by Whitley Cox
Violet shook her head and thrust out her hand. “Absolutely not. I’m Violet, the dance instructor. What’s your name?”
She placed her small, cool and delicate hand in Violet’s. There wasn’t much force behind her shake either. “I’m Paige.”
Violet grinned. “Nice to meet you, Paige. Have you ever danced before?”
Paige pulled her hand away and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “No, not really.”
Violet moved out of the way of the door to the studio and encouraged Paige to take a peek inside. “Well, you’re here for the right class then. We welcome beginners. We welcome all levels.”
Quietly, Paige wandered into the studio. Violet had opened the side window to let in the breeze. She had the fans overhead running on high speed to get the cool air circulating. It had been a warm day, and the studio windows faced southwest getting the majority of the afternoon sun. She just knew in a month or two the place had the potential to be a real sauna. She had to get the electrician in to make sure the air-conditioner was working in top order. But for now, she just pulled the blinds, opened the window, cranked the fan and prayed nobody passed out from heat exhaustion.
“Those are a lot of mirrors,” Paige whispered, running her hand along the ballet bars that took up two of the four walls.
Violet chuckled. “Helps us maintain our form. The kids love it.”
“Shows us all our imperfections.”
“Why do you think I wear all black?” Violet replied with another laugh. “Black creates the illusion that I have more than the figure of a teenage boy.”
Paige giggled softly. “I wore all black too. Different reasons though.”
The sound of the door chime and the chattering of the other dance students filled the air. All women, all between twenty and forty, and all eager to try their hand at contemporary dance.
“What brought you to the studio? How’d you hear about us?”
Paige tipped her eyes up to meet Violet’s. A melee of emotions swirled behind them, and Violet wasn’t sure which one was going to triumph. Sadness lingered, but so did hope and excitement. “Your brochure. Can I … can I start tonight?”
Yes! Her brochures were working. “Absolutely! The first two classes are free anyway. This way you can get an idea if you like it without having to commit. We offer full enrollment prices or a drop-in price, if your schedule is all over the place.” She smiled. “Something for everybody.”
The corners of Paige’s eyes crinkled, and a small smile pulled at her lips. “Thank you.” Her attention was drawn to the other women filing into the studio, all of them wearing leather dance shoes, Lycra tights and bodysuits. She slipped the oversize T-shirt she was wearing over her head and stepped out of her flip-flops. “Glad I’ll fit in.”
Violet made her way over to the stereo to turn on the tunes. “As long as you let the music move you, you won’t have a problem at all.”
Thursday afternoon, Violet found herself bouncing around the studio on pins and needles. She was going to see Adam again. It was all she could do Wednesday night, after Mitch and Jayda got home, to keep from asking them both a million questions. How was Adam? Did he ask about her? Did he mention their dancing?
She smacked her palm against her forehead and rolled her eyes at herself in the studio mirror. She needed to get a grip. She was thirty freaking years old. This was not junior high, where she got her girlfriends to find out if a boy liked her. Or passed him a note in class with two boxes. Do you like me? Yes or No? Please check one.
Not that she’d ever been that girl. But she saw the notes being passed, heard the giggles and witnessed all the googly eyes her friends made at Warner Robson, the hottest boy in school. Violet simply admired him from afar, doodled his name on her notebook at home and dreamt of the day he noticed her and asked her to winter formal. That day never came.
But this was not junior high anymore. Adam was not Warner Robson. Warner Robson didn’t even hold a candle to Adam Eastwood, and she couldn’t ask her brother or her six-year-old niece if Adam liked her.
She had to do that shit on her own if she wanted to find out.
Damn it, sometimes being an adult sucked.
The sound of the door opening had her checking herself one last time in the studio mirror before heading out into the waiting room to greet her students. She hoped it was Adam and Mira.
Fully expecting to see Adam, she stopped short and her heart hit her knees when instead of an incredibly attractive man and his adorable daughter, it was a petite woman with thick, black-framed glasses, black pumps, a black pencil skirt and the brightest canary-yellow silk sleeveless blouse Violet had ever seen. But this woman pulled it off. She smiled brightly and click-clacked her small, fit frame over to stand in front of Violet, tilting her head up. “Are you Violet Benson?”
Violet peered down at the woman. “I am, yes. How can I help you?”
The woman’s smile grew even brighter. She pulled a stylus out of the blonde bun at the back of her head and brought a tablet out of her purse. “I’m Sarah Turner, and I work for the Arts Council of Seattle. We’re hosting a big performing arts exhibition and show in July over the Independence Day weekend, Art in the Park. We’d like to invite you and your students to perform.” She tapped the stylus on the tablet half a dozen times before turning the screen toward Violet. It was a sign-up form. “We’re looking for a minimum of three performances. A solo, a duet, and a group. The ages of the performers are totally up to you. Though we would like a sampling of both adult and children or youth. If possible.” She blinked her sky-blue eyes at Violet hopefully. “I mean we would love, love, love it if the Violet Benson performed herself.” She bobbed her eyebrows once and grinned. “Perhaps with a partner?”
Violet’s heart, which had just climbed its way up from her knees back into her chest, began beating a million miles a minute. She hadn’t performed in front of an audience in years. She hadn’t performed with anyone since …
“I saw you dance in New York City,” Sarah went on. “You were spectacular. So graceful, so talented. And your partner, boy oh boy, was he dreamy. You two were perfect together. Are you still partners? Is he here?” She attempted to peer around Violet as if Jean-Phillipe was simply hiding behind the corner.
Violet swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Thank you. Um, no. He’s … he’s not here.”
Sarah pouted. “That’s a shame. You two were amazing.”
Yes, they had been amazing.
Reaching into her purse, Sarah handed a pamphlet to Violet at the same time the door opened, and in strolled—no, sauntered is a better word—in sauntered Adam and Mira. His walk was cockier and more confident than she’d ever seen him before, and his smile was bigger than life.
His emotions obviously weren’t rioting with him like hers were about Tuesday night. He sidled up next to Violet like he had every right to be in on the conversation. “Hello.” He grinned down at Sarah. “Hi.”
Sarah licked her lips and teetered on her shoes. They had to be four-inch stilettos. She thrust out her hand. “Sarah Turner. Seattle Arts Council. We’re putting together a performing arts exhibition. We’re calling it Art in the Park. We’re holding it over the Independence Day long weekend, and we’re hoping Miss Benson will perform.” She eyed Mira on the floor putting her dance slippers on. “And some of her students will perform too.”
Adam took her hand and shook it. “That sounds like a great idea. Whereabouts are you holding the exhibition?”
Violet’s hackles began to rise the longer Sarah and Adam held hands. What the hell was wrong with her? She had never felt jealous a day in her life.
“Magnolia Park,” Sarah replied, licking her lips. “Are you a dancer too? Or just a hot dad that dutifully brings his daughter to dance class every week?”
Did she just ask him if he was a hot dad?
Adam chuckled. “I don’t have two left feet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Sarah tittered and batted he
r lashes at Adam. “Perhaps you’d like to dance for us.” Violet fought the urge to gag and instead looked away and rolled her eyes.
Adam laughed again. “I don’t think so. But you should definitely get Miss Benson to dance. She’s incredible.”
Violet’s cheeks burned. Incredible. Even though Sarah had said the exact same word, it felt different coming from Adam.
“Will you, Miss Benson?” Sarah asked, drawing Violet’s attention back to the woman standing in front of her.
Violet shook her head. “I’m sorry … I … I’ll certainly see if my students are interested in participating. We can work on some routines, but I don’t perform anymore.”
Sarah’s smile faltered. If there was ever a visible representation of somebody having their dreams crushed, Sarah Turner was doing an Oscar-worthy performance of it. “Oh. Okay.” Her lips twisted as if she were trying not to cry. “Sure.”
Sarah was a grown woman, and yet the visceral reaction Violet was having to her disappointment was surprising.
“What about with a partner?” Sarah asked, the last bit of hope she had left coming through in a soft squeak.
Was Violet honestly crushing this woman’s dream? Sarah had come into the studio with so much energy and excitement, and now she looked as though someone had just ripped her puppy from her arms and chucked it into a river.
But Violet didn’t have a partner. Dance or otherwise. And up until Tuesday night, she hadn’t danced with another person, another man since Jean-Phillipe.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can see if two students in one of my youth classes will dance a duet. But I don’t have a dance partner anymore.”
Sarah’s face fell even more. She swallowed and then nodded solemnly. “All right, well … can I email you the sign-up forms in case you change your mind? You have until next Friday to submit your participants.”
A hand on Violet’s shoulder made her jump nearly clear out of her skin.
“Whoa!” Mitch said with a choppy chuckle. “You okay?”
Where the hell had he come from?
Violet shook her head, taking in the three people staring curiously at her. “I just didn’t see or hear you come in. You startled me.”
Mitch removed his hand, nodded a hello at Adam and held his hand out toward Sarah. “Mitch Benson, Violet’s big brother.”
Sarah ogled Mitch just like she had Adam. This woman was on the prowl. “Sarah Turner, Arts Council of Seattle. I’m just here to invite Miss Benson to participate in our performing arts exhibition in July.” Her mouth dipped into a prissy little pout, and she made an almost mocking tone. “Only she won’t dance for us. Not even with a partner.”
There went Violet’s hackles again. And here she’d been feeling bad for squashing Sarah’s dreams of seeing her dance. Well, not anymore.
Mitch wrinkled his nose at Violet. “You don’t want to dance?”
Violet opened her eyes wide at her brother and didn’t blink, hoping to God their sibling connection, their Benson telepathy kicked in and he understood that he needed to shut the fuck up.
“Jayda said you and Adam danced together on Tuesday. Why don’t you two dance together for the exhibition?”
Stupid brother.
Sarah’s eyes lit up, and she looked back and forth between Adam and Violet. “You two dance together?”
“Danced,” Violet corrected. “We danced together once. It was my birthday. We were having a dance party after the cake. The girls asked us to do it.”
Adam’s lip twitched. Was he thinking what she was thinking? That they’d done more than just dance.
Heat flooded her cheeks and neck.
“Can you guys dance together again?” Sarah asked. “Like on stage?”
“N-no,” she stammered.
“Sure you could,” Mitch offered.
She glared at her brother. Shut the fuck up. Like seriously.
Violet shook her head. “No, I can’t. We can’t.” Spots clouded her vision, and the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears drowned out whatever else anyone was saying. She couldn’t dance on stage. Not with anyone. Not ever again. Her love for performing died the moment Jean-Pierre took his final breath. She wasn’t a performer anymore, and she never would be again.
Adam’s voice brought her out of her dark place. “Leave her be, guys. If she doesn’t want to dance, she doesn’t have to. We were just goofing around the other night. We had Violet and Jayda over for her birthday, and the girls asked for music and a dance party. Dancing in the living room is very different from dancing on stage in front of a crowd.” His hand fell to the small of Violet’s back. It did not go unnoticed by her brother or Sarah. “I’m sure the girls’ class would love to perform.”
Violet’s whole body relaxed. Adam’s fingers stroked her back. It felt good, but she was also hyper-aware of it. Hyper-aware of him touching her, hyper-aware of Mitch and Sarah watching him touch her.
Mitch’s eyebrow quirked up, and a sly smile slid up his lips. “Fair enough. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”
Sarah’s baby blues blinked rapidly, and she tossed on a big smile. “Absolutely. No pressure.” She checked her phone. “I need to run, but I’ll email you the sign-up form, and you can let us know which performers will dance in the show.” She reached out and placed a hand on Violet’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Even if I don’t get to see you dance again, it was really an honor to meet you. You’re who I wish I’d grown up to be.” She squeezed Violet’s arm again, smiled at Mitch and Adam, and then spun on her ridiculously high shoes and clickety-clacked her way out of the studio.
“She was cute,” Mitch said with a grin. “She’s short, and I got a slightly stalker vibe from her, but she was cute.”
Adam removed his hand. Violet wished he hadn’t.
“She’s not a stalker. Just a dance enthusiast,” Violet said with an eye roll she directed solely at her brother. “And I feel bad for saying no, but I just can’t.”
Mitch’s face turned sympathetic. “I get it. Too soon.”
“More like never again,” she said solemnly, running her hand over the back of her niece’s head as Jayda stood up from putting on her ballet slippers and leaned her body against Violet’s leg. She smiled down at her niece. “You want to dance on stage in the park?”
Jayda nodded. “Yeah. Totally.”
Violet lifted her head. “It’s settled then.”
8
It was Wednesday night the following week, and like all Wednesday nights, Adam taught a late biology class at the college. Paige’s mother came over to watch Mira, feeding her dinner and putting her to bed. Though, more nights than not, Adam came home to freshly baked cookies, heavy on the chocolate chips or sprinkles, sometimes both. Paige worked Wednesdays at the restaurant, but Adam’s relationship with his former in-laws remained positive, and they made a point of being as involved with Mira as much as they possibly could.
Checking his phone and the time, Adam decided to take a detour on his way home. He knew Violet taught a late class, and if he timed it just right, he might catch her cleaning up the studio before she headed home for the night.
They hadn’t had a chance to talk after their Tuesday night dance, or their Tuesday night kiss, and he wanted to make sure she was okay. Make sure he hadn’t overstepped or pushed her. He didn’t think he had—she’d certainly been responsive to both the dancing and the kissing—but he knew she was in a vulnerable state and didn’t want to mess things up for any of them. Thursday’s class had been occupied by the arts council woman, and then Tuesday he was late dropping Mira off because of an accident on the Pacific Highway, causing traffic to grind to a standstill. They needed to talk.
More like, you want to talk to her. See her. Be with her.
Whatever.
About fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the studio parking lot. There were only three other vehicles, one of which he recognized as Violet’s cute little Fiat.
It was a warm night
, and the sun was taking its sweet time sinking below the horizon.
Adam loved the summer. The long days, warm nights and the smell of fresh-cut grass and beef on the barbecue. Nothing beat sipping a cold one while flipping a hunk of meat over fire.
He shut the door of his SUV and headed toward the front door, knowing that the bell would make his presence known.
“We’re closed for the evening,” her beautiful voice called from the corner of the studio, her back to the door and him. She was fiddling with the stereo. Finally, she settled on an upbeat tune he recognized but couldn’t put his finger on.
“Bye, Violet!” A voice behind him made him turn. Two women had emerged from the changing-room and were heading out the door. They waved. “Want us to lock it?”
“Please,” Violet called.
Adam turned back around. Violet was staring at him. He offered her a friendly, hopefully not stalkerish or creepy smile. “Hi.” Oh Christ, did he really just wave?
Her lips, ones he knew to taste so fucking good, parted just slightly. She ran her top teeth across the plump bottom one. Adam had to keep from groaning.
“How are you?”
She still hadn’t said anything. The music around them picked up tempo.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a couple of steps toward him.
“I came to talk to you.” He took a few steps forward as well, until they were no more than three feet apart. She was in wine-colored bodysuit and matching skirt, with nude tights. She looked hot as hell.
“About what?”
“Tuesday.”
She was so pale that every emotion she felt appeared on her skin. Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, the color traveling down her neck and across her chest. Her nipples also pebbled beneath the stretchy, but revealing, fabric of her bodysuit. She felt the same way he did about Tuesday. That was good at least.
“What about Tuesday?” Her long neck bobbed on a hard swallow. Adam wanted to run his tongue up that neck, nip the spot just behind her ear and feel her melt against him.
