It’s not your fault! I loved the idea.
Sasha would have looked so
pretty with all those lights
around her.

Aw. You would have too! Let’s keep
thinking. I’m sure we’ll come up with
something better.

Thanks, Arch! I appreciate all your help.
I couldn’t do this without you.

Happy to help! Gotta run now, though.
Rehearsal. xo

They would be working on the contemporary choreography today. Archer had learned their pas de deux at least, but the group hadn’t even touched that show since he had arrived. After warm-up, they did a slow run-through, teaching the routines to the new members. The show highlighted the dancers with ballet training, no doubt, including jumps and pirouettes, but everyone had a chance to shine with graceful, fluid movements and long, elegant lines.

When they reached the pas de deux, Mateo put out his hand to lead Archer to the center. They would be performing this piece in only white tights, so for this rehearsal they both had taken their shirts off.

It was a beautiful piece, and dancing it now on the stage instead of a grassy clearing allowed them crisper movements and higher leaps. When they finished, the whole company burst into applause, even Stewart. Betty whooped.

“Exquisite!” Stewart chirped. “Mateo, Archer…” He threw a chef’s kiss at them. “How fortunate we are to have found you two.”

Archer looked at Mateo, expecting him to be smiling back, but he was not. He was looking at Stewart, face blank. Archer’s chest ached, now that he was starting to understand a little of what might be going on behind Mateo’s stormy facade. Still … it hurt the way Mateo gave him tiny glimpses of his inner workings, then slammed the door shut moments later.

“Wow,” Caleb said when Archer approached. “When did you two work on that?”

“Oh, Mateo asked if I wanted some extra rehearsal time earlier,” Archer said vaguely.

“Yeah? Some alone time with Mateo, hey? Should I be jealous?”

Archer snorted. “Not at all. He clearly hates me.”

Caleb pecked him on the nose. “Don’t worry, I’m kidding. He hates everyone.”

Mateo didn’t dance like he hated him, though. Their tango was as smoldering as ever when they debuted the Latin show that night. Every touch of Mateo’s hands said I’ve got you—firm on Archer’s back or thigh as he guided and lifted, reassuring and warm. When their eyes met, Mateo’s said I want you, always fully committing himself to the fire the audience needed to see between them. Their hips slotted together in perfect sync—I feel you—not a foot out of place, the two of them melting a path across the stage with every chassé and pivot and lunge.

But when it was over, when they faced the audience together, chests heaving in equal measure, hands clasped as they took a small bow … there was nothing. Mateo turned it off.