Monday morning arrived far too quickly, dragging me out of bed when all I wanted was another hour—or three—of sleep. I shuffled through my morning routine. As I grabbed my bag, Isabella poked her head out of her room, her hair still a mess from what I assumed was a very lazy morning. "You're going to class looking that put together? Who are you trying to impress?"

"No one," I said, rolling my eyes. "Some of us like to look alive for Monday."

She smirked, holding up her coffee mug. "Some of us have better priorities."

The morning air helped clear my head as I made my way to the business building. My phone buzzed, and I glanced down to see a message from Isabella.

Izzy: Don't let marketing kill you. Coffee after?

I smiled faintly and typed back, Sure. As long as you're paying this time.

Her reply came almost instantly: Izzy: In your dreams. Coffee's on you, ballerina.

Shaking my head, I slipped my phone back into my pocket. Typical Izzy.

The streets were bustling with students rushing to their classes, most of them clutching coffee cups like lifelines. The thought of grabbing one for myself was tempting, but I was already running late, so I pushed on toward the lecture hall.

The air felt sharper as I left the lecture hall, my stomach rumbling in protest at the granola bar that had done little to stave off my hunger. Blake caught up with me just as I reached the steps, his usual laid-back grin firmly in place.

"You in a rush?" he asked, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he fell into step beside me.

"Not really," I replied, glancing over at him. "Just heading to meet Isabella for coffee. She's probably already halfway through her cup and texting me about being late."

"Coffee sounds good," he said, his tone casual. "Mind if I tag along?"

I hesitated for a second, but I knew Isabella would love the surprise. Her crush on Blake was no secret—at least not to me—and watching her try to act cool around him was always entertaining.

"Sure," I said, smirking. "But you're paying for your own drink."

"Deal," he said, chuckling.

The coffee shop near campus was bustling when we arrived, the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting out as I held the door open for Blake. Inside, students hunched over laptops or chatted animatedly, their voices blending with the soft hum of the espresso machines.

I spotted Isabella immediately. She was sitting at our usual corner table, scrolling through her phone with an exaggerated air of indifference. A half-empty cup of coffee sat in front of her, the steam curling lazily into the air.

"Look who's finally here," she teased as I approached the table. Her teasing grin froze the moment her eyes flicked up and landed on Blake.

"Hey, Isabella," Blake said, sliding into the seat next to me. "Hope you don't mind me crashing."

Isabella's cheeks flushed pink as she scrambled to set her phone down. "Oh! No, not at all. I mean, of course not. It's... great to see you."

I bit back a smile, hiding it behind my coffee cup as I sat down across from them. "Blake wanted coffee, and I figured you wouldn't mind the company."

"Not at all," she said quickly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "The more, the merrier."

Blake glanced at the menu on the wall. "What's good here? I'm more of a tea guy, but I could use some caffeine."

"Try the hazelnut latte," Isabella blurted out before I could answer. "It's amazing. Not too sweet, but still flavorful. And they have almond milk if you're into that."

"Sounds perfect," he said, grinning. "Thanks for the recommendation."

She smiled, practically glowing as Blake went to place his order. The moment he was out of earshot, she turned to me, her eyes wide. "Amber, why didn't you tell me he was coming?"

"Because I didn't know," I said, shrugging. "He decided to tag along last minute."

"You could've warned me," she hissed, her tone equal parts panic and excitement. "I look like I rolled out of bed!"

"You did roll out of bed," I pointed out, smirking. "But don't worry—you're fine."

She glared at me but didn't have time to retort as Blake returned with his coffee, settling into the chair beside me.

"So," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "What's the plan for today? Any big adventures?"

"Amber has her parent-child dance class tonight," Isabella said before I could answer, her tone teasing. "It's going to be... interesting."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Parent-child dance class? Sounds fun."

"It's less fun when Bryan Munzo is on the participant list," I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee.

Blake nearly choked on his drink, his eyes widening. "Bryan? In a dance class? Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was," I said, sighing. "He's Lily's 'parent' for the class."

"That's... something," Blake said, his grin turning mischievous. "You're going to survive, right?"

"Barely," I said, shooting Isabella a glare as she tried—and failed—to suppress her laughter.

"Well, I'm sure it'll be entertaining, if nothing else," Blake said, his tone light. "Just make sure to record it if he tries to do a pirouette."

"Don't tempt me," I muttered.

The conversation shifted after that, with Blake and Isabella diving into a debate about the best coffee shop on campus. I leaned back, sipping my drink and watching the two of them banter. Isabella was practically glowing, her usual sharp wit softened by Blake's easy charm.

For a Monday, it wasn't the worst start to the week.

The hours between coffee with Isabella and the parent-child dance class flew by faster than I wanted them to. But before I could even start stressing about impressing parents, I had my own dance class to attend. The studio was my refuge, but today, even the idea of pirouettes and pliés couldn't fully chase away the knot of nerves twisting in my stomach.

The studio was buzzing with its usual energy as I walked into the advanced ballet class. The familiar polished wood floors and wall-length mirrors greeted me like old friends, and the faint scent of rosin in the air was a soothing balm for my frayed nerves.

I slipped into the back row to warm up, tying the ribbons of my pointe shoes with practiced ease. The chatter of my fellow dancers filled the space as everyone stretched and prepared for class. Today was one of those days where the air felt charged, like something big was about to happen.

Mrs. Lawson entered the studio with her usual grace and authority, clapping her hands lightly to bring the room to order. "Good afternoon, dancers. Before we begin, I have an exciting announcement."

The room fell silent, every eye on her.

"As you know, The Nutcracker auditions are coming up. I'm pleased to confirm that they will be held this Friday."

A wave of murmurs swept through the room, excitement and nerves bubbling up in equal measure.

"But that's not all," Mrs. Lawson continued, her sharp gaze scanning the room. "We will have a special guest in attendance. Clara Alessi, principal dancer with the New York Ballet, will be observing auditions and providing feedback."

The room collectively gasped. Clara Alessi was a legend—her performances were mesmerizing, and her reputation as a mentor was unparalleled. Just the thought of dancing in front of her made my stomach flip.

"She'll also be helping us with casting decisions," Mrs. Lawson added, her tone making it clear that this was a rare opportunity. "So I expect everyone to bring their absolute best."

My heart raced as the reality of the announcement settled in. Clara Alessi. Friday. The pressure was officially through the roof.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of choreography and corrections. My body moved on autopilot, but my mind was miles away, imagining every possible scenario for the auditions. By the time Mrs. Lawson dismissed us, I was drenched in sweat and mentally drained.

As I packed up my things, a few of the other dancers were still buzzing about the news, their excitement palpable.

"Can you believe it? Clara Alessi!" one of them gushed. "She's basically ballet royalty."

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "It's incredible."

Incredible—and terrifying.

After a quick rinse and a change into a sleek black leotard and a matching wrap skirt, I grabbed my dance bag and the clipboard with the sign-in sheet for the parent-child class. The nerves I'd managed to ignore during my own class came roaring back as I stepped into the main studio space.

The familiar chatter of kids and parents filled the lobby as I entered. I gave Mrs. Lawson a quick wave as I headed toward my assigned studio. The polished floors and mirrored walls felt both comforting and intimidating as I set up for the class.

The first few families trickled in, and I greeted them with a warm smile, doing my best to exude confidence. The kids' excitement was infectious, and most of the parents seemed eager to participate, though a few looked more nervous than their children.

And then Bryan walked in.

He was dressed in joggers and a fitted T-shirt, looking completely out of place in the studio's pristine atmosphere. Lily, of course, was beaming.

"Hi, Lily!" I said, kneeling down to her level. "Are you excited for today?"

"Super excited!" she chirped. "Bryan said he's going to try dancing with me."

"That's great," I said, standing and giving Bryan a professional nod. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," he said, his voice low and laced with amusement. "Ready to teach me some moves, Bailarina?"

I bit back a groan and gestured toward the barre. "We're starting with basics. You'll do fine."

As the class began, I threw myself into teaching with everything I had. I demonstrated pliés and tendus, walking the parents and kids through each movement step by step. The kids were giggling, the parents were doing their best, and despite my nerves, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Bryan, to my surprise, was actually trying. Sure, he was still smirking like this was all some inside joke, but he wasn't completely hopeless. Lily's enthusiasm seemed to keep him in check, and for that, I was grateful.

By the end of the class, most of the parents were laughing, the kids were beaming, and I felt a small sense of relief. I might not have completely conquered my nerves, but I'd survived—and that was enough for now.

As everyone packed up to leave, Bryan caught my eye, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. "Not bad," he said quietly. "Maybe there's hope for me yet."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I replied, my cheeks warming as I turned to help another parent.

The parent-child class had ended, and I was finishing up tidying the studio, eager to leave the lingering tension behind. Most of the parents had been warm and enthusiastic, but the pressure I put on myself to make every little detail perfect had left me drained.

I'd just finished straightening the barre when the studio door creaked open. My heart sank the moment I saw who it was.

"Forget something, Amber?" Bryan stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His tattoos peeked out from under his fitted T-shirt, his joggers rumpled from the class. And, of course, his smirk—the one that always seemed to find a way to irritate me—was firmly in place.

"What do you want?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Lily forgot her water bottle," he said, stepping inside and glancing around. "She said it's pink and has stickers all over it. Seen it?"

I pointed toward the corner near the barre without a word, hoping he'd grab it and leave. But this was Bryan, and he rarely did what I hoped.

He strolled over to retrieve the bottle, holding it up triumphantly. "Got it."

"Great. Now you can go," I said, turning back to grab my bag.

But he didn't leave. Instead, he leaned against the barre, twirling the water bottle in his hand like it was a baseball. "You were really on edge tonight. Rough class?"

"It went fine," I said curtly, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Fine?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "That's not how I'd describe it. You looked like you were about to snap in half trying to keep everything perfect."

I froze, my hands tightening on the strap of my bag. "I was doing my job. Something you wouldn't understand."

He chuckled, his smirk growing sharper. "You know what your problem is? You take everything too seriously. Parents aren't here to judge you. They're here for their kids. But you? You act like this is some kind of Olympic event."

"Why do you care?" I asked, turning to face him fully. "You're not a parent. You don't even want to be here."

He shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's hard not to notice when someone's about to combust."

I let out a frustrated sigh, the weight of his words and my own insecurities pressing down on me. "Why are you so mean to me, Bryan? What did I ever do to you?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning. "Mean? I'm not mean. I'm honest."

"Honest?" I repeated, my voice rising. "You're constantly picking at me, mocking everything I do. You go out of your way to make me feel like I'm... I don't know, ridiculous. Why?"

He tilted his head, studying me like I'd just asked the world's most obvious question. "Because you make it easy, Bailarina. You're always trying so hard to prove something. It's... entertaining."

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. "Well, congratulations. You've got me all figured out. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do."

I brushed past him, heading for the door. But his voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Hey."

I turned slightly, not looking at him directly.

"For what it's worth," he said, his tone softer but still laced with that infuriating edge, "the class wasn't bad. Lily had fun."

The unexpected comment threw me off balance. I stared at him, trying to gauge if he was being genuine or just messing with me again. But before I could say anything, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing in the empty studio with more questions than answers.

Why does he always have to get the last word? I thought bitterly as I gathered my things and headed out.

—---

💌 Thank You for Reading Chapter Twenty-Five! 💌

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