Dancing in Lake Mistletoe (Lake Mistletoe #4)

Chapter Twenty

Dutch

I pull up to the inn, and Mindi hops out and runs inside to change.

I woke up this morning from the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time, her warm body wrapped around me. The sexy, satisfied smile on her lips made me want to keep her hidden away in my bed all day, but it’s her last rehearsal before opening night, and she has a long day ahead of her. So, I made us a breakfast of bacon and eggs while she showered, and then I reluctantly loaded her in my truck.

Keller comes down the steps from the owner’s cottage with Beckham bundled up in his arms, and when he catches sight of me, his mouth lifts in a knowing smirk. I lower my window as he approaches.

“I see the date went well,” he says as I reach out and ruffle Beckham’s hair.

“As far as dates go, I can’t remember a better one,” I agree.

“Good for you,” he says as the back door opens, and Mindi emerges with Ellen and Benny on her heel.

Ellen gives me a knowing smile as she waves, and then she turns to Mindi and gives her a quick hug.

“I’ll see you there,” Mindi tells her before heading to us.

“Good morning, Keller,” she greets before bending to nuzzle the baby.

“Morning.”

She rounds the hood of the truck, and I tell Keller I’ll see him at the shop later.

Once she’s inside, I drive her to the resort.

“Are you staying?” she asks as I pull up to the entrance.

“No. I have a few things to tend to first, but I’ll be back this afternoon to run the lights for dress rehearsal,” I tell her.

A nervous energy radiates from her as she reaches into the backseat to retrieve her bag.

“Hey,” I say, bringing her attention to me. I lean in, rest my forehead on hers, and whisper against her lips, “You’re going to do great. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

She lets out a calming breath, and her eyes flutter closed as I kiss her thoroughly before she opens the door and hops out.

I roll down the window. “Mindi,” I call, and she looks back over her shoulder. “Break a leg, baby.”

She grants me a wide smile before disappearing behind the resort’s glass doors.

I hurry through my work, installing wiring in the new break room addition at the mayor’s office while dodging Sela’s twenty questions about how things went with Mindi last night.

It’s two days until the last rehearsal before opening night, and I need to get back to Sun Valley.

I finish just before lunch and run to the diner a couple of doors down from Mom’s dress shop to grab a bite with her before returning to the resort.

We’re running everything today as if the theater were packed with patrons. I’m here to make sure everything goes off without a hitch and to deal with any hiccups that might present themselves.

There’s a different feel in the theater this afternoon. Electricity crackles in the air behind the scenes as the dancers and Soma run around. The crew is playing the audience, and their applause rises after each scene.

The team and I have to make lighting and sound equipment changes on the fly. It’s not a tempo I’m used to, but I’m enjoying the fast pace backstage.

I’m up on scaffolding, hammer in hand, adjusting the mechanical arm on the backdrop for the final act, when I catch a glimpse of Mindi below, her movements precise and controlled. She’s rehearsing her part, and even though I’ve seen her do it a dozen times by now, it still pulls me in. There’s something about the way she moves, graceful and elegant, that makes me pause mid-swing. I rest the hammer on my knee and lean forward, watching her from above as the soft strains of Tchaikovsky’s music drift up from the orchestra pit.

She’s wearing her practice leotard, not the ornate costume she’ll don for the performance, but I swear she still looks every bit like the Sugar Plum Fairy. Her arms lift as if they weigh nothing, and her toes barely brush the floor as she glides through the motions while she waits for her cue, making it look so easy.

I’ve worked my whole life with my hands—rough, solid work—but watching her dance feels like witnessing the opposite of everything I know. She’s all grace and air, and I’m grounded, tethered to the earth with my boots and my tools and the wood beneath my fingers.

I know I should get back to my task. There’s still a ton of work to finish before opening night, and the crew is counting on me to have it all ready. But something about this moment makes me linger. Maybe it’s the way the late afternoon light filters through the high windows of the theater, casting a soft glow over the stage, where the backdrop is moving into place as the dancers twirl. Or maybe it’s just her.

She finishes a long, delicate turn, her arms floating down like wings, and the music fades on the current scene. The room is quiet for a beat, just the sound of her soft breathing and the low murmur of the director giving notes. I watch her face, which appears serious, focused—the look she gets when she’s trying to perfect something.

I’ve noticed she’s always like that, even when she’s just walking through the choreography, determined to get everything just right.

It’s a drive I admire, even if it’s something I don’t quite understand.

I continue to watch as she walks to the side of the stage, grabs a water bottle, and tilts her head back for a quick sip. She doesn’t see me up here, watching her, but I don’t mind. I like being in the background, where I can take it all in without interrupting. She wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead and stretches her neck, looking out at the stage, like she’s sizing it up, like it’s something she needs to conquer, as her male counterpart comes up beside her. She laughs at something he said, and they converse quietly. Then, the sound of the first notes of the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” fills the air, and Soma gives Mindi her cue.

I watch while she and Stuart give a flawless performance, and the other dancers and crew erupt in applause. She comes off the stage with a huge smile, looking relieved as she makes her way to Soma.

Picking my hammer up again, shaking off the awe I feel every time I watch her dance, I get back to work.