growing, horny boy, I loved checking out the ballerinas.”
I laugh. “I bet.”
“Miss Stephanie hated the drama I caused with her dancers. She thought I was a perv for constantly staring in the window and for dating her girls, but I couldn’t help it. You’re all so perfect.” Chase glances sideways at me, his eyes linger, sparkling. “I’ve loved ballerinas forever, and now you walk into my life…I don’t know what to do with that, Juliet Anderson.”
I gulp and turn away from his sweet words, watching the people on the street below. When I hear his voice again, I find his eyes.
“When I turned eighteen, I inherited my parents’ half of the gallery. Of course, I have no idea how to run a business, so my grandmother runs the day-to-day with an assistant.”
“Where’s your uncle?”
“California. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He and my grandmother aren’t chummy.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “She’s always bad-mouthed him. Says he’s a drifter, can’t settle down, that sort of thing.”
“Now he’s going to be your partner?”
“I guess so. I love art but know nothing about business. Gram is getting older. She deserves a retirement—from me, from the gallery. Still, I’d hate to have to be an adult.”
“You can try. See how it works out. Maybe it’s not as difficult as you think. At least it’s an art gallery, not like—”
“—an accounting firm?” He smiles.
“Yeah, that would totally blow.”
Chase leans over the barre , resting his elbows on it as he looks outside. I study his profile as the sun shines through the window. He turns, catching me, but I don’t turn away. I can’t. The people outside rush by, up and down the street, hundreds of them. But it’s this one boy, hanging over a barre , sharing his history, who ended up here with me, in this moment, by pure fate. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he wouldn’t mind if I found out.
The door slides open and I jump. Miss Stephanie kicks us out to start her next class. We thank her as Chase drags me away from the studio with a schedule in my hand.
Outside, I jump up and down, and then throw myself at him without warning. He catches me mid-air, our bodies clinging to each other. Despite the heat, I don’t care to move. I let him swing me as I jabber. “I love it here. I love the studio. I love the window that overlooks your gallery. This isn’t too far, right? You’ll show me how to get here from the train?”
“Easy, Juliet. Yes, of course.” He puts me down, and I pace in circles.
Chase puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me and tilts his chin to look me in the eye with his purple-blue ones. He’s Serious Chase again, and I force myself to be still. “You and me, Juliet. We’re artists. We create. It’s in our core, our hearts. Our lives aren’t complete when we aren’t dancing, aren’t painting.”
Did I really just meet this man yesterday? It’s like I’ve known him forever.
“You were so down this morning. You had a hard time last night.” He points to the
Chase’s eyes glaze over as he looks at the gallery across the street. “In their view, art meant something different to everyone. It was more about the artist than the work, like all artists have their own paths and shouldn’t be judged. When they opened the gallery, they displayed everything available, even if they didn’t particularly like the piece, as long as they liked the artist. People from all over the country would ask them to display their work. They rarely said no.”
I remember Justine’s passion for art. She’d only been fourteen when she’d died, but she had been so talented. “People don’t realize that having a talent and a love for a creative art is a special gift.”
Chase puts his hand over mine on the barre . “All my life, I’ve lived in that apartment with my grandmother.” He looks toward his living room window. “As a growing, horny boy, I loved checking out the ballerinas.”
I laugh. “I bet.”
“Miss Stephanie hated the drama I caused with her dancers. She thought I was a perv for constantly staring in the window and for dating her girls, but I couldn’t help it. You’re all so perfect.” Chase glances sideways at me, his eyes linger, sparkling. “I’ve loved ballerinas forever, and now you walk into my life…I don’t know what to do with that, Juliet Anderson.”
I gulp and turn away from his sweet words, watching the people on the street below. When I hear his voice again, I find his eyes.
“When I turned eighteen, I inherited my parents’ half of the gallery. Of course, I have no idea how to run a business, so my grandmother runs the day-to-day with an assistant.”
“Where’s your uncle?”
“California. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He and my grandmother aren’t chummy.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “She’s always bad-mouthed him. Says he’s a drifter, can’t settle down, that sort of thing.”
“Now he’s going to be your partner?”
“I guess so. I love art but know nothing about business. Gram is getting older. She deserves a retirement—from me, from the gallery. Still, I’d hate to have to be an adult.”
“You can try. See how it works out. Maybe it’s not as difficult as you think. At least it’s an art gallery, not like—”
“—an accounting firm?” He smiles.
“Yeah, that would totally blow.”
Chase leans over the barre , resting his elbows on it as he looks outside. I study his profile as the sun shines through the window. He turns, catching me, but I don’t turn away. I can’t. The people outside rush by, up and down the street, hundreds of them. But it’s this one boy, hanging over a barre , sharing his history, who ended up here with me, in this moment, by pure fate. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he wouldn’t mind if I found out.
The door slides open and I jump. Miss Stephanie kicks us out to start her next class. We thank her as Chase drags me away from the studio with a schedule in my hand.
Outside, I jump up and down, and then throw myself at him without warning. He catches me mid-air, our bodies clinging to each other. Despite the heat, I don’t care to move. I let him swing me as I jabber. “I love it here. I love the studio. I love the window that overlooks your gallery. This isn’t too far, right? You’ll show me how to get here from the train?”
“Easy, Juliet. Yes, of course.” He puts me down, and I pace in circles.
Chase puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me and tilts his chin to look me in the eye with his purple-blue ones. He’s Serious Chase again, and I force myself to be still. “You and me, Juliet. We’re artists. We create. It’s in our core, our hearts. Our lives aren’t complete when we aren’t dancing, aren’t painting.”
Did I really just meet this man yesterday? It’s like I’ve known him forever.
“You were so down this morning. You had a hard time last night.” He points to the
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