"Hey, sugar. Happy birthday." Brock draped an arm over my shoulders and squeezed.

"Thank you." I didn't look up from my work preparing the VIP booth for Enrique tonight.

"Why the frown, Tessa? Not many girls get a do-over of their twenty-third birthday."

I looked him in the eye. "A do-over Rogan made happen for me. And you and Dallas too. I'm so grateful for that..."

"But?"

"I wish he were here."

He glanced around the empty club. "He leaves like this. It's only been a week. He comes back."

"He said he won't be back."

Brock didn't respond as he watched me place Enrique's orange Tic Tacs inside his booth.

"How's your dance class going?"

"Did Rogan tell you I was taking a dance class?"

"He mentioned it."

"Oh. Good. I mean well. It's going well."

"I have an idea that might cheer you up. Are you afraid of heights?"

"What? No. I don't think so."

"How'd you like to dance for us?"

"Dance for you? Like the dancers on the catwalk?"

"More like in the box. Would you like to be a box girl?"

"Are you nuts? I'm totally unqualified."

"You know how to shake that fine ass of yours?"

"Oh. I guess I'm learning. It comes natural if the music is right."

"You wanna dance up there?" He pointed to the hook hanging from the ceiling where the boxes were suspended.

Did I? Men would be watching me, lusting after me. I'd probably be wearing something even skimpier than my Siege uniform. My father would bust a gut.

"Yes! I would love it. Oh, please?"

He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Bro, get Tessa a gig as a box girl."

He listened for a second then replied. "A stunner like her needs to be in the spotlight. Not in the shadows kissing VIP ass."

Another pause. "She said she wants it."

He listened to Dallas's reply and folded his hand like the beak of a duck, closing and opening it like quacking. I tried not to giggle. Brock was brave to mock Dallas, even if he couldn't see it.

He tilted his chin away and lowered his voice. "He left it up to us."

After listening for a bit longer, Brock handed me the phone.

"Hello?"

"This something you want?" Dallas's somber tone took me by surprise.

"Yes. I think I'd love it. It's a chance to fly. The ultimate freedom."

"Then I'll allow it, but it's temporary and only once a week. Don't lose focus on your schooling."

"I promise. I won't."

"Did you pick a major yet?"

"No."

"Let me know when you do. I'll have a place for you at any of my businesses. You can be a manager, a salesperson, anything you want. But for now, the answer is yes. You start tonight. See Jovanna for wardrobe."

"Oh my goodness. Thank you!"

He ended the call, and I handed the phone back to Brock. "I'm scared and excited and oh my gosh."

"Don't be nervous, sugar. Just be authentic. The honesty rolling off you is enchanting. They'll see it too."

"Oh..."

"Have fun. I'm gonna sit right under your box and watch you spread your wings."

I laughed because I'd be spreading lots of stuff, wings included. "Thank you so much."

"One more thing." Brock handed me a white greeting card and a small box wrapped in white paper and a glittering red bow.

"What's this?"

"Present for you." He headed to the back of the club and left me alone with my present.

In a thick brushstroke of carmine red, the front of the card read,

Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.

Inside, a message was scrawled in his orderly script.

Sunshine, happy first birthday as Tessa Harlow. Never let anyone dull your sparkle. Rogan

The box held a faceted square ruby necklace with miniature diamonds around the edges, just like the one I'd told him about stealing from the drugstore. I dangled the glittering gem from the chain and watched it glint in the light. I clutched it in my hand and pressed it to my chest. Darn him for being so thoughtful and nice on my birthday.

***

Jovanna showed me around and gave me the box-girl rules.

No nudity. No smashing your tits or ass up against the glass. No bodily fluids in the box.

She picked out a pink plaid skirt and white polyester shirt that knotted at my midriff.

At ten o'clock, I stuffed all my fears in my locker and climbed the steps to box three. My sweaty fingers gripped the handles of the swaying glass cube as some guy wheeled me out over the dance floor.

My stomach lurched and I swallowed back bile.

No bodily fluids in the box.

Presumably vomit would be considered a bodily fluid.

Once the box settled in place, my stomach recovered, and the music streaked through me like adrenaline. Fate had brought me a chance to dance in the air above a crowd. Fear would not stop me from seizing it and enjoying it. I closed my eyes to the blinding strobe lights and forced my stiff muscles to move to the beat. So what if I looked awkward? So what if my moves gave away the fact I grew up on a commune with no dancing? My ruby necklace bounced on my chest, I shook my ass, and I had a damn good time.

After two hours of dancing, I changed my exhausted body into sweats and carried my bag to my truck. The employee parking lot seemed extra dark without the reassuring hug of Rogan's eyes on me, but a new comfort took its place—the comfort of confidence in my body, making my own future, and finding joy, one day at a time.

***

Six months later

Light Boston snow flurries landed on the hood of my truck as my phone lit up with a call from Cyan.

"Happy New Year!" Her jovial voice made me smile.

"Happy New Year to you too, Cyan."

"Did you make any resolutions?"

I'd read all about Christmas and New Year's and decided to embrace all the traditions I didn't even know I'd been missing out on. "I did. I want to be on time to class and never miss a day. But this snow might put a damper on that." The flurries came down thicker and clouded my view of Roxy's.

"There's a nor'easter rolling in tonight."

"I know. I'm just picking up some lunch, and I'll head straight home after class." From what I could see from the parking lot, the line at Roxy's would take me at least ten minutes.

"If you get stuck in the snow, call me or Dallas. Promise?"

"I will and thank you again for spending Christmas with me." My first Christmas. "I loved volunteering at the children's shelter."

"Those kids break my heart. I wanted to take them all home."

"I know. Me too." More like it made me want to run home to Milo.

"Dallas took the World's Best Boss coffee mug you gave him to Siege today."

"He did?" I laughed. "I had no idea what to get him."

"No. That's the ideal gift for him."

"Listen, I gotta go in and get my food before the snow gets too thick, but… Did you ask him?"

Cyan sighed before she answered quietly. "I did. He said he doesn't know."

Why did I continue to interrogate her when the answer was always the same? Dallas and Brock had no idea if Rogan was alive somewhere with Takoda, Diesel, and Blaze. Even if anyone knew, they weren't going to tell me.

"Do you think he's alive?" I asked Cyan.

"I hope so, sweetie. Rogan's become like family to us. All we can do is have faith and wait."

"I'm starting to lose heart. He said not to wait for him."

"And the only sign you've had from him was the song?"

"Yes." Six weeks after he left, Rogan added a song to the "Beyond Taylor Swift" playlist. "In Case You Didn't Know" sustained me through the rough nights when I wondered if what had happened between us was real or not. The lyrics told me it was. He'd felt it too. He just had to leave for reasons I may never understand.

"Someone else moved into Rogan's apartment," I said.

"Really? Who?"

"Some huge commando who looks like them."

"Hmm. Is he hot?"

"Cyan! Yes. I mean, he's attractive in a silent but might kill you while you're sleeping kind of way."

"Well, go over there and borrow a cup of sugar. Make him some cornbread."

"Maybe. I'll think about it." I couldn't imagine myself doing something like that. "I need to get going."

"Okay. Talk to you soon."

***

"Number sixty-nine!"

My Roxy's receipt said seventy-two. Three more orders till mine came up. I ignored my protesting stomach and glanced out the window of the restaurant. A cute guy in a black peacoat and a baseball cap walked by on the sidewalk. He glanced at me, his eyes widened, and he pretended like a large hook yanked his neck back as his body kept walking. He stumbled to a stop and stared at me with a goofy grin.

"Number seventy!"

I hid my laugh and kept my eyes on the food trays passing by.

The second time I checked the window, the guy walked by again—this time walking back the way he came, his head lowering as he descended imaginary stairs. At the edge of the window, he jumped down and fell below the window frame into a non-existent pit.

"Seventy-one!"

The lucky Roxy's customer holding ticket seventy-one picked up a delicious smelling tray of cheeseburgers and fries. I inched closer to the counter, ready to pounce on my order as it came up next.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, or do you need me to walk by again?"

The man from outside stood behind me, tufts of snow falling to the restaurant floor as he whipped his cap off his head. He stared at me with boyish blue eyes and mussed hair, looking eager to take me outside for a snowball fight.

"Seventy-two!"

"Uh, my number’s up." I dashed away and grabbed my order, choosing a route to a table as far from him as possible. I kept my head down and eyes on my food.

"Are you my appendix? Because I don't know anything about you, but this feeling in my gut is telling me that I should take you out."

He stood at my table with a tray. His lopsided smile made him hard to dislike. "Can I join you? There's no other tables available."

My gaze flitted to the three empty tables next to us. He plopped down across from me and shook salt on his fries.

"Man, I love Roxy's. Don't you?" He sipped his shake. "I was going to impress you with a smooth pickup line, but I'll just lavish you with my awkwardness, okay?"

"Okay."

His eyes watched my lips smile. He pulled off his coat and his cranberry dress shirt pulled taut against his wide shoulders. He offered me his hand over the table. "Lance Croft. I really enjoyed our first date. Can I take you out again tomorrow, insert name here?"

I took his hand. "What?"

"If we're going out again, I'll need your name. You know, for the police reports afterward."

Hmm. Should I give this guy my name? He lost points in the suave department, but he earned extra credit for humor and effort.

"Tessa. Tessa Harlow."

"The pleasure is mine, Tessa Tessa Harlow."

I finished my food and collected my trash. "I have to get to class."

"Oh, where do you go to school?"

"UMass."

"I'm an adjunct prof at UMass. Art appreciation."

"Wow. What a coincidence."

"Are you from Boston?"

"No. I came out here to go to school. I'm from North Carolina."

"Great barbeque in North Carolina."

"Mmm-hmm." The truth was I hadn't done my research yet like I should've.

"Say, how'd you like to go to the Palace Theatre with me tomorrow? I'm reviewing the new production of Miss Saigon for the Boston Times."

"Tomorrow? A Broadway show?"

"Well, Boston's version of Broadway. I'll warn you. Miss Saigon is heavy. Have you seen it? Hamilton would make a much better first impression, but that's not till next week."

"No. I haven't seen it. And I can handle heavy." I wanted heavy. I wanted to feel things deeply, good or bad.

"Give me your phone."

I unlocked my phone and handed it to him. "Don't forget. Lance Croft." He tapped in his contact info.

"I won't forget."

He handed my phone back to me. "Text me your address." He waved his fingers over the phone.

"Like now?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "To make sure you don't forget me. And it'll make it a lot easier to pick you up for our date if I know where you live."

Could I trust him? There's no way he could know anything about me or Rogan. His puppy dog friendly routine didn't ring any internal warning bells, so I went with it.

I texted him my address, and he flashed me a white, satisfied grin. "I'll be there at five tomorrow. We'll have dinner first."

"Okay, bye." I grabbed my backpack and scurried out the door. Wow, my first first date, first Broadway show, first dinner out on the town, and all this with a handsome, funny teacher.

***

I zipped up the side zipper on my midnight blue long-sleeved dress. My hair still covered my scars even though I'd cut it to mid-back, but I didn't want to have to explain them to Lance on our first date.

He arrived at five o'clock, looking sharp in a gray suit. He helped me into his Range Rover and drove me to the Miss Saigon Restaurant to set the mood for the show. We ate yummy Vietnamese food and made small talk about Boston and UMass.

An employee handed me a playbill as we walked into the awe-inspiring lobby of the Palace Theatre. I clutched the glossy paper and gawked up at the grand arched ceilings with my mouth open.

"Can you hear the souls of Jimmy Durante, Mae West, Bob Hope—all the performers who've played here?"

I closed my eyes and envisioned the workers of the past raising the marble walls, carefully attaching the opulent gold leaf accents that climbed up to heaven like majestic offerings to God.

"No wonder they call it a palace."

Lance directed us to seats in the third row, center aisle.

"How'd you get these seats?"

"I've been reviewing for the Times for years."

We sat down, and the bows of the violins bobbed into view as the orchestra below us tuned their instruments. The lights went out, the opulent velvet curtains opened, and the music swept me away. I soared on a wave of notes through Vietnam and a war that was over before I was born.

The passion and the tragedy playing out on the stage blindsided me and I sobbed. I cried for the poor girl in the show. I cried for Chris, her American GI husband, and I cried for Rogan. The music said it all. Rogan had died. He wasn't coming back. Senseless war had claimed his life like it had taken so many others.

At the intermission Lance handed me a tissue. "I'm sorry if it's too morose for you. We can leave now, if you like."

"No, no. Let's stay. Just tell me, does it have a happy ending?"

"I don't want to ruin the ending."

"Does it have a happy ending? I need to know."

He shook his head. "You're going to cry through the second half too. We can leave."

"No. I won't leave. I'm not afraid to face this."

After the show, Lance stopped us on the sidewalk outside the theatre. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. Rogan's arms would never be my sanctuary again. His rugged scent would never hit my nose. Lance smelled polished and clean.

"Why'd you cry so hard? I mean I know it's sad, but..."

"It reminds me of a soldier I knew."

"Can you tell me about him?"

"I think he's dead."

"You do? But you don't know?"

"I haven't heard from him in six months. Someone else is living in his apartment. And the music... I'm sure he's dead now."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. This was a bad idea."

I stood up straight and pulled my shoulders back. "No. I'm fine. I made such a fool of myself."

"You didn't."

He drove me home and walked me to my door. "I enjoyed your company, even if you cried. You feel things deeply. A sign of compassion."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. His hands rested on my hips.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on his lips on my skin, his hands on my waist. No hot air balloon ride, but a calm and safe blanket surrounded me.

"Full stop honesty here, Tessa. I'm into you. I wanna see where this could go. Let me take you out again tomorrow night. Something less depressing. I'll take you to dinner on the tallest building in Boston. Lift you up high. No more sadness."

Should I? He was offering me a healthy, normal date. No electrical storms or explosions, but maybe that was the best way to avoid pain. Maybe slow and steady, a relationship based on respect, was the way to go. An attractive guy with a respectable job and a nice car was letting me know he liked me.

"Okay. Thank you. See you tomorrow, Lance."

"Seven o'clock."

"Okay."