Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 52

Dinner smells like everything good in the world collided in one kitchen.

Warm garlic, bubbling cheese, something herby and buttery and slightly sweet that must be the salad dressing. It’s the kind of meal that feels like it was made by someone who doesn’t just want to feed you — they want to take care of you.

Mrs. Hayes sets a massive dish of lasagna on the table like it’s her greatest masterpiece. Mr. Hayes brings over a basket of bread and a bowl of salad with sliced oranges and some sort of citrus vinaigrette that glistens like liquid sunshine.

“This looks amazing,” I say as I sit down, folding my napkin on my lap.

“Wait ‘til you taste it,” Tyler grins, already reaching for a slice of bread.

Mrs. Hayes waves a hand, but she’s clearly pleased. “It’s nothing special. Just a little recipe I’ve tweaked over the years.”

“It’s definitely special,” I say after the first bite. The lasagna is perfect — crispy edges, soft middle, cheese that melts like a dream and just the right amount of seasoning.

I glance across the table — Asher’s already digging in, as stoic as ever.

Still silent. Still unreadable.

Still too attractive in that gray shirt that should honestly be banned.

“Thank you so much for having me over,” I say to both parents. “Really. This is... everything.”

Mrs. Hayes gives me that warm mom smile. “Penny, you’ve been with Tyler for almost a year. You’re like our daughter at this point.”

I blink. Then smile.

A flush creeps up my neck and settles warmly in my cheeks.

“That means a lot.”

Mr. Hayes nods. “You’re always welcome here.”

For a few seconds, I feel something tight and warm in my chest —

like this might be what it feels like to be truly folded into someone’s life.

Mrs. Hayes takes a sip of water and sets her glass down gently. “Now, tell us about those auditions you had. We want all the details.”

Tyler groans playfully. “Careful. You’re about to get a twenty-minute TED Talk.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Shut up. You’ve literally sat through this before and survived.”

He smirks and gestures to me. “You’re on, ballerina.”

I sit up a little straighter. “Okay. So, auditions for the Spring Gala are a big deal. First of all, you can’t just show up. You have to sign up a year in advance.”

“A year?” Mrs. Hayes repeats, eyebrows lifting.

“Yup. And during that year, representatives from the Gala do quarterly check-ins at your studio. They watch your progress, evaluate if you're keeping up with the physical and technical standards.”

“And if you’re not?” Mr. Hayes asks.

“They cut you. You lose your spot. Then you have to wait another year for the next round of sign-ups.”

Asher looks up briefly. I catch it. The flicker of interest. He’s listening.

“It’s their way of making sure people don’t just show up out of nowhere,” I continue. “They want dancers who’ve proven they can keep up, not just perform well once.”

Mrs. Hayes nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“So then, when audition day comes,” I say, “you get there, check in, warm up. You have the option to pick one of four prepared choreographies. I picked Swan Lake.”

“Classic,” Mr. Hayes smiles.

“Exactly. It’s elegant but demanding. It fits me better than the others.”

“Do you choreograph your own version of it?” Mrs. Hayes asks.

“No, it’s pre-choreographed. But you’re allowed small moments of personalization, like port de bras styling or timing. Stuff that shows personality.”

I glance down at my plate.

“You get three minutes in front of five judges. That’s it. You dance. No retakes. No do-overs. Then you leave. They don’t tell you anything — no feedback, no score. Just ‘thank you for your time.’”

“They don’t even let you know if you did well?” Tyler asks, frowning.

I shake my head. “Nope. You find out a week later. They post a list online with names under categories — lead, soloist, corps, and understudy. If your name’s not on it... that’s it.”

Mrs. Hayes reaches out and pats my hand gently. “That’s brutal.”

I smile a little. “Yeah, but it’s part of the game. The Gala is huge. It’s a launching pad for most professional companies. Getting in, even as a secondary dancer, is major.”

Tyler chews and swallows. “So when will you know?”

“Saturday, supposedly. Unless they delay it.”

“And do you think you’ve got a shot?” Mr. Hayes asks, setting his fork down.

My stomach tightens, but I meet his eyes.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. My audition went well. I hit every mark, didn’t stumble, kept my timing. But... I didn’t get to see the other dancers. I don’t know how I stack up.”

There’s a pause, just a second too long.

I rush to fill it. “I’d be grateful to make corps. That’s the group dancing behind the leads. That alone is a huge deal. I’m not aiming for Odette. I just want to belong on that stage.”

Mrs. Hayes beams at me like I already do. “Well, we’re rooting for you.”

“So hard,” Tyler says. “You’ve got this.”

Asher says nothing.

But when I glance across the table, he’s watching me.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod.

But his gaze is focused, sharp, like he’s scanning my words for lies or weakness or something else I don’t understand.

My heart flutters in a way I wish it wouldn’t.

Mr. Hayes lifts his glass. “To Penny. May Swan Lake call her name.”

Everyone raises their glasses. Even Asher, after a half-second pause.

I clink gently, heat blooming in my chest again.