I stand by the oven door where I’ve been perched myself the twenty-two minutes since sliding a frozen pizza in the oven. I burned the shit out of breakfast this morning, but I’ll be damned if I do it with dinner. I owe Mia a date, but the weather isn’t cooperating, so frozen pizza it is. I sent her upstairs a little while ago, making her promise to give me an hour to get ready.

I tilt the oven door open, peeking in and laugh at myself.

Who in the fuck am I?

I’ve lit candles, set the table, and have a bottle of wine waiting for us in the dining room. I’ve never dated a woman before, never wanted to put in any effort in doing so, but with Mia, every second spent obsessing over learning these things is worth it.

I peek into the oven once more, deciding it’s done.

“Hey, handsome,” Mia says softly. The oven door springs closed as I turn and see her walking across the living room, wearing a short black dress and red heels. She’s all long legs and blonde wavy hair. She smiles. God, I love that smile. I smooth my hand over my heart, hoping to soothe its erratic beat. She’s fucking beautiful. “Are you ready for me?” she asks, her eyes flicking to the dining table before landing on mine.

“Let me show you to our table.”

She grins when I hold out my arm, weaving hers around it. I escort her to the dining room, pull out the chair and she slides in gracefully. “I’ll be right back.” I quickly kiss the top of her head before running back to the oven to save the pizza I momentarily forgot about.

“Can I help?” she calls out as I take the large pizza from the oven.

“You can open the wine. The opener is on the table,” I reply, stalling as I survey this cardboard shit. The cheese is a darker golden on one side, but I make quick work at cutting it in a way where I can serve myself those pieces.

“I’m impressed, Chance,” Mia gushes as she takes her first bite.

“You’ve seen it all. First, grilled cheese and now frozen pizza. This is the extent of my cooking skills.” I grin and she smiles again. “I love that smile,” I blurt, unsure if it really came out. When her smile falters, I realize it did.

“You make me smile,” she says bashfully, picking up her wine glass and taking a long sip. Seeing her do the same thing before, I know she’s hiding behind it.

“You make me happy,” I say, one-upping her. She cuts skeptical eyes my direction over the rim of the glass before lowering it. “Vic noticed it yesterday at the gym,” I add, brushing my hand over her cheek. “But I didn’t need him to notice. I feel it, Mia.” When her face leans into my touch and her eyes close slowly, I fight the temptation of pulling her into my lap. “I like us together and hope that you do too.”

“I do, Chance,” she whispers before clearing her throat. “You’re distracting, you know that?” she teases lightly and sits up straight.

“I could say the same about you.” My mind flashes over memories of today. We started with one of her boxes and just as I wanted, Mia told me any story there was behind every photograph, every book, and every little trinket. By the end of the afternoon, I’d had a glimpse of the beautiful life Mia Elizabeth Hall had growing up. Stark difference from mine.

We’d successfully emptied all but two of her boxes in between make out sessions that often led to love making sessions. I smile, thinking of all the places we’ve christened in my house in just one day.

“That smile is devilish; nothing good is going on up there,” Mia says, knowingly.

“I was just thinking about today.” Her cheeks flush with color, her gaze dropping to the table and my smile widens. “We need to get a bookshelf for my office so we can unpack those last few boxes of books you have.”

“They’re just books I’ve already read. They can stay in the boxes.”

“Do you like to read?”

“I didn’t when I was little. Too busy dancing, but when I had the accident, I was stationary and needed a way to pass the time. I still remember the feeling I had after closing the first book I read. For a few short hours, it allowed me to escape in someone else’s life long enough to forget everything that I had lost in my own.”

“Good book, huh?”

“It wasn’t so much the story. It was what it sparked inside of me that stuck with me far longer than the words. Growing up, Audrey and I could invent entire skits, play dolls with storylines that would rival most television shows, but as an adult, I rarely use my imagination. After reading, I realized a part of me I hadn’t known was gone was suddenly there again and I craved that feeling again. For months, I read everything I could get my hands on. My father was a big reader and he used to say, ‘no two-people read the same book’. I never understood that until I saw one of those books turned into a movie. It was all wrong,” she says, smiling at me.

“And now?”

“I still love to read, but once I got back on my feet, I took that inspiration to the dance floor and started choreographing my own dances.”

“Will you show me?” I ask and her cheeks tinge pink.

“Now?”

I shrug. “I’d like to see your dances.”

“They’re rough. You’d be better off going to the ballet and see professional ballerinas performing professional dances put together by real choreographers.”

“I’ll take you there too, but I want to see you dance. And don’t sell yourself short. You were on your way to being a professional ballerina. I don’t know much about the fine arts, but I know that school you went to is the best.”

Her eyes drop to the table. “I haven’t done much with my dances. I can only practice them when I’m alone at the studio because the kids have to learn other routines for the recitals and I don’t want to confuse them.”

“Why wouldn’t you do anything with them?”

“It’s really not my place. Martha and her husband Francis own the studio now. She’s a retired ballerina and he’s a former choreographer. I think they have the recitals covered just fine on their own.” She smiles, but it’s forced.

“If you had your own studio, would you be able to have your say in the dances?”

“Yes, but that’s not going happen. I owned that studio at one time and couldn’t do it.”

“Mia, you were younger and still grieving. I’m sure it was all too much at the time, but with time, would you like your own studio?” Her eyes drop to her wine glass where her fingers tap against its stem as she considers my question. I’m not sure why this is such a difficult answer to find, but there’s something that has her lost in her thoughts, searching for the answer.

“Yes, I would like to open my own studio one day.”

“I’ll help you,” I reply, confidently.

“Thanks, but it’s something I need to do,” she says quietly before clearing her throat. “Do you like to read?”

I frown at the change of subject. “No, it’s sort of a weakness for me.” She watches me, but doesn’t reply. Mia knows when I go back in time, allowing me to do it in my own way. “I could barely read when I met Vic. I’ve always taken to numbers quickly, but words…not so much. Somehow, I’d managed to fool everyone or maybe they just felt pity for me, but I continued to pass each grade hardly able to read a simple written sentence. By the time I met Vic, I’d left home and was officially a ninth-grade drop-out. His sister was a retired teacher and she started tutoring me at the gym each afternoon. I overheard her telling Vic I was reading at a third-grade level. I read okay now…thanks to her, but I guess because of that, I always question comprehension. So, other than short articles, I avoid it if I can.”

“That’s normal, Chance. A lot of people don’t enjoy reading. I’ve heard it said, you’re either a fan of math or language, usually not both.” She shrugs. “I’m not very good at math. Beyond the basic stuff, I’m lost. Once they started putting letters in the problems, I was a goner,” she scoffs and I smile, liking that she never makes me feel less-than because of my past.

She bites into her pizza and a loud crunch explodes through the silence. “I’ll make this date up to you,” I promise her.

She shakes her head. “Make it up? This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” she says, then lifts her pizza into the air and chews.

“Now you’re being funny.”

“No, I’m being serious. I’ve already learned how limited your cooking skills are. Frozen pizza isn’t always as easy as the back of the box makes is sound. You nailed it!” She giggles.

“Girl’s got jokes…”

She giggles harder and I can’t stop smiling.