Shall We Dance? Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Shelley Shepard Gray

  E-book published in 2020 by Blackstone Publishing

  Cover and book design by Alenka Vdovič Linaschke

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental

  and not intended by the author.

  Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-982658-54-0

  Library e-book ISBN 978-1-982658-53-3

  Fiction / Romance / General

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  For Tiffany, a great dancer and even better friend.

  “Take more chances. Dance more dances.”

  Letter to Readers

  Have you ever had a hobby that you really enjoyed but weren’t very good at? That was me and dancing. I first started taking ballet, tap, and jazz lessons around sixth grade. My best friend Tiffany took dancing lessons, and I wanted to spend time with her.

  I also wanted to be a graceful dancer, too.

  For years, I took dance classes three times a week. I spent hours in the studio and eventually became fairly strong, somewhat flexible, and was even able to do a couple of time steps. However, I never was anything more than fairly proficient. Later, I joined the high school’s dance team. I began to spend my summers sweating in the hot Houston heat at dance camps and most of each fall doing high kicks on a football field. I loved it. I loved the nerves before each performance, the camaraderie, the music. Other girls were much better than me—Tiffany even became the team’s drum major. I was okay with that, though. I never measured my enjoyment of dancing in terms of awards or compliments. For me “success” wasn’t what dance was about.

  It’s been a very long time since I’ve put on a ballet slipper or a tap shoe. Maybe that’s why I was so excited about the opportunity to write this novel. It afforded me the chance to write about a character who liked dancing for all the same reasons that I did. But, because Shannon Murphy was made up, I was able to make her gifted and graceful and award-winning. That is a writer’s prerogative, I think!

  Writing about Shannon and her love of dance reminded me of how much pressure we now put on ourselves. We want success quickly and easily. We don’t want to fail or to be embarrassed or made fun of. I can’t help but be sad about that. I am now determined to step out of my comfort zone a little bit more and worry about being successful a little less. Yep, like the characters in this book, I really am going to try to “take more chances and dance more dances.”

  Thank you for reading my book, and I hope you’ll think about taking a chance or two as well. I’d love the company!

  Blessings, Shelley

  PROLOGUE

  November

  They were supposed to arrive any minute. Pressing one hand on the slightly warped, freshly painted, white windowsill, Shannon Murphy looked out once again. And, just like she had every time before, she said a little prayer. Dear God, please let this go okay.

  The seven words sounded hollow and awkward in the empty room. Since she’d never considered herself to be an especially religious person and didn’t have a lot of experience praying, she was embarrassed about the clumsy demand. She was pretty sure there were rules to praying that she didn’t know. However, she hoped God would give her a little leeway.

  Especially since this was a pretty unusual circumstance. No, that wasn’t the right word at all. It was a special circumstance. A terrific occasion. In just a few minutes, at age twenty-seven, she was going to meet her sisters for the first time.

  Well, the first time that she could remember.

  That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Shannon felt a burst of pain slice through her insides. At least she had made some progress. Back when she first heard that she had two sisters she hadn’t known about, she’d done some cursing and yelling about the injustice of it all.

  Twenty-four years ago, their mother had died suddenly. She’d left behind a mess of bills, a web of lies, and three little girls. The social workers, and ultimately the folks at the private adoption agency, ended up separating her and her sisters. Each had grown up never knowing about their past or their siblings. Only taking a DNA test on a whim—and the shock of learning that her parents hadn’t actually been her parents—had led to this moment. Well, that and a driving need to discover her past.

  Now, after a flurry of emails and phone calls, the three of them had decided to live together for one year on the top floor of Shannon’s recently purchased building on the edge of downtown Bridgeport, Ohio.

  Amazingly, though they were essentially strangers, they’d all agreed to give up pretty much everything in order to give their relationship and their future together a chance.

  Their leaps of faith hadn’t come easy.

  She had come from a small town in West Virginia. Her sisters Traci and Kimber were arriving from Cleveland and New York City, respectively. Back in Cleveland, Traci had been a big city cop. Kimber had lived a fancy life as a runway and print model in the middle of Manhattan. They’d both given up a lot in order to move to southern Ohio—and to help Shannon achieve her longtime dream of owning a ballroom dance studio.

  Their sacrifices were humbling. Some would even say too generous. However, Shannon didn’t think any of them had an ounce of regret. It seemed a common mother combined with a need to know more about their past could overrule most any other obstacle.

  Now, though she’d been the instigator, Shannon was feeling at a distinct disadvantage. Kimber had flown to Cleveland, spent two days helping Traci get packed, and now was riding shotgun during their short trip from Cleveland to Bridgeport.

  While Shannon had been busy trying to make the sprawling loft into a home, they’d had almost two days of bonding and catching up. What if they’d already formed a bond that was going to be hard for Shannon to penetrate?

  She could see that happening. Both Traci and Kimber were also from big cities, and with demanding jobs. Shannon, on the other hand, was simply a small-town dance instructor. Bridgeport, Ohio, was double the size of her hometown of Spartan, West Virginia. What if they thought she was too country?

  What if they were both used to fancy things and exciting lives, while a trip to the supercenter was sometimes the highlight of Shannon’s day? As question after question rattled through her brain, she became even more agitated.

  Frustrated with the direction of her thoughts, Shannon turned away from the window and looked hard at their living room. It currently consisted of a small, ancient fireplace that needed a good cleaning, a lumpy sofa, a rickety side table, and a lamp. Saying the space looked sparse was putting it mildly.

  The open living room was connected to a galley-style kitchen that sported an oven and refrigerator almost as old as Kimber. On the other side was a bathroom that was bigger than any Shannon had ever had but now seemed woefully small for three women to share.

  The only good thing about their third-floor loft was that there were three bedrooms. They were small and didn’t even have closets, but they did give each of them a small amount of privacy.

  When she’d told the other girls about it all, Shannon had been so excited. But now? She was afraid that they’d see it for what it was—a desperate small-town girl’s attempt to make a vague dream into a home.

  Even though s
he’d since tried to tone down their expectations, there was a good chance they’d be disappointed. Why, Kimber, especially, was probably used to fancy New York apartments and designer furniture.

  Just as another wave of doubt crashed through her, a gleaming white Subaru Outback pulled into the parking lot on the side of the studio, accompanied by two sharp honks.

  Feeling like her heart was in her throat, Shannon rushed down the stairs and opened the front door just as both women stepped out.

  And . . . there were her sisters. Traci and Kimber. Traci, with her long brown hair clasped in a low ponytail and a far more athletic build than her own. Kimber, with her gorgeous cappuccino skin, statuesque height, perfect features, and large doe eyes. Both were so different from her. They were practically strangers who’d dropped everything in order to become family.

  That was everything. Everything. Suddenly, nothing else mattered—not the shock of their circumstances, the anger at her parents, nor all the self-doubts and worries that she’d been holding close like long lost friends. All that did matter was that it had finally happened. She was seeing her sisters.

  All that was why she did the only thing that she could—she promptly burst into tears. “I can hardly believe y’all are here,” she said as she flew into their arms.

  “Of course we’re here,” Traci said as she wrapped an arm around her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  The three of them clung together, holding each other close like lifelines in the middle of Kiowa Street. A light snow had started falling and it stuck to their eyelashes and sparkled against their dark hair.

  Pulling back slightly to wipe her face, Shannon said, “You two are so tall! I feel like a shrimp next to y’all.”

  Kimber chuckled. “You are just a tiny thing.”

  “I think you’re cute,” Traci said. “And you have even a thicker accent in person than you did on the phone. I love it.”

  That little bit of affirmation only made her start crying again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Kimber grinned as she wiped tears of her own. “Welcome to the club. Traci and I’ve been crying nonstop for the last two days,” she said as she leaned in and hugged Shannon once more.

  Shannon held her close, then pulled back slightly to see her face better. “Oh my goodness, but you’re beautiful.”

  “Stop. You are beautiful, too.” Smiling over her shoulder at Traci, she said, “And for what it’s worth, over the last couple of years I’ve had the chance to see a lot of pretty things and people. But, I promise, nothing holds a candle to you two.”

  Pulling away from the both of them, Shannon smiled so big that her teeth were getting cold. “Having you two here? Knowing that I have sisters after growing up as an only child? It’s a miracle. Definitely the answer to a lot of prayers.”

  Some of the warmth that had filled Traci’s gaze cooled. “Prayers and a good DNA test, huh?”

  Shannon nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Stepping away, she took another long look at her sisters. Both had dark brown eyes and brown hair like her. She tried to see if there was anything more that they shared. She couldn’t see anything, though.

  No, they were essentially strangers. Strangers that she had so many hopes for. Doubts filled her again as the three of them dropped their hands and simply stared at each other.

  Taking her in. Taking in their new home, their new town. Their new life. Did they have doubts?

  Worse, were they already regretting their decisions to give up so much for a bond they weren’t even sure they would ever actually have?

  “So, this is it,” Traci said.

  Kimber looked up at the three-story building and smiled. “It’s just like I imagined.”

  They were standing on the street in the snow.

  “Welcome home,” she said, finally remembering what was important and what wasn’t. “Come on in and get out of the cold.”

  Popping the trunk, Traci went over and grabbed a pair of duffle bags. “Lead the way, Shannon. I can’t wait to see it all.”

  After Kimber grabbed her designer suitcase, Shannon steeled her shoulders and led the way in. It was time to move forward. To begin again.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Dancing in heels should count as a superpower.”

  —Molly W.

  January, Two Months Later

  When the set of bells chimed on the front door to Dance with Me, her finally finished dance studio, Shannon felt a burst of satisfaction. Her very first private client had arrived, and right on time, too.

  After taking a quick glance at herself in the mirror, she smoothed her dress down on her thighs and strode forward to meet the man who was standing in the small lobby. “Hi, I’m Shannon Murphy,” she said as she held out her hand. “Are you Dylan Lange?”

  The man who looked like he could have played quarterback for the Broncos stared at her for a good long moment before clasping her hand in his. “Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  His palm was gargantuan. She was sure two of her hands could neatly fit inside it. Yet, he clasped her hand in a way that was both firm and gentle. That was no small feat, she reckoned. Most men either shook her hand so lightly it felt like she was holding onto a limp trout or with so much pressure it felt more like a vice than a hello.

  Thinking that this simple handshake was a sign of good things to come, she smiled up at him. “It’s real nice to meet you, too.”

  “Thanks for fitting me into your schedule on such late notice. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course. I’m always happy to help someone learn to dance—especially when I hear that they’re in a bind.”

  When he smiled at her, faint lines formed around his blue eyes. He really did have nice eyes. And, yes, she could admit it, she liked how the rest of him looked, too. He had dark-blond hair, a light tan, and those blue eyes . . . And his teeth? Perfectly straight and pure white. Immediately she switched her comparison from pro football lineman to Coppertone model.

  As what she was doing hit her, she felt her cheeks heat. She knew better than to start fantasizing about her clients. She liked to keep things professional and organized. For her, it was a needed element since she spent much of her time in such close proximity with her students. Things could get out of hand fast if she allowed anything to become personal while fox-trotting or waltzing in her ballroom.

  When she noticed that he was looking around the lobby and the large room off to the side, she knew it was time to get to business.

  Walking toward the antique desk she’d bought for a song, and Traci and Kimber had helped her refurbish, she gestured to the pair of chairs next to it. “Dylan, come on in. We’ll have a seat, get all the paperwork done and discuss your goals.” Motioning to the neat line of antique silver hooks that lined the wall, she added, “There’s a place for you to hang up your coat, too.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged out of his black wool peacoat and hung it on a hook. Looking more awkward, he shoved his hands into his pockets instead of sitting down. “It’s pretty cold out, huh?”

  “It sure is. There’s no way around it—January is for the birds.”

  And, now she had succeeded in sounding like an old woman. What was wrong with her? She needed to get a grip.

  Clearing her throat, she gestured to the chairs again. “Please sit down.”

  When he did at last, she pushed forward one of the packets of information she’d worked so hard on. She loved how the contents were comprehensive but not too overwhelming. She’d learned over the years that it was a mistake to pass on too much information to a student too quickly. “So, here’s all the information about the classes and fees. We went over all of this on the phone.”

  He scanned the page. “Okay . . .”

  “Here is a basic health form. If you could fill it out now, it would be helpful.”<
br />
  “I’m a cop. I’m in good shape.”

  Oh yes, he certainly was. Still a little embarrassed that she’d been ogling him, Shannon handed him a pen. “This is just in case you have a heart condition or something I need to know about.”

  “Is that really a concern?”

  “It can be.” Remembering Mr. Gerome back in Spartan and how he seemed to be last person to realize that he wasn’t too steady on his feet, she swallowed. “It’s just a precaution. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I understand that you take this dancing stuff pretty seriously.” He smirked.

  Ouch. She wasn’t a big fan of his attitude.

  She smiled tightly. “I know it seems unlikely, but some of our sessions might be more active than you realize.” When he raised a brow, she shrugged. “All I really need from you is a signature saying that you are aware of the health risks associated with being here.”

  Dylan scrawled his name at the bottom, not even pretending to look at her carefully written warning at the top of the page. “Is that it?”

  Suddenly her hot client didn’t seem all that attractive anymore. “Almost. The last thing that we need to do is determine your goals.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “What goals do I need to have? I already told you that I wanted to learn to dance.”

  “Yes, I know, but most people have a reason for taking classes, such as a couple might sign up for classes so they can dance at a wedding or something,” she replied in her most reasonable tone. “These private classes are expensive, and I don’t want to waste your money.”

  He rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes! “Honey, why don’t you let me worry about how I spend my money?”

  Never had being called “honey” irked her so much. “I’ll gladly let you manage your finances on your own—after you let me know how many classes you’d like to take and what particular dance you’d like to learn.”