Aubrey consulted the checklist the ballet teacher, Madame Francesca, had provided one last time before slinging the dance bag over her shoulder. 

 

“Have everything?” Damon asked, leaning back against the kitchen island as he watched her.

 

Aubrey could acknowledge that she’d perhaps spent too much time on the project. But Rosie’s first ballet class was important. She’d never get a second chance at the experience, and Aubrey wanted to get it right.

 

“Yes,” she said confidently. “I have everything the teacher suggested.”

 

“And more,” he pointed out. “I saw you shove two extra pairs of tights in there.”

 

“What if hers rip?” Aubrey said. 

 

“Twice? In a thirty-minute class?” Damon asked on a laugh.

 

“I’m ready!” Rosie yelled, running through the upstairs hallway.

 

“Walk on the stairs,” Aubrey and Damon said at the same time.

 

“Okay,” Rosie said happily and slowed as she got to landing.

 

As she came down, Aubrey’s heart clenched. Damon had put Rosie’s blonde hair up in a bun, and she was dressed head-to-toe in pink from her scrunchy to her tie-dyed leotard. She even had pink leg warmers on—a nod to the negative-degree March weather. 

 

“Oh my god, she’s adorable,” Aubrey said to Damon under her breath.

 

“I know, right?” he murmured. “She’s been wearing it all week. I already had to wash it.”

 

Rosie ran over and slipped her arms around Aubrey’s middle, entirely too tall for her age. “I’m so excited.”

 

“Me, too, sugar,” Aubrey told her, squeezing the little girl back. “Get your jacket, okay? It’s cold out there.”

 

As Rosie ran to the foyer to get her bright purple peacoat, Aubrey glanced at her watch. “We should be back in an hour or so. The class isn’t far.”

 

“I know,” Damon said gently. “You sent me the information three times.”

 

“Right. Sorry about that.”

 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” she said, heart skipping a beat. 

 

Damon’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? I’m making lasagna.”

 

“I’m so excited,” she said, imitating Rosie.

 

Damon leaned towards her, grinning, eyes dancing, and she swayed forward. And then a tiny rocket slammed into her side, small hands grabbing at the dance bag.

 

“We have to go,” Rosie whined.

 

“Of course, we do,” Aubrey said, trying to hide the fact that she was dazed. “To the car.”

 

She hadn’t been exaggerating. The ballet studio was only a five-minute drive from the Thatcher house. In the summer, they would walk, Aubrey decided. 

 

They arrived fifteen minutes early, but they still weren’t the first ones there. Small children in leotards and dance tights squirmed by the barre that ran along a mirrored wall. Rosie hesitated inside the door, and Aubrey urged her forward.

 

“Don’t be nervous. It’s everybody’s first day.”

 

A small handful of adults—Aubrey guessed parents but didn’t want to assume, given what they might be assuming about her—sat on the benches that lined the far wall. Aubrey headed towards them, with Rosie’s dance bag bouncing against her hip.

 

One of the women looked familiar, and Aubrey did a double-take when she got closer. Curly black hair, brown eyes fringed with long lashes, smooth golden skin, and a beauty mark next to her left eye.

 

Finally, Aubrey placed her: she was a nurse at the hospital. She looked different out of scrubs. 

 

Aubrey had been about to take a seat on one of the benches but paused. She didn’t want to disturb the woman, and it was fully possible the nurse hadn’t recognized Aubrey. They really only ever saw each other in full operating gear—mask and cap covering everything but their eyes and ears. 

 

But Aubrey didn’t want to be rude either, and she knew what Damon would tell her to do. So, she pursed her lips, hesitating only a breath before walking up to the woman.

 

“Leticia Ramirez,” Aubrey said.

 

The other woman blinked, brown eyes shocked. “Yes?”

 

“Aubrey Fox,” Aubrey said, pointed at her chest. “I look different without a surgical cap and mask.”

 

“I know who you are, Dr. Fox,” the nurse said, tone neutral at best.

 

Aubrey shrugged and took the seat next to Ramirez. Belatedly, she thought to ask, “Was someone sitting here?”

 

“No,” Ramirez said, blinking at her.

 

“Great.”

 

Aubrey dropped the bag at her feet and sat back against the wall. After a moment, Nurse Ramirez shifted uneasily in her seat.

 

“Uh, which one is yours?” the nurse asked.

 

Aubrey pointed at Rosie. “The little blonde in the tie-dyed leotard.”

 

“She’s beautiful,” the nurse said. 

 

Ramirez didn’t say it in that way that you always said someone’s kid was beautiful. She said it like she was surprised, like she meant it.

 

“I know,” Aubrey said ruefully. “It’s going to be a problem. Her mother was the same way. This beautiful, perfect, porcelain doll. Boys started buzzing around when we were twelve.”

 

The nurse smiled politely, though she still looked confused. 

 

“Auntie Aubrey!”

 

Rosie had pulled off her leg warmers and held them out to Aubrey. “No one else is wearing them,” Rosie whispered.

 

“Okay,” Aubrey said, rolling the leg warmers up. “Rosie, say hi to Nurse Ramirez. She works at the hospital with me.”

 

“Hello,” Rosie said, waving even though the woman was sitting right next to Aubrey.

 

“Hi there. You can call me Letti.”

 

“Hi, Letti,” Rosie said. “I have to go get back in line.”

 

“Of course,” Aubrey said. “Have fun.”

 

Rosie ran off, and Aubrey sat quietly. Then she remembered to ask, “Which one is yours?”

 

“The little boy on the far left.”

 

Aubrey spotted a lithe boy who looked about Rosie’s age dressed in all black. He had the same soft, brown curls and golden skin of his mother. His eyes were large, taking up what looked like half of his face.

 

“In black?” Aubrey asked.

 

Ramirez hummed a yes.

 

“He’s beautiful.”

 

“I know,” the nurse said, rueful. “He’s going to be a problem, too.”

 

Aubrey stifled her laughter as Madame Francesca walked out and clapped for the children’s attention.