One Step Closer(47)

“Caleb,” Wren called and shook her head. His pride showed and while it made her heart soar, she was embarrassed at the look the other girl threw at her.

“We have a package for nine to twelve hours a week; then she can take whatever classes she wants. However, to get that deal she’ll need to sign up for the year. Perhaps all day on Saturday, then a couple of nights a week?”

Caleb started peeling off bills one-by-one. “Cool. How much?”

Wren’s eyes widened when the girl told him the tuition and without flinching he simply handed over the cash. How would he afford nearly five hundred dollars a month? His father was rich, but Caleb was barely seventeen and his dad didn’t give him that kind of pocket change.

When Wren was finished filling out the paperwork, the girl handed her a sheet of required attire and shoes she’d need. “You can get the things you need in our shop. For advanced classes, you’ll need a good pair of pointe shoes, as well as slippers, lyrical, toeless lyrical, and jazz. Plus, a good selection of leotards, tights and skirts.”

Wren’s cheeks filled with heat. She couldn’t afford all of that and anything she had from her previous years dancing didn’t fit her anymore.

“Sure. Thanks,” Caleb said to the girl. “What about shows?”

“Shows? Oh, you mean recitals?”

“Yeah. Recitals.” He nodded.

“Twice a year in June and November, and costumes will need to be purchased in advance for each of her numbers.”

“Awesome. I can’t wait to see them.” He smiled at the girl, then down at Wren. He grabbed her hand and proceeded to pull her into the shop.

It was loaded with beautiful costumes, as well as many styles of dance apparel. Some were less adorned and relied on the cut for the style. Her eyes searched for the most basic, and she picked up a price tag.

“Cale, this is sweet of you, but it’s too expensive.”

“Shhh,” he ordered, taking the list out of Wren’s hand and giving it over to the clerk. She was a very thin older lady with steel grey hair, who looked exactly what Wren imagined a prima ballerina to look when her career was over and she was getting on in years. Still graceful, hair still wound in the tight bun, still beautiful and elegant. “We need everything on this list. The good stuff,” Caleb told her.

“Caleb you don’t realize how much that will cost. Just a couple of the basics will be fine.”

She wandered forward, unable to help herself. She looked through the pretty things with longing; not because of the price of the allure of the expense or quality of the items, but because of what they represented. It has been so long since she’d been able to dance. She was drawn to the round table circled with various ballet shoes and slippers, she reached out to ghost her fingers longingly over the soft pink satin of a pair Russian pointe shoes.

“Yeah. Let’s see.” Caleb pulled out the cash he had left and preceded to count it, and then took the few steps needed to reach the shop clerk and stopped in front of her. “I have eight hundred on me. So whatever we can get with that, today.”

Wren turned abruptly. “Cale! Oh, my gosh! That’s too much.”

Caleb ignored her. “Start with those pink things she was just looking at.”

“What size?” the woman asked with a smile.

Caleb walked up behind Wren and took the shoe from her, turned it over, and looked at the sole, and then inside, examining it thoroughly. “I always wondered how these things worked.” He tapped one toe on the table and it made hollow sound. His eyes widened. “You actually wear these things? They must be torture. I’d rather take a fist in the face,” he teased, then nudged her shoulder with his. “What size, Bird?”

Wren laughed softly, though her heart was full to bursting that he’d want to do this for her and pay for it with his fight club money. “It’s still too much, Caleb.”

“Size?” he persisted.

“Six.”

Caleb turned to the woman with a brilliant grin and repeated it. “Six it is!”

When the lady disappeared into the back room to gather the shoes in the appropriate size, Caleb spoke; a laugh lacing his voice. “You deserve it. I’ll just have to beat the shit out of a couple more guys every week. Not a big deal.”

A huge smile broke out on her face and she hugged him tight, reveling the feel of the strong arms he wound around her. He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing.

“Thank you, Cale. You take such good care of me. No one has ever made me feel this special.” She turned her face, kissed his cheek and buried her face in his neck.

“You are special.”

When the woman brought out the shoes and some toe pads, Caleb knelt in front of her to help her try them on. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. It didn’t matter that he fumbled with the ribbons and got confused because there was nothing to distinguish one shoe from the other.

He looked up at her wryly. “What the hell?” he asked perplexed. “Which is the right?”

Wren giggled and took over. “They’re both the same. Until you wear them awhile and they form to your feet.”

His lips lifted in a soft smile. “Oh, no wonder.” He lifted her right foot and fumbled to slide one on. His fingers were gentle as they grazed her skin when he wound the ribbons around and around her ankle. His awkwardness and lack of ability to tie them properly were utterly endearing to Wren. He represented such juxtaposition: tough guy trying to tie pointe shoes with his big bandaged hands. He was so cute she couldn’t stand it.