Page 51 of A Match Made In Fall

“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” she says. “That had to be surreal.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“You’ll have to report back after you see him,” she demands. “How long do you think he’s staying there?”

“I’m not sure, a few days maybe? And I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

After we end the call, I finish getting ready and head out to meet Dexter. Honestly, I’d much rather spend the afternoon at the petting zoo with baby Jude.

I order a cup of hot tea and settle into a table near the window. I’m a few minutes early, and I already know Dex will be right on time.

Sure enough, he walks through the door at exactly eleven o’clock.

“Hi,” he says warmly as he approaches. His hand brushes my shoulder before he settles into the chair across from me.

“Hey, Dex.”

His eyes immediately drop to my boot. “I’m guessing you despise wearing that thing.”

I smile. “You guessed right. And don’t even get me started on the crutches.”

He shakes his head. “So how are you doing with everything? How much longer is your recovery?”

I’ll gladly talk about my injury instead of relationships. We can discuss this all day if he wants.

“The doctor says I’m doing really well,” I tell him. “I have a follow-up appointment tomorrow, and I’m hoping he gives me the green light to get out of this thing.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Already? That’s great.”

“I can’t wait,” I say. “I’m literally counting down the hours. It’s crazy how confined this makes me feel.”

“Just a reminder that it may not be smart to start doing flips and spins anytime soon.”

I gasp dramatically. “Who, me? Push myself? Never.”

He chuckles. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you.”

Those words cause a stir in my chest because he does know me. Or at least he knew a version of me.

“Trust me, I have no plans to jump right back in,” I say. “I’m already out for the rest of the season, so this gives me time to heal properly and be one hundred percent for next year. I’m not going to do anything that could jeopardize that.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, “because I can already picture you trying to convince your doctor that some light dancing would be perfectly fine.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. That does sound like something I’d say.”

“Exactly.”

After he orders a coffee, I ask about work and his family. I'm grateful to settle into an easy conversation. It's familiar and comfortable, like two old friends catching up. And honestly, if that's all he came for, I'd be perfectly happy with it.

But this could have been a phone call. Or an email. Not a cross-country flight.

As our small talk begins to fade, I decide not to prolong the inevitable.

“Dex, why did you come all the way to North Carolina?”

He taps his fingers against the side of his cup, a habit I've seen him do many times before. He glances out the window for a moment. “I wanted to text you after your injury happened,” he says. “But I figured you were already dealing with enough, so I gave it some time. Honestly, I didn't have any other intentions besides checking on you. Dancing is everything to you, and I knew you had to be devastated.”

His words make my heart sink. Dancing is important, but it isn’t everything. Is that how I'd made it seem to him?