December inched closer to Christmas and Phillip couldn’t stop thinking about Leah and what he’d done. If she didn’t want his money or his apology, so be it. He’d just as soon forget about her, but the knot in his stomach, thick with guilt, ate away at him. He couldn’t stand that he’d been the catalyst for someone else’s unraveling.

He walked home from his office. The stretch of restaurants and businesses of the downtown looked busy and warm on the inside. The sight of his condo building came into view, a gray high rise set against a starry night sky.

A coffee shop on the corner, one of his favorites, came into view and he decided to grab a cup. Upon entering, he stopped and cursed under his breath. Leah in her wheelchair poised in front of a table. She looked up from her menu. Their eyes met. Damn. She did something to him. It wasn’t like it had been with Allison. Everything between them had been…neat and shallow, but looking at Leah with anger in her eyes and her lips pouted in annoyance, she seemed genuine. And he needed genuine. He also needed to a chance to make things right.

“No way,” she said adamantly.

Phillip removed his coat, slung it over the back of the chair, and sat down. “How does one get to be a ballerina?” he said.

A fiery retort hung in her eyes, but her cheeks and lips softened. “I can tell you how one stops being one.” She pressed her lips together, relented, and added, “Years of practice. My whole life.”

“I read up on you after I found out who you are,” he said. “You are quite accomplished in the art of ballet.”

“I might know a little bit about you too." Her eyes met his. “Your ex-wife is a friend of a friend.”

His stomach tightened. Allison couldn’t taint whatever this was, and he made sure Leah knew the subject was off-limits. “I never talk about her.”

“Then let’s talk about something else.”

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