“Sorry, babe. I didn’t hear that.” He grabbed it from the fridge and said, “I get a little lost in you.”

“You don’t hear me complaining.”

As she showed him how to roll the crust, line the bottom of the pan, and flute the edges, he stole kisses and nuzzled against her neck, earning as many eye rolls as needy sighs. He poured the apple mixture into the pie crusts while she swayed to the music, humming and bobbing her head as she cut the remaining dough into strips using a fluted cutter that created decorative edges.

“Hey, babe. Elisa really wants you to dance in the Winter Showcase. Maybe you should give it some more thought.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He put the empty bowl in the sink and leaned against the counter as she began placing strips of dough over one of the pies and weaving them to create lattice. “But you said you like teaching the kids that they can shine no matter what. Don’t they deserve to see you, as their mentor, doing just that?”

She kept her eyes trained on the pie. “Did Elisa ask you to talk me into it?”

“No, and that’s not my intent. But she did tell me how hard you worked to become so good at dancing, and I know you said you don’t want to bring others down, but I keep thinking that seeing you dance can’t help but lift those kids up.”

She continued working with the dough, remaining silent.

“Is there more to this than just not being perfect or bringing others down?” he asked. “Because you’re perfect to me, and Elisa said you’re still head and shoulders above any dancer she’s ever worked with.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to have to basically learn to walk again, much less dance.”

His chest constricted. “You’re right, but I know how hard it is to face something much bigger than me every day of my life and to make a conscious choice to beat it no matter what the cost or embarrassment. Because my dream is to remain drug free, and I’ll die before I’ll let anything drag me back into that hellhole.”

She lifted her eyes to his and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I know how hard recovery is.”

“Then open up to me, baby.” He reached for her hand, drawing her into his arms, and said, “You pushed through rehabilitation for a reason, and you’ve taken on the challenge of a lifetime with me, which proves you’re not the kind of person who shies away from them.” He kissed her forehead. “I will support you one hundred percent either way. I just want to understand your decision.”

Without a word, she went back to weaving the dough. She remained silent until she was almost finished with both pies, and then, speaking softly, she said, “Physical therapy was so hard, Quincy. It really took a toll on me. I fought with everything I had to regain my mobility and flexibility. But it was like swimming against the current. I’d make strides, then fall back because it hurt too badly to keep going.” Her voice escalated angrily, but it was not loud. “I struggled with depression, which was so foreign to me, I swear it took everything I had just to keep my head above water. I thought I’d never dance again, and that terrified me, because without dance, I had no idea who I would be.”