"It isn't expensive or glittering," Charles said, his voice quiet. "But I thought you might want to wear it when you travel to the showcase. So you remember something."
"Remember what?" Annie asked, holding the silver note up to the lamp.
He looked at her for a second. "That no matter how wide the stage gets, or how many people are sitting in the chairs, you started dancing long before anyone was watching."
Annie carefully slipped the chain around her neck. "Thank you, Charles."
After the child went to bed, Lena walked Charles to the door, her coat over her shoulders. "She's going much farther than I ever imagined possible, Mr. Whitmore."
"Yes."
"That scares me."
"It should," he said honestly, his hand on the doorknob. "Big worlds are rarely kind to small, talented children."
Lena crossed her arms. "Then we keep walking right beside her on the floor."
"Yes," he said. "We do."
She looked at him for a long moment, verifying the data. "You kept your promise, Charles."
He shook his head slightly, a small, genuine expression breaking through his architecture. "No, Ms. Bell," he said quietly. "I am still keeping it."
After his car pulled away from the curb, Lena stood alone in the quiet apartment and looked at the blue dress hanging near the closet. Annie had completely outgrown it now—the fabric that had taken her into the ballroom could no longer fit the young person she was actively becoming.