Shall We Dance? Read online

  She was also looking like she’d lost her best friend as she started opening and shutting cabinets. “I had to sit in on a community meeting. It was full of a lot of hot air and nothing to eat. Not even a bowl of pretzels.”

  “Bless your heart.”

  Traci didn’t even roll her eyes at Shannon’s comment. “I’m starving. Like, I could seriously even eat whatever it was you made three days ago.”

  Their current conversation wasn’t anything new. Soon after they’d started living together, the three of them had learned that they had something in common besides brown hair and brown eyes. Not a one of them could cook. Nothing of worth, anyway.

  But that said, Shannon was feeling slightly offended. “Traci, you said you liked those black bean burgers I made.”

  “That you kind of made,” she corrected. “And, sorry, but I also kind of lied. They were edible, but that’s about it.”

  “Here.” Shannon pushed her big bowl of salad across the table toward Traci. “Grab a fork. Eat some veggies.”

  Traci grumbled but did just that and joined her at the table. “Where’s Kimber?”

  “She’s on the phone in her room.”

  “Who with?” Her voice darkened. “Oh, no. Is it her agent?”

  “I don’t think it’s Brett. I’m not sure though.” Shannon hoped it wasn’t. Every time Kimber got off the phone with her fancy New York modeling agent, she seemed upset and then didn’t eat for two days.

  After taking another bite of lettuce, Traci pulled out her phone and started swiping. “I’m going to get on Door Dash and get something delivered. Do you want anything?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I wonder what— Oh, great you’re here,” Traci said smiling at Kimber. “What do you want to eat? Chinese or Thai?”

  Kimber popped a hand on one slim hip. “Oh, girl. You and your love of Asian food.”

  “I can’t help it.” Giving Shannon a look, she said, “It’s tasty, and good for you, too. So, what do y’all want? My treat.”

  “Nothing for me,” Kimber said. “I’m not too hungry.”

  “Is everything okay?” Shannon asked.

  Kimber shared a smile with Shannon, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sure.”

  Shannon didn’t believe her, but she wasn’t eager to push. They all deserved their privacy.

  Traci was obviously not of the same mind. “What Shannon was too polite to ask is, Did that agent of yours make you worry about your looks again?”

  “What? No. It wasn’t Brett.”

  “Good. I hate when he calls. All he ever does is make you stress.”

  “You give him too hard of a time. I’m a model, honey. My career is based on my looks. It’s nothing personal.”

  “I guess I don’t understand it then,” Traci retorted. “You’re one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen in person.”

  Shannon almost choked on the water she was sipping. “In person? The things you say, Traci.”

  “I know. I have no tact. I’m working on it, though.”

  Traci’s cheeks were flushed, which Shannon was fairly sure would shock anyone on Traci’s police force. Traci put up such a strong front that not a bit of insecurity ever seemed to seep through.

  Kimber sat down. “Just to end all the speculation, I was on the phone with my mom.”

  “How did it go?”

  “About how it always does,” she replied with a look of regret. “Mom’s hurt that I moved here. She doesn’t understand why I want to know two women who mean practically nothing to me.”

  “Ouch,” Traci said.

  Kimber continued. “What else? Oh, yeah. She worries that I’m hurting my modeling career by living in the middle of Ohio, which she considers only slightly more sophisticated than, say, Tibet.”

  “So, she’s good,” Traci said.

  Kimber raised one perfectly arched brow, then started laughing. “Yeah, Trace. Mom is great.” After a pause, she said, “You know what? Order me up some veggie lo mein.”

  “Will do.” Traci picked up her phone again. “Shannon?”

  Looking at the dregs of the salad in her bowl, she said, “Beef and broccoli, please. With brown rice.”

  “On it.”

  As Traci started swiping screens on her phone, Kimber walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a sparkling water and joined them at the table. “You want to know the best thing about that conversation?”

  Shannon nodded. “Yep.”

  “I told Mom that I had to get off the phone because you girls were waiting for me.” Her smile widened. “I love, love, love having sisters.”

  “You and me both,” Traci said. “Dinner’s on the way, girls.”

  Feeling all the tension dissipate, Shannon sat back against her chair and simply enjoyed the moment. Sure, they had a long way to go before they had the type of relationship she’d dreamed of . . . but even after a couple of months things were good.

  She’d take that.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Life is short and there will always

  be dirty dishes, so let’s dance.”

  —James Howe

  Friday Night

  Another week had gone by, and here she was again, waiting for her least favorite client. Did it help that he also paid more for her time than almost anyone else?

  No, it did not.

  Especially since he was late.

  Feeling grumpier than usual, Shannon sat down on the velvet sofa in the lobby. It was a new purchase, paid for by Kimber, who seemed to have an unlimited supply of money to spend on their new building. After putting up a token argument about Kimber not needing to spend her money on Shannon’s studio, she’d given in. Kimber assured her that she had more money from her modeling jobs than she knew what to do with.

  Besides, the couch was gorgeous. It was a dark emerald green, and it was all curves and carved wood. Kimber had chuckled when she’d seen it online, saying it looked like something out of the Addams Family.

  She hadn’t been wrong.

  But even if Shannon hadn’t needed something for her students to sit on before and after class, she would have coveted it. It was that beautiful.

  Another five minutes passed . . . making her aggravation spike.

  Maybe Dylan was going to blow her off. And wouldn’t that just be something he would do? He was self-centered, and that was a fact.

  Still stewing, she decided that she wasn’t going to lie to any of his fantasy-football buddies about tonight’s class—if they just so happened to stop by and ask questions. She was going to make him pay for this wasted hour, too. Just like every other student.

  Deciding to wait five more minutes, Shannon kicked off her three-inch heels. Boy, her feet hurt. She’d had a two-hour tap class with her new class of sixteen-year-olds—which wasn’t for sissies.

  Though they were all still getting to know each other, she was impressed by some of their skills. The girls were talented and had a ton of energy. They also were absorbing everything she could teach them like sponges. She was pretty sure that before long they were going to be able to dance circles around her.

  Shoot, today after class, they’d started making up their own dances, laughing and squealing and doing what girls do. She’d watched them with affection . . . while sitting on her new favorite couch.

  When had she gotten so old?

  Feeling a bit melancholy, Shannon closed her eyes and allowed herself to do something she tried very hard to never do. She let her mind drift back to when she was sixteen and practicing twenty to thirty hours a week for competitions.

  She’d switched to ballroom after she’d realized that she was never going to be a good enough ballerina to dance in New York.

  With that new goal, she’d driven herself even harder and given up so much. Dates. Friends. Even a decent grade poin
t average.

  All she’d wanted was to dance and win a slew of ballroom competitions.

  And her parents? Her father had worked overtime to pay for the extra lessons, and her mother had practically lived in her car, driving Shannon everywhere. At the time, she’d taken it for granted.

  Most of the time, all she’d ever thought about was winning competitions, impressing a bunch of judges, and using those first-place trophies to propel her to bigger and better things.

  She’d dreamed big, too. International competitions in Europe. Being paired with a famous partner. Broadway. Everything.

  But then, in the preliminary round of one of her most important competitions, she’d been injured. Within seconds, all those years of dreams and goals had vanished. After a painful surgery, all that had been left was for her to go back home, head back to high school on crutches, and face the fact that everything she’d done had been for nothing.

  “Hey, sorry I’m a little late,” Dylan called out as he opened the door wide, trailing a burst of frigid air in his wake. “I had some trouble with a guy we brought in.”

  Realizing she’d almost been asleep, Shannon popped to her feet and then blurted out, “I’m not sure that being twenty minutes late for an hour-long class is just ‘a little late.’”

  He’d just shrugged off his coat but paused before hanging it up. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said with a grimace. “I’m real late. Better?”

  She took a moment to appreciate the fact that the dark khakis he was wearing fit like they were tailored for him, and his dark green sweater showed that he obviously worked out. Like, a lot.

  Realizing that once again she was thinking inappropriate things about one of her students, she got to her feet. “You know, I should make you reschedule the lesson but charge you for the missed class. Just like I do for everyone else.”

  A good bit of the humor that had been in his expression when he entered vanished. “By all means, why don’t you do that?” he said, giving her feet a pointed look. “Since, you know, your napping time is so valuable and all.”

  Her toes curled. Yep, she was standing practically barefoot while berating him about how busy she was.

  Maybe she was overreacting . . . just a little.

  Avoiding his gaze, she sat down quickly on her pretty couch, unbuckled one of her shoes, and did her best to ignore the twinge of pain that reverberated from a fresh blister on her toe.

  “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

  “Huh?” Looking at the oozing blister on the side of her big toe, she frowned. She fished out an old tissue from the pocket of her dress and tore it in half. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You sure about that? Don’t you want a Band-Aid or something?”

  She had on nylons. Bandaging a toe meant taking them off, putting on the bandage, and then putting them back on. Which, of course, sounded like torture. “It’s no big deal.”

  But he was already sitting next to her and staring at her feet. Her very ugly, very beat-up feet. After wrapping the piece of tissue around her toe, she pushed her foot into the shoe.

  After slipping on the other shoe and buckling the strap, she got back on her feet, steadfastly ignoring the sting of discomfort. “Dylan, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you when you came in. You didn’t deserve it.”

  He looked surprised, then those eyes of his lit up. “I’ve been trying to figure out what was different about you tonight. Now I know.” His lips curved into a matching smile. “You’ve got your accent on tonight.”

  She pressed a palm over her lips. “Sorry.” Her accent was always worse when she was emotional or tired. On evenings like this, she practically sounded like she’d just sprung from the backwoods.

  “Why are you sorry? I like it. It’s cool.”

  “I sound like a hick.”

  “I didn’t say that. All you sound is different, yeah?”

  Now she felt even worse. He was being so nice and all she’d done so far was act high and mighty. Or maybe even worse than that. Clearing her throat, she said, “Are you ready to waltz?”

  “You still up for it?”

  “Absolutely.” She led the way into the classroom and turned on her Ballroom Beats program on her iPad. Skimming through the choices, she selected “Moon River.” The song was her favorite for beginning waltzing students, thanks to the slower pace and steady beat. She enjoyed thinking about Audrey Hepburn, too.

  Turning to him, she smiled. “Shall we dance?”

  He nodded and placed one hand on her waist and took her right hand with his left. “Let’s do this,” he said, looking like he was about to go into battle. She bit her lip to stop herself from grinning but he caught it anyway. “What’s so funny? Did I mess up already?”

  “Not at all. You just look so serious.”

  “I’ve got to be. All this counting means I’ve got to concentrate or I’m going to step on your toes.”

  “You let me worry about my toes.”

  “You’re already in pain. I don’t want to make things worse.”

  Glancing into his eyes, she realized that he was being completely serious. He really was worried about hurting her. “My toes are used to abuse. Now, stop worrying about me and just relax. Once you let your body take control, everything comes easier.” She started guiding him through the basic steps, counting under her breath as he followed her directions.

  When the song ended, she stepped backward. “Let me put on another song and we’ll try a turn.”

  “I’m game.”

  Deciding he didn’t need another classical arrangement, she put on “Come Away with Me” by Norah Jones. As she’d hoped, Dylan first looked taken aback, then slowly smiled.

  “I like this better.”

  “I thought you might.” When he took her in his arms again, she reminded him to lock his elbows. “No noodle arms, Dylan.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She chuckled and adjusted the position of his hand on her waist.

  And so it continued. They moved, she reminded him to count, and they twirled. She changed songs, and she coaxed him to stand a little closer and to hear the music’s beat.

  He hesitated, then curved his hand around her waist a little more firmly. Right away, she was aware of his height. Of the way his hand warmed her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

  Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “You’re doing great. We’re dancing, Dylan.”

  “Yeah?” He actually looked pleased.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m still afraid of stepping on your toes.”

  “If you did, it wouldn’t be the first time.” She smiled. “And look up at me. Your feet are doing just fine.”

  After another ten minutes, she said, “This will be our last pass across the floor. I’ve already kept you fifteen minutes late.”

  He looked so surprised, he stumbled. “No way.”

  “I’m serious. Now focus.”

  He laughed, then spun her in a circle. Surprised, she started laughing too. “What was that for?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because this has been a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be. I needed this tonight, and I would’ve never guessed it.”

  He was right. She’d been so tired and tense, but now she felt exhilarated, almost like she used to back when she was a teenager. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was a long day. But this? Well, you ended it on a good note. Thanks.”

  Dylan’s eyes lit up just as the front door jangled.

  Surprised at the late visitor, Shannon turned her head to see who it was.

  Then she kind of wished she hadn’t, because Traci walked right in, her blue uniform bringing a dose of reality to the room.

  “Shannon, what’s going on? Wait, Dylan, is that really you?”

&n
bsp; Dylan glanced over her shoulder, blinked, then slowly grinned. “Hey, Lucky.”

  His voice had lowered an octave.

  Shannon turned to face her sister, who was still dressed for work, in her dark jeans, boots, button down, jacket, and her badge still in its chain around her neck. She also had her shoulder-length straight hair in a neat ponytail.

  And . . . she was staring at Dylan like he was a perpetrator.

  “What’s going on?” Traci asked.

  “We’re finishing up a lesson,” Shannon said.

  “You’re taking dance lessons from my sister?” Looking at how close they were standing to each other, Traci’s eyes narrowed. “Private dancing lessons?”

  Dylan took a step away from Shannon, like she’d contracted rabies.

  Leaving Shannon more confused than even before.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Opportunity dances with those already

  on the dance floor.”

  —H. Jackson Brown Jr.

  Traci was staring at the two of them like they were fooling around behind her back. Shannon didn’t know whether to tease her about that outraged expression or apologize—since she kind of had been feeling something toward Dylan that had nothing to do with dance steps.

  But just as she was about to say something . . . Dylan held up his hands like he an innocent man who’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I didn’t know Shannon was your sister, Traci.”

  Why was he apologizing? And what did it matter if she was Traci’s sister or not? Feeling thoroughly confused, she said, “So, I’m guessing y’all know each other.”

  “We were just assigned to be partners,” Traci explained, her expression hard.

  “This doesn’t mean anything. I only have three more lessons left.”

  It doesn’t mean anything. He only had to be here three more times.

  Well, that put her in her place, though she wasn’t exactly sure what place that was. Feeling kind of like she just got dumped in the middle of a dance, she said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how these dance lessons interfere with y’all working together.”

  “It doesn’t and it won’t,” Dylan said.