by Lia London
“You talking about me again?” Barth swaggered in from the living room and swung open the fridge door.
Amaya rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about Frank.”
“Hmph.” Barth extracted a Pepsi from behind a wall of packaged leftovers. “Compared to me, he’s short, white, and ugly.”
Chieko crossed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “All right, while that might be true, it’s—”
“Woot!” Barth punched the air and yelled, “China Doll admits I’m tall, dark, and handsome!”
Chieko’s jaw tightened. “I’m Japanese, not—”
“We all tall, ‘cept Grammy.” Shep’s retort came from the living room.
“But I’m the darkest!” called MarLee from down the hall.
“Dang, she hears everything!” whispered Chieko.
Amaya gulped back a giggle and shoved Barth back out of the kitchen. “Will you please leave us be to have some girl talk?”
“All right, but I be listenin’ for my name,” he teased, winking at Chieko.
“He likes you,” said Amaya in an exaggerated stage whisper.
“Yes, he does, indeedy!” came MarLee’s declaration, still down the hall.
Chieko’s eyes widened, and Amaya doubled over in silent laughter.
“Grammy, can you stay out of my love life?” hollered Barth.
Chieko squeaked and watched Amaya as the people in the house bellowed at each other in good humor.
“You ain’t got a love life, boy,” sassed MarLee. “You got a flirt life. Leave that girl be and come help me get this window open.”
Chieko covered her mouth and leaned into Amaya’s shoulder. “I am going to pee for laughing. Get me out of here!”
“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.” Amaya wrapped her arm around Chieko and redirected her out of the kitchen and through the front door.
Giggling, Chieko tidied her cuffs. “Are they always like that?”
“Always,” said Amaya. “Every time they come for a weekend, it’s nonstop stupid.”
Chieko’s lips twisted apologetically. “Barth is cute in his way, but totally not my type.”
Amaya chuckled and strolled down the path to the sidewalk.
Clicking beside her in heels, Chieko sighed. “So, tell me about this Frank guy.”
“Have you put your investigative reporter hat on?”
Chieko wrinkled her nose. “No, it would clash with the outfit. What’s up with him, anyway. Where’d you meet him?”
“Believe it or not, he came into my classroom last week seeking a dancing escort to take on assignments while he reviews fancy restaurants with dance floors. He’s a journalist from Eugene doing double duty with the Portland Tribune for the whole dining-out month in March.”
“Wait, so you’re working for him?” Chieko raised an eyebrow.
“Technically, yes. He hired me. But today was just us being friendly.”
Chieko folded her arms. “Friendly? That tango looked flat-out sexy. How friendly have you two gotten?”
Heat rushed through Amaya at the memory of the dance. The silly little video game had brought out some kind of tiger in him, and she couldn’t deny how exhilarating it had been.
Amaya’s words tumbled out. “Just two dinner appointments. Totally G-rated. Not so much as a hand hold or a peck on the cheek, and I had no idea he could dance like that because he’s usually clomping around with a Frankenstein waltz.”
“Frankenstein waltz,” repeated Chieko. “That’s a cute one.”
“Frank. Frankenstein. Yeah, I didn’t even mean to say that, but it works. He knows his steps, but he’s a bit mechanical.”
“So, a robotic waltz,” corrected Chieko with a glimmer in her eye. “Uh-huh.” She hooked a thumb back towards the house. “So, what happened in there?”
With a slow blink and a lazy smile, Amaya shrugged. “Magic?” Blushing, she watched Chieko for a reaction, but her friend could keep a straight face while reporting on a truck full of chickens losing its cargo beside a children’s playground.
“You like him?” It wasn’t an accusation or a taunt.
“I didn’t think so.”
“But now?”
Amaya sighed. “That tango.” Had a single dance changed everything? Or had he been growing on her already?
“It was a game, Amaya.” Chieko pursed her lips. “I’m not saying he’s not good-looking and nice, but… What do you know about him? And do you know for sure he doesn’t have a girl back home in Eugene?”
Amaya’s stomach pinched. “He hasn’t said anything about another woman.”
“Do they ever?” Her voice held a hint of bitterness, and Amaya remembered Chieko’s awkward cast romance in Who Wants to Be a Soap Star. The team snake, Crawford Andrews, had played her like a ukulele and tossed her aside.
With a frown, Amaya turned back to the house. “I don’t know. I guess I have a few more dinner dates to find out.”
Besides, there was the whole Jenelle connection that she had yet to figure out.
Still sounding skeptical, Chieko pressed, “Do you need to find out if he’s going to go back down to Eugene soon anyway?”
Amaya thought for a moment. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“You like him,” insisted Chieko.
Shaking her head, Amaya smiled. “Heaven help me, I probably do.”
“Just take it slow,” cautioned Chieko.
“Yes, Miss Chieko,” said Amaya.
“And maybe no more tangos for a while!” called MarLee from the open window.
Frank caught himself humming the tune to the tango in the car and groaned. Stopped at a light, he rested his elbows on the steering wheel and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to shake off the feeling of Amaya’s body entwined with his. It was just a dance. A residual shiver of delight teased him, telling him it was more.
A car horn blared behind him, and Frank let out a Tarzan yell, stomping on the gas pedal. When had he become so primal?
He wound his way through the narrow streets, tuning into his surroundings only when the GPS uttered a new turn warning. Otherwise, his mind replayed the entire time at Grammy MarLee’s—at least every moment that involved Amaya. He’d been struck by how much she didn’t change from what he’d already known of her. Amaya was who she was, whether dressed up or down, teaching, playing, dining, or dancing, and she was clearly comfortable in her skin.
Her skin. Frank closed his eyes and pictured the way the varying hues of her dark skin blended smoothly. Though he knew it was cliché, his line of work made him think in terms of flavors, and her cheeks were sweet almonds atop a light chocolate mousse. And her full lips …
“Turn right onto Stark Street and drive east for 2.5 miles.”
He jerked his eyes open and swerved in time to miss a cyclist. “Frank Judd, you’re a mess. Come back to reality.” The last two hours couldn’t have been more than a dream. He’d wake up soon enough, and probably crash into a lamp post.
“Amaya Jefferson is nice to everyone. You just saw it. She reaches out to lonely people and includes them. She comes from a big family of loud, boisterous, friendly people. She’s used to being around men, so when she touches them, it doesn’t mean anything. Stop kidding yourself, Frank Judd. She’s not interested in you or anything. You’d never have that kind of luck.”
His breath came out in a long sigh. He was kidding himself if he thought he even remotely deserved a woman as lovely, and talented, and kind as Amaya.
Still, he could dream, couldn’t he? Was this what it felt like to want someone more than you wanted to be wanted?
He grunted at his rambling, ill-worded thoughts.
His brain told him Amaya was making him moronic.
His body told him she made him alive.
His heart had no idea what to do.
***
Frank pulled into the driveway at Jenelle’s. He’d be staying there for the night in order to make the breakfast review in the morning easier. It would also give
him time to grill her on whether or not he was allowed to change his intentions towards Amaya from business to personal.
Or would the money taint that? Might Amaya think he was taking advantage of her? If she didn’t feel the same way …
His phone vibrated in his back pocket. A wonderful, squishy feeling filled him to see a text from Amaya: Thanks so much for coming, Frank. I hope you had a good time because I enjoyed having you over.
A single jubilant laugh exploded from Frank, startling a man taking his chihuahua out for a sniff around the juniper bushes.
Frank let himself in through the side door and jogged down the steps to the basement den. He threw himself belly-down onto the couch to write a response. Miss Amaya, it was a joy to meet your family. They are quite an entertaining entourage. He paused. She’d know that word, right? He hit Send, and a few seconds later, she wrote back.
LOL. Yes, they are. If you can survive them, you can take on anything.
Her words emboldened him. Even another tango?
As soon as he sent it, he panicked. What was he doing, hinting there had been something special about the dance? She’d think he was crazy.
Her answer took two minutes and fifty-three seconds to come in. Hmm. That could be dangerous.
Dangerous? Had he hurt her? I promise to hold on tight. I won’t let you fall.
Again, her reply took a long time. Was she pondering before she composed, or were her thumbs extra slow? I think you might be too late.
Too late? What…
His stomach wriggled. Could she mean what he hoped she meant? Could she be falling for him?
Are you ready for The Canyengue Club tomorrow night? He wasn’t sure how he would wait that long to see her again.
I’ve heard of that place. It’s got great Latin dance music. Wear something light. I plan to make you sweat.
A belly laugh rumbled through Frank. “You already do, Amaya.” We’ll move fast enough to keep a breeze swirling around us.
I look forward to it. He could imagine her saying it sweetly, sincerely.
Until then, Miss Amaya, a bid a fond adieu.
A-choo to you too, Frank. She included a sneezing emoji.
Frank chortled, then sighed, then groaned. What was he doing? He was moving too fast. There wouldn’t be a breeze to keep them cool. There’d be a hurricane of disaster and rejection.
Chapter 7 ~ The Canyengue Club
Amaya scrambled to de-stinkify herself in the bathroom. Classes were over, and she had exactly thirty-five minutes to get to The Canyengue Club to meet up with Frank. She’d arrive all sweaty and gross.
Even as she freshened herself up with damp paper towels and deodorant, she worried she be perspiring for another reason when she saw him. Why had she flirted in their text messages?
She groaned at her conflicted feelings, attraction and commonsense battling with each other as she fought to zip up her pastel, floral dress. Fortunately, the open cut of its sleeves and the flaring skirt would provide ventilation as they danced.
She examined her reflection in the foggy mirror and frowned. There was no time to do any special ringlets or braids in her hair today. She’d have to settle for a simple bun. Too late, she discovered she’d forgotten to pack her make-up bag, too. Was there time to swing by a store and grab some? No, she’d get to their rendezvous point late. She rummaged for her phone to check the time.
“Hello? Phone? Where are you?”
Grasping at every loose item in the bottom of her bag, she pulled up the phone charger and an old tube of mascara. “Ugh. That’ll have to do.” She touched up her lashes and gathered everything into her backpack. “Shoes, shoes. Where—?” She smacked her forehead and let out a frustrated screech as she padded barefoot across the dance floor. Her gold, heeled sandals refused to appear miraculously on the shelf. Her phone also remained invisible.
“I hate my life.” She rested her head on the cold metal cabinet to think and calm herself down. Even as she thought of how unkempt she’d be for the date, the memory of Frank holding her in the tango dip made her blush. “Okay, I don’t hate all of my life.”
She snatched her character shoes from the cabinet and slammed the door shut. They didn’t match the dress, but hopefully people would watch her top half, not her feet. To save the soles from the rough pavement outside, she slid her feet back into her tan canvas shoes for the jaunt out to the car. She could change her footwear when she got there, and hopefully her feet wouldn’t smell bad.
“This is a new look for you,” said Frank, unable to hide his smile.
Amaya’s fresh face shone, unaided by any make-up that he could see. Her hair, swept up in a classic style, left her neck tantalizingly bare, and he struggled to tear his eyes away from a place that beckoned him to place his lips just behind her ear.
“Oh!” Amaya squeaked and covered her mouth with both hands. “I forgot to change my shoes!”
Frank glanced down and laughed. “Planning on running away, are you?” She wore light, canvas tennis shoes of the sort he often saw hanging in the apparel aisle at the local pharmacy.
“I have character shoes in the car. I totally spaced—”
“No, no. Don’t worry.” He held his hand up. “You will still be the most beautiful belle at the ball.”
“Are you kidding me?” Her jaw dropped. “I can’t go into a place like that with shoes like this.”
“You said yourself this was Oregon, and we should lighten up a bit.” He shrugged and pointed to his neck. “I even chose to forego a tie this time.”
Amaya’s composure returned, and a slow smile pulled her dimples into place. “Why, Frank Judd. You almost look human now.”
“Was I an animal before?” he teased.
“More like a robot.” She grinned and took his arm. “Are you sure you’re not worried about the shoes? We’d only be a few minutes late if I run back to get my—”
“I’d rather not waste the time,” he said.
“Oh.” Her brow rippled for a fleeting second. “You in a hurry tonight?”
He placed his hand over hers in the crook of his arm. “I want to make sure we have time to fit in a rumba. Maybe a cha cha and a bolero, too.”
“Oooh.” Her eyes flashed, and she brushed her fingertip across the skin at his open collar, sending an electric zap down to his toes. “A spicy salsa sort of place. All right, but I don’t know if you can handle a bolero with me. Remember what happened with the tango.”
A delicious shudder ran through his chest and he closed his eyes at the sensation. “Yes. I remember.”
“Don’t fall asleep on me, Frank Judd.” She tugged him forward. “I want to dance!”
Frank swallowed, trying to rein in his rushing hormones. Was she flirting with him? It looked like flirting. Was he delusional to wish so?
All that mattered in this moment was that Amaya seemed to enjoy his company. He decided to give thanks for his ridiculous job that brought them together.
Walking beside her, he chuckled.
“What?”
“The shoes. That is kind of funny.”
She tossed her feet in the air in a graceful kick. “I guess I’ll have traction if we start moving faster.”
“Like a cheetah chasing a gazelle?”
Amaya shouldered him playfully. “Okay, I’m all about being a gazelle, but I don’t think you’re much of a cheetah.”
He struck a Grumbleygut pose. “Do you doubt my capacity to attain a land speed of over seventy miles per hour?”
“I do, indeed.” She grinned. “Cheetahs have those powerful tails to help them turn fast.” She leaned back and peeked at his rear end. “I don’t see a tail.”
Frank blushed and tapped her head with his two forefingers. “Well, you don’t have horns, so I guess we’ll have to make do.” He pulled open the door to the restaurant and hot Brazilian music greeted them. With a grin, he leaned into her ear. “Besides, cheetahs and gazelles are the wrong continent. This is South America, not Africa.”
She tilted her face up to his at a sly angle. “So, more like Amazonian boa constrictors?”
At the thought of wrapping himself around Amaya, Frank’s mouth went slack.
“Table for two?” The host greeted them, wearing a tailored red vest over a white shirt opened at the collar.
Frank announced their reservations, and a moment later, the host led them to a small table right at the edge of the dancing area.
“Oooh, front row seats!” Amaya beamed and clapped silently as Frank pulled out her chair and seated her. Her shoulders swayed to the jubilant rhythm, and he found it hard to walk without succumbing to the beat.
He glanced at the live ensemble playing. “Full brass section. Is this going to be too loud for you?”
She rested her elbows on the tiny table. “I guess we’ll just have to shout or stay close.”
Frank mirrored her, their faces a hand’s width apart. “I’m sure I can survive.”
A waiter arrived and began a well-rehearsed explanation of the specials. About twenty seconds into the monolog, Frank felt Amaya’s foot brush against his, and it sent a zing of pleasure all the way up his body, locking his legs in place so their ankles entwined. He glanced at her, and heat rose in his cheeks to see her watching him intently, her shoulders still moving in time with the music. The physical contact under the table disconnected his ears from his brain, and he couldn’t hear a thing the man recited.
“So, what would you like for me to bring to drink while you think about the options?” The waiter raised his brows expectantly.
Frank gaped and let out a nervous laugh. All too conscious of Amaya’s touch—was he playing footsies? —he waved a hand at her. “Why don’t you decide this time?”
Amaya straightened in her chair, but kept her feet nestled with his. “Really?”
The waiter bowed slightly and returned her glowing smile. Frank noticed with satisfaction that several men showed open admiration for Amaya as they passed, yet there she was, tucking her toes into his calves. His pulse raced at the flirtation, and he struggled to keep his mind focused on the menu options.
