Free Falling for Her Soldier by Ophelia London Page B

it into his arms. It wasn’t heavy, but he couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it, either. “Not so tight. You’ll smash it.”
    “Okay,” he said, a little dazed, trying to see over the netting that seemed to be expanding in his arms.
    “Hurry.” Jane waved toward a hallway. “They’re up there sewing now. Drop this off then come straight back.”
    “Right.” Charlie nodded. “Upstairs.” As he turned to head in the direction of the stairs, he almost ran over a tiny girl dressed all in pink. “Oops,” he said. “Excuse me.” He stepped around her just as another wee girl ran across his path. He almost tripped over her, too. Suddenly it was like the lobby was swarming with little bodies in curly pigtails. Solely so he could see where he was going, he held the netting high over his head and weaved his way through the lobby.
    There was less traffic and noise in the hallway, and he felt relieved the second he started up the stairs. He didn’t know where the costume room was, but he was pretty sure he could figure it out without a map.
    As he walked down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway, he passed by an alcove that looked down onto the dance floor from the second story. There were a few women—mothers of the students, he assumed—sitting on a row of benches in front of the glass. Maybe ten girls, older ones and dressed in black tops, were in a straight line, holding onto a shoulder-high bar that ran the length of the room. They were bobbing up and down, doing some kind of routine. Charlie had no idea. He’d never dated a ballet dancer, and Tess was into music growing up.
    “Hey. You .”
    Charlie peered down the hall at a woman’s head poking out of a doorway at the end.
    “Is that the tulle?”
    “Um.” He lifted the stuff in his hands as if displaying it. “I don’t know.”
    “Get it over here. We’re waiting.”
    “Yep.” Charlie hustled down the hall and skidded around the corner, entering a large room with a row of sewing machines, about a million racks of puffy dresses and sparkly skirts and two women standing before a half-dressed mannequin.
    “You’re not Stephanie. Where’s Stephanie?” one of them asked. She had pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth like tiny silver cigarettes.
    “Called in sick,” he answered, a little out of breath and more than a little disoriented. “I think I’m Stephanie today.”
    “Fine,” the woman said. Thankfully, she relieved Charlie of his load and carried the netting to a long table. “We need Emily and Melissa up here.”
    “Who?” Charlie cocked his head.
    When he didn’t move farther, she glared at him impatiently. “Emily and Melissa,” she repeated, pointing at the door. “Go.”
    Charlie glanced at the other woman for any kind of explanation, but she was scowling at the half-naked mannequin while tapping her chin. “I…I don’t know who those people are,” he finally said, almost laughing, and not sure if he should look for hidden cameras in the rafters.
    The woman with the pins stomped over, put her hands on his shoulders, and turned him in a very neat, though rather impatient, about-face. “Down there.” She pointed in the general direction of the stairs. “All the girls need to get fitted today. This is the last time before the recital.”
    “Oh.” He nodded, pretending to understand. “Okay, so—”
    “Emily and Melissa are first. Their mothers are in the bay.” She gestured toward the alcove area. “They’ll point them out.”
    “Right.” At least those instructions made sense, and Charlie was no slouch when it came to following orders. So he hurried down the hall, nearly banging his head on a low-hanging pipe. “I need Emily and Melissa,” he said, once he’d reached the alcove.
    Six heads turned around. “Who are you?” one of the women asked.
    Charlie spread his hands. “Stephanie.”
    “Did they make you the runner?” another woman asked.
    Charlie rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure what’s