I kept talking, lifting the keys a little higher, trying to make her see. “You said once that dancing was the only thing that made you feel alive. You used to dance in the living room when you thought nobody was watching. Well, I was always watching. But you know that already.”

Her eyes glistened, but her expression remained unreadable. She drew in a shaky breath, her shoulders tensing. “You bought this...what? Hoping I’d just show up someday?” Her voice was soft but filled with a pain I could hear in every syllable.

“I didn’t think you’d show up. I hoped that you would. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I deserved it. But I thought…if you ever came back, if I was lucky enough for that, I’d hand you something that didn’t ask anything from you. No conditions. Just yours.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Say yes,” I replied. “Or just...say you’ll dance again. Or teach. Run this place. Or just exist here.”

For a long second, the car was completely silent.

Then she reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the keys.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just held the keys like they might burn through her palm if she held them too long.

Wordlessly, Beverly stepped out of the car, her movements unhurried. I followed, walking in her shadow like a ghost, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She walked to the front door of the studio and pressed her palm against the glass. After a long moment of silence, she unlocked it with a soft click and disappeared inside.

“I’ll wait here,” I said quietly.

Beverly gave the faintest nod.

The moment she was gone, my chest caved in.

God, what was I doing?

I dragged a hand down my face and dropped back into the driver’s seat, the door still open, feet planted on the concrete like I needed something solid to hold me there. I couldn’t follow her. Not yet. I couldn’t ruin it.

But then my body moved on instinct.

I stood and walked to the door.

The studio was wide and open, the hardwood floor gleaming under the thin stream of sunlight slicing through the back windows. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the far side of the room. It was empty except for one tall black stool in the middle of the room and the sound system in the corner.

Beverly paused in the center of the room and just stood there, looking around like the walls might start talking. “This is insane,” she finally said, half under her breath.

“I wanted it to be,” I said softly from behind her.

She turned to face me, the space between us stretching and shrinking all at once. We  stood there—maybe six feet between us, too close for strangers, too far for what we used to be.