Tuesday
“Oh my gosh, Poppy. This is insane.” Bailey leaned back in her chair in the studio’s tiny office, the emails she had to respond to numbering in the hundreds. Hundreds. She’d already done a quick delete of the obvious spam ones, but there were so many enquiries for dance lessons, from little kids wanting to learn, to adults inspired to return to dance or finally take up lessons as a long-held dream. Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it. Amid all the lesson enquiries had even been a few sponsorship opportunities from local—and national—businesses, as well as all the comments on the studio’s social media platforms. Even her YouTube channel had hit the magic number of subscribers to finally earn money. “I don’t know how you’ve managed these past weeks.”
Poppy stretched. “I’m really glad you’re back now. I was keeping on top of things before, but it’s just been hectic since Sunday night.”
So many phone calls. So many interviews. She and Luc had returned yesterday and since then she’d barely seen him, apart from a bunch of interviews this morning, before he’d had to rush off again. He’d been swallowed up in hockey prep, stuff with his training and his team, and she’d been caught in the maelstrom of the studio, and discussing with Poppy how they were going to go forward now her name—and her studio—had national attention. Even their waiting lists had waiting lists, and trying to juggle all of this, along with the usual business stuff she’d put on hold for the past six weeks, was exhausting.
“What are we going to do?”
Poppy studied her. “I think a lot depends on what you want to do about next season.”
Next season. Her heart tensed. Joanne Mascieski had told her on Sunday night that Dance Off’s production wanted her back for next year, and possibly a spin-off tour that would take in a bunch of the major cities across Canada and northern US. It was a dream to even be considered for such an opportunity, especially after only one season, but Joanne had told her that Bailey had been the most talked about dance pro this season, and they wanted to capitalize on that while they could. “And you should be doing all you can to make the most of it as well,” Joanne had advised.
Coco had agreed. “Come on, it’d be so fun having you dance with me again.”
“But the studio—”
“Get Poppy or your mom to run it.”
“But Luc—”
“He’s an adult. He’ll have work he needs to do, so you don’t need to factor him into anything.”
But part of her felt like she did. And the fact she didn’t know how to express this to him, that they’d barely had a chance to talk since Sunday night, made it feel like the conversation was getting bigger than it needed to be. And now she had exposure to this world, she wondered just how much she would cope. She might’ve given Luc some confidence in his dancing, but he’d also given her confidence in things as well. She’d always wondered if part of the reason she had failed at ballet was because she’d been too soft. She might be competitive, but she wasn’t ruthless, and didn’t possess the hard edge as so many pros did. And while she considered Coco a good friend, even Coco held an edge that Bailey wasn’t sure she ever wanted to possess.
“Bails?” Poppy asked.
“I still don’t know. I could only do that if I had someone I could trust to run the studio here.”
“What about your mom? She could probably run things okay.”
But asking her mom to run things was a bit like returning to live at home. Bailey might be close to twenty-five, but sometimes it felt like her parents still weren’t ready to let her go. Which was understandable, considering what had happened to her sister, but sometimes their help felt a little too much like smothering. And after all the debt issues, she also couldn’t help but wonder if some of her dad’s financial advice hadn’t been so sound, after all. And knowing her mom was always inclined to bow to his wishes over hers, such as giving up dancing when Chrissy was born, she didn’t think her studio would be as safe as it would be in Poppy’s hands.
“Mom hasn’t taught professionally for years,” she said instead, “and we both know I trust you, and that you can obviously do this standing on your head. But I don’t want to interrupt your own plans, especially with what you were doing at the Calgary dance school.”
Poppy shrugged. “I don’t think my boss would miss me. I think Melissa has me there more because of my brother’s name than because she values me.”
Bailey winced. Franklin was nice, but she now understood how being associated with a famous hockey player might influence how others saw her. Hence all the emails needing attention.
“So, are you saying you’d be happy to stay working here?”
“I told Melissa that I’d need six weeks, and she was glad as that was most of the summer, when enrollments dropped anyway. But if you want me to stay then I can.”
“Oh, God bless you. I’d love for you to stay.” As much for Poppy’s sensible head as her dance skills. Things were so chaotic she barely trusted herself to make wise decisions anymore.
“Have you talked to Luc about this?”
“No. He’s been so busy. I’ve barely seen him since yesterday.” And the second-guessing had started as soon as he’d kissed her goodbye after dropping her home after the airport. Was this real, or had this just been a romantic bubble for a few weeks? He might’ve said they were a couple, but she would’ve thought he’d contact her by now at least. The fact he hadn’t made her wonder just where this was going.
“You need to make the best decision for you,” Poppy said. “And I know you might think you love him, but just be wise, okay?”
Love him? She hadn’t said those words, and he hadn’t said them to her either. And really, how could anyone know they truly loved someone after the intense pressure of those few weeks? He might know a few things about her, but she didn’t know too much about him.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked at it. Unknown number. There’d been so many of these lately. “Hello, this is Bailey.”
“Bailey, this is Stella Jones from the Winnipeg Post. I’m confirming an interview with you and Luc Blanchard tomorrow at ten at your studio.”
“Um, I beg your pardon?”
“Did Luc not tell you? I was in touch with him and he said he’d talk with you.”
“Well”—he hasn’t, she didn’t say—“I’m sure we can make that happen. What time was it at the studio tomorrow?” She motioned to Poppy.
“Ten.”
“Ten,” she repeated, eyeing Poppy, who glanced at the calendar and nodded. “Okay, see you then.”
“Great.”
The call ended, and she sighed.
“What’s happened?”
“I’ve got an interview here with Luc tomorrow, apparently, which he didn’t tell me about.”
“Maybe this will be a good chance for you two to sort a few things out.”
Like what a relationship would look like. In the real world. Because it sure didn’t feel very real right now.
