After fetching her battered old “for luck” pointe shoes from her room, Romy made her way to the yoga studio, feeling along the walls to get an idea of its size. Big enough. And there was a stereo in one corner with an iPod jack. Even better. Bless you, Myron. Romy took her time warming up, using the stereo cabinet as a make-shift barre. When sweat dripped freely from her forehead and her limbs were loose, she slipped her feet into the shoes, tying the ribbons at her ankles, and turned on the music. She let the feel of the music move through her, taking small steps at first, finding her bearings after eight weeks without dancing. Soon, she was attacking each step, throwing herself into each movement with a desperate precision. It felt good. A fierce joy swept through her, and she wanted to share it. She thought of giant, gentle Stephen and the dance grew more sensual. What would it be like to dance with a man like him? Her movements slowed, a few steps forward…a teasing pirouette…and then she could feel his huge hands on her waist as she leapt into the air.
