Save the Last Dance Read online

  “Okay. Glad we talked. Let’s go on in. It’s freezing.”

  Jeremy climbed out, grabbed his backpack, and walked to the front door of Gunnar’s house. As he’d done every time since he’d first seen the place, he reflected on how crazy it was that he lived there.

  Gunnar Law not only worked as an auto mechanic for Ace, he did carpentry work on the side. He’d built his house over two years, and it was cool. Like, amazingly cool.

  For one, it was way bigger than it looked from the front. It was a sprawling walkout ranch-style house with four bedrooms, a media room, five bathrooms, and a kitchen–dining room combo that practically ran the length of the house. Crazier still, before Jeremy moved in, Gunnar had lived there all by himself.

  He’d later learned that Gunnar had built it for a woman he’d been dating, but they’d broken up while he was building it. He’d finished it out with the intention of putting it on the market, but the real estate market was in a slump and no one was looking. Sometime after that he’d decided to just stay.

  And now Jeremy had a huge room right next to the kitchen.

  Crazy.

  After unlocking the door, Gunnar motioned for Jeremy to go in while he punched a series of numbers on the keypad.

  “I was thinking chili tonight. You okay with that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you have homework?”

  “Yep. A ton.”

  Gunnar raised his eyebrows. “You always say you have a ton.”

  “That’s because I always do.”

  “Do you need some help?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” Looking uncomfortable, Gunnar folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not too good at math, but I can help you study history or something. I wasn’t great in school, but I didn’t flunk out or anything. I also know a couple of people who could tutor you, so don’t be shy.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I’m gonna head to my room now.”

  “All right. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  Walking the short distance down the hall to his room, Jeremy walked inside and closed the door. And, at last, he felt himself relax.

  The truth was, he wasn’t all that good at school. He wasn’t failing out, but he mostly got Bs and Cs. He’d always been okay with that, since he’d been basically just trying to get by. But now that it looked like staying with Gunnar could actually happen, he started thinking about other stuff. Like a future. He was a junior, halfway through the year even. If all went well, he could be graduating high school in a year and a half. Melanie, his social worker, had told him he should even start thinking about college or trade school.

  Jeremy hadn’t ever believed he’d have the money for either, but now he was starting to think that she hadn’t been just giving him a pep talk. Maybe he was going to have a future after all.

  His phone buzzed, pulling him away from his worries. Looking at the screen, he saw it was from Phillip. Phil was his best friend at Bridgeport High. They’d met in biology. Their teacher had made them partners when the class was dissecting a frog. Both of them had been trying hard not to gag but had somehow gotten the best grade on the test, which inspired them to work together again.

  Which kind of turned them into friends. Now Jeremy ate lunch with the guy and his whole crew.

  And that was really amazing, given that Phillip was friends with just about everybody.

  Hey. Have you asked anyone to the Christmas dance yet?

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. Bridgeport High held a fancy Christmas dance every year, a couple of days before Christmas. He thought that was a weird time to have a school dance, but everyone said it was tradition and that they’d been holding the dance in the school gym right before Christmas for decades. Some people even planned their vacations around it.

  He hadn’t thought much about the dance for a number of reasons. But, he guessed if he was a guy like Phillip DiCenzo, he would be. Every girl in the school probably was waiting on him to ask her out.

  No. Have you?

  I’m taking Carson.

  Should’ve known. Phillip and Carson weren’t official yet, but everyone knew that they liked each other. Phillip walked her to class every day after lunch.

  Carson said that Bethany Seevers likes you. What do you think?

  About Bethany? IDK

  She’s hot.

  Yeah. But I don’t really know her.

  Get to know her so we can go together.

  Whatever.

  I’m serious.

  Fine. I’ll think about.

  Good.

  Jeremy watched the screen for a minute more, but true to form, Phillip had signed off and was focused on the next thing.

  Sitting down on the big La-Z-Boy that was in the corner of his room, Jeremy thought about Bethany. She was in their science lab too. She was hot. She had really long hair, and he’d always thought she was one of the prettiest girls in school. She didn’t have lots of curves like Phillip’s Carson. Instead, she looked kind of willowy.

  But as he thought about Bethany, he realized he didn’t think about her looks all that much. Instead, he liked how she was so nice. A lot of people their age were only nice to their friends. Not Bethany, though. She seemed to go out of her way to talk to everyone.

  Yep, she was really sweet. And that sweetness—combined with her light brown hair and green eyes—well, he couldn’t think of a better girl in the junior class.

  But he didn’t know if he even wanted to go to a dance.

  Girls, in his experience, liked to talk. She might want to know about him.

  Then he’d have to tell her his whole story. About how Gunnar Law wasn’t really his dad and this cool house wasn’t actually his house.

  And if she still asked him questions, he’d have to share that he’d been in four other foster houses and that he’d never had a dad. And that his mom had been real sweet until she’d gotten shot at an ATM.

  He could just imagine how cool Bethany would think he was then. Obviously, not very.

  Which meant before long, Bethany wouldn’t like him anymore—and worse, she would probably tell everyone about his parents and how he used to live. And then everyone would know how different he was.

  That was something he wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. Shoot, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to deal with that.

  CHAPTER 4

  clara: A young girl who receives a Nutcracker doll for Christmas and dreams that he comes to life.

  December 5

  Kimber had started helping her sister Shannon clean up her dance studio on the bottom floor of their building once a week. It was a good way to spend time with her sister, since Shannon was married and wasn’t around that much at night anymore.

  Kimber also had a natural affinity for organizing and cleaning. She didn’t mind doing either and loved seeing a room with everything neatly in its place.

  Shannon, on the other hand, did not.

  Their third sister, Traci, sometimes offered to help, but more often than not she took a pass. Kimber didn’t fault her for that, however. Traci was a cop for the city of Bridgeport. She not only had a demanding job, but she was also a new mom. Several months ago, Traci had met a pregnant teenager named Gwen and took her under her wing. A lot had happened, but in the end, Gwen became Traci’s unofficial little sister, and Traci became the adopted mother to Gwen’s baby boy, Bridge. So Gwen had a lot on her plate . . . and a doctor fiancé to boot.

  Since Kimber was taking a break from modeling and wasn’t sure what to do next, she’d been trying to help Shannon out in the dance studio. Shannon had been appreciative of everything, which was very like her sister.

  But, what Kimber hadn’t seen coming was Shannon’s need to try to teach her to tap dance. No matter how many times Kimber had protested that she really, really didn’t wan
t to learn how to do a time step, Shannon tried to convince her to “just give it a try.”

  Like she was currently doing.

  Grimacing at both the ugly tap shoes on her feet and the fact that she couldn’t make a single clean tap like Shannon did, Kimber was already counting the minutes until the impromptu lesson was over.

  Shannon, however, seemed to think of Kimber’s talentless toes as a wonderful challenge.

  “Come on, Kimber,” she coaxed, standing by her sister’s side. “This will be fun.”

  “It won’t.” It had never been fun.

  “I promise, you’ll get the hang of it. Soon, you’ll be tapping up a storm.”

  She was so far from tapping up anything. Annoyed, and barely keeping her thoughts to herself, Kimber eyed their reflections in the mirror. Here she was—feeling a little frumpy in faded jeans, an old sweatshirt, heavy socks, and fake-leather flats with taps attached to the soles. Next to her was little petite Shannon looking perfect in form fitting black pants, a violet tank top, some kind of cute knit-wrap thingy, and legitimate, two-inch-heel tap shoes that were actually very pretty.

  Added to the disparity was the fact that Kimber was a good ten inches taller than Shannon. Kimber always felt like a giant next to her. Now, she not only felt huge, she felt like a clumsy oaf too.

  “Shannon, it’s real sweet of you to get me tap shoes, but I’d really rather clean.”

  As she should have expected, Shannon looked really confused. “Don’t say that. No one would rather clean than dance.”

  Oh, yes they would! Choosing her words carefully, Kimber added, “To be honest, I’m not enjoying this all that much.” Like, at all.

  “That’s because you’re rushing, Kimber. Now, let’s just take each step slow. Before you know it, you’ll be agreeing with me that tap dancing isn’t so hard.”

  “It’s always going to be difficult because I have no sense of rhythm.” She also had no interest in learning how to time step. As in none.

  Shannon did some kind of fancy footwork to illustrate her point. “You’ll get the hang of it soon. You just need some muscle memory. That’s where good old-fashioned practice comes in.”

  “But—”

  “Come now. Don’t give up,” she pressed in her sweet southern drawl.

  Kimber was getting tired of being ignored. “Shannon, one last time, I came here to clean, not dance.” She also had come in to talk. She really wanted to talk to Shannon.

  Looking deflated, Shannon stared at Kimber in the mirror. “You’re serious.”

  “I promise, I’m so serious.” Please, she silently added. Don’t make me pull a New York attitude. It was on the way though, because her patience had left a good five minutes ago.

  “Fine.” Pointing to the three closets on the back wall. “How would you feel about helping me organize the costumes for our Christmas ballet? You know, all my students will be performing different dances from The Nutcracker.”

  Kimber did know. She was excited to help Shannon and to see it too. What she didn’t want to do was dance. “I’d love to help you—as long as you don’t start trying to make me tap dance anymore. My feet already hurt.”

  She chuckled as she sat down on a bench and carefully removed her tap shoes and slipped on some black leather flats. “I’m sorry. I just have a feeling that you’re going to be a really great tap dancer. But I don’t mean to continually put you on the spot.”

  “Thank you for that.” After taking off the ugly tap shoes, Kimber put back on her favorite running shoes.

  “Oh brother. Well, let’s get started.” Moving over to the closet, Shannon started pulling out boxes and plastic tubs. “So how are things going? And, before I forget to ask, where’s your fancy new car? I didn’t see it parked on the street when I got here this morning.”

  “My car’s in the shop because someone slashed two of my tires while I was helping out in the library at the elementary school.”

  Shannon’s face went slack. “What? When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “I can hardly believe it. Bridgeport is such a safe place. Who do you think could have done it? Do you think it was a kid?”

  “I don’t know what to think. If it was a kid, it feels kind of random. I mean they’re just little kids at that elementary school.”

  “You’re right. Maybe someone was trying to rob you or something?”

  “I don’t think so, but who knows?” Because it hurt too much to think about Peter Mohler being so close, Kimber knelt down on one knee and pulled another large plastic tub out of the closet. On its heels slid out two shopping bags stuffed to the gills with fabric.

  Looking at the hodgepodge of costumes, plastic tubs, holiday decorations, and what looked like old and discarded socks, she wrinkled her nose. “Shannon, this closet is a clown car.”

  Her sister frowned. “I know. It’s a real mess. I don’t know how it got so bad.”

  “Me neither. We’ve barely been here a year.”

  “Obviously, I need to give it more attention—it’s always last on my list, though. I’d much rather teach or dance.”

  “I know.” It was really cute the way Shannon loved to dance so much.

  “Thanks for helping me.”

  “I’m happy to help, but this closet needs more than a little TLC.” Shannon was going to need a better organizational system, because this really wasn’t working. “I think we need to find a system for you. Hmm. Do you want me to start a list on the computer? We could catalogue it . . .”

  “No, I want to get back to your tires getting slashed. Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think it’s a police matter.” The truth was that she hadn’t wanted to go down that road again. No one in New York had cared about her stalker, since he hadn’t actually ever hurt her or her property. Plus, their sister, Traci, and Shannon’s husband, Dylan, were cops. She wasn’t ready for her sisters to become involved either.

  “Really?”

  No, not really. “I was thinking maybe I drove through a construction site or something.”

  “I’ve never heard of two tires getting slashed from stray nails on the road.”

  Kimber hadn’t heard of that either. Plus, the guys at Ace’s shop said the damage had probably been made with a knife or a box cutter. “Don’t worry about it. The important thing is that my car will be as good as new by this afternoon.”

  But Shannon didn’t seem to want to let it go. “If it wasn’t a teen, who could it have been?”

  Maybe her stalker? “I’m not sure.”

  “Hey. You look worried. Are you scared? Do you want me to call Dylan?” Sounding more positive, she added, “I know he’d be happy to help. I bet he can come right over and take a statement.”

  Her offer was pure Shannon. She was so eager to assist, so determined to help someone in need, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen—even volunteer her busy, newlywed cop husband.

  Though, Kimber figured Shannon volunteering Dylan wasn’t much of a stretch. He would probably be as willing as Shannon to help her out. She just wasn’t sure he could do anything.

  Shannon’s desire to help everyone and get Dylan involved was cute, and it made Kimber happy that Shannon had that support system. But it wasn’t how she handled things. Kimber handled them on her own. “I didn’t tell you so you could fix me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to do that.”

  She heard the hurt in Shannon’s voice. “I’m not trying to be mean, I’m just saying I’ve got it handled.” She attempted to chuckle. “I mean, I only told you because you asked where my car was.”

  “So if I hadn’t asked, you would have kept your car troubles to yourself?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that it’s my problem and
not yours.”

  Shannon looked even more hurt. “Okay,” she said. Then she turned back to the closet and pulled out another plastic tub.

  “Look, I’m sorry . . .” Kimber’s voice drifted off. Because really, what was she going to say, anyway? That she was being secretive because she’d been burned by revealing too much to the wrong people? That she was hesitant to talk about anything because she’d been followed around by a creepy stalker guy for the last year and never said anything?

  It was time to change the subject. “In other news, I met a great guy in the parking lot while I was waiting.”

  “What?”

  “The man was the guardian of the high school helper in the library. When they saw me freaking out in the parking lot, they came over to help.”

  “He was a guardian?”

  “Yep.” Pulling out a couple costumes, she started organizing them in piles. “The boy is a foster kid. And the guardian is practically a walking advertisement for gorgeous men who are competent.”

  “So he’s a hunk with a good heart. Those are my favorite types of guys.”

  Kimber wasn’t usually so dreamy, but she couldn’t deny that Shannon had a good point. “I think they’re mine too.”

  “Is he married?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t check? Was he wearing a ring on his hand?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure that even back in West Virginia, there were plenty of married men who didn’t wear a ring.” She’d sure encountered lots of married men who didn’t believe in rings when she’d been modeling.

  “Oh, come on. I’m small town, but not that small. Did you get a married vibe from him?”

  “Shannon, you are a piece of work. No one has a married vibe.”

  “Some people do. I do.”

  Even though both Shannon and her husband wore rings, they did have an “I’m married don’t mess with me” vibe. Some people did have that kind of way about them. “Fine. If I had to guess, I’d say he was single.”

  “Then he would be perfect.” Opening another tub, Shannon smiled. “Ah, here we go. These are going to be sublime for my little snowflakes. Help me count, would you?”