“Beautiful,” Cam repeated, reclaiming what little distance I’d managed to put between us. He nudged my knee again. “So did you guys learn anything from studying?”

I let out the breath. “I think we got it.”

“Because of you.” Jacob glanced at Brit, and my stomach dropped. “Avery came up with this song to help me remember where the countries were.”

Oh no.

“Sing him your song.” Brit elbowed me so hard that I bounced off Cam and ricocheted back.

Interest sparked in Cam’s eyes. “What song?”

“I am not singing that song again.”

Jacob beamed up at Cam. “It’s the Croatia song.”

I shot him a death glare.

Cam laughed. “The Croatia song? What?”

“No,” I said again. “I am not singing again. That is so not my talent.”

“What kind of talents do you have?” Cam asked, and when I looked at him, I kind of got hung up on the cut line of his jaw, of the way his hair brushed his temples. What the hell? Cam was staring back at me, brows raised. “Avery?”

“Do tell,” Jacob coaxed.

Brit nodded. “Talents are fun.”

“They can be.” Cam’s gaze dropped, and I sucked in a soft breath. He leaned over and there wasn’t more than an inch or two separating our mouths. I heard Jacob’s audible gasp. “Tell me what your talents are, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart,” Jacob murmured with a soft sigh.

“Dancing,” I blurted out. “I danced. I used to dance.”

Curiosity filled Cam’s face. “What kind of dancing?”

“I don’t know.” I grabbed the bag of Skittles and dumped the rest of them into my palm. “Ballet, jazz, tap, contemporary—that kind of stuff.”

“No shit?” Jacob exclaimed. “I did tap when I was like six, for about a month, and then decided I wanted to be a fireman or something like that. That shit was hard.”

Brit smirked. “I tried dance and discovered I had no coordination or grace beyond shaking my ass. Were you any good at it?”

I shrugged, uncomfortable. “I took classes for about ten years, did some competitions and a lot of recitals.”

“Then you were good!” Brit said. “I bet you did all those crazy turns and tricks.”

I used to be able to do a ton of them and was at one point crazy flexible, but the thing I was really good at, had been the turns—the fouette tour—arguably the hardest series of spins in ballet.

Cam had been quiet for a few moments, a very odd thing indeed. “My sister did dance since she was around five. Still does. I think she’d cut someone if they made her stop.”

Shoving the rest of the Skittles in my mouth, I nodded. “Dancing can be addictive if you like it.”

“Or are good at it,” Brit interjected.

Cam bumped me with his shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

I’d loved to dance—loved every part of it. The training, the rehearsing, and especially the anticipation leading up to the moment you stepped out onto the stage. Nothing felt like that moment when you waited in the wings for your name to be called; the first breath you took as you stepped onto center stage and stood under the bright lights. The quiet moment when you closed your eyes while you waited for your music to begin, knowing that everyone was focused on you.