“Oh, I’m fine. Vanny and I always have a lot to talk about.”
He didn’t need a sixth sense to know that he was probably their favorite topic. Pushing that aside, he reached for her hand. “So, are you ready to get out of here? We could go somewhere private.”
But instead of nodding, she shook her head. “Matt Rossi, you’re crazy if you think your mother is going to let you sneak out of here early. I came to find you because the band is about to play the Blue Danube Waltz.”
“And?” It was kind of fun to play dumb.
“And, that’s our song.” She tugged on his hand and started pulling him through the French doors that led out to the balcony where they’d been standing.
For a second, he considered teasing her about their “song.” After all, who else in their mid and late twenties would feel in tune with a waltz from the eighteen hundreds?
But, noticing how the grayish blue satin chiffon shimmered in the candlelight of the ballroom, he kept his mouth shut. The truth was that he loved waltzing with her, especially to this song that brought back so many memories.
They stepped onto the dance floor just as the ten-piece orchestra began the first lilting notes of violin.
Looking into her eyes, he said, “May I have this dance, Miss Lucky?”
Instead of teasing him, she lifted her right hand to his shoulder and slipped her left into his own. Just the way that they first attempted to dance but felt so clumsy. “Yes, Dr. Rossi. But this time I’ll only dance with you on one condition.”
“What’s that?” He brushed his lips against her temple.
“This time, you take the lead.”
He couldn’t help it. As they waltzed with the rest of the couples, practically stepping and twirling as one, he raised up his head and laughed.
Leading Traci around the dance floor, knowing that in just a few hours he was going to get on one knee and propose marriage?
It was an incredible feeling.
Few things had ever felt so good.
The End
Excerpt from
Save the Last Dance
“Allow yourself to trust joy and embrace it.
You will find you dance with everything.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
CHAPTER 1
December
She couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. Pacing the length of her small bedroom, Kimber fiddled with her earpiece as she tried to come up with a legitimate reason to end the call. Esme wasn’t making it easy, though. Her girlfriend approached most conversations in the same way she ran her modeling career—with grit and determination.
“Kimber, you never answered my question. Is that guy still stalking you?”
That guy was Peter Mohler. Peter, who had worked on one of her photo shoots a year ago and had been trying to get closer ever since. Peter, who’d sent her flowers, cards, and creepy lingerie. Peter, who her agent Adam seemed to think she was making too big a deal about.
Kimber disagreed. Even thinking about Peter Mohler made her feel sick. “I don’t think so,” she said. She really hoped not.
“You mean he finally stopped sending you those creepy notes?”
“It looks like it. I haven’t gotten anything from him in a while.” Of course, she’d also moved from New York City to small town Ohio . . . and essentially stopped modeling.
“You aren’t sure?” Esme sounded confused.
Kimber couldn’t really blame her. She was confused about her behavior as well. She’d always been assertive and direct—sometimes to a fault. When she was a teenager, she’d been proud of herself, figuring that she was acting like a “real” New Yorker.
Over the last year, she’d changed a bit, though. She was more patient, more subdued. Hesitant.
Peter’s constant notes, and gifts had made her uncomfortable. His sudden appearance at one of her modeling shoots had freaked her out. About to call the police, she’d touched base with Adam. He’d been upset on her behalf and told her to relax because he was going to take care of Peter.
But then she’d discovered that he’d never done a thing.
“I don’t really think about Peter anymore,” she lied, focusing back on their conversation. “He’s in my past.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good,” Esme said. “It’s probably healthier, huh?”
“It is. I feel better. I mean, all of me feels healthier now.”
“I still don’t understand how you were able to walk away from your whole career, Kimber,” Esme said with a new spike of incredulousness in her voice. “Grand Cayman was gorgeous and the designer gave us all samples. I got the most divine silk chiffon gown in spearmint. You would have loved it.”
Kimber barely refrained from rolling her eyes. That was how she used to talk too. She used to have a talent for describing clothing in a way no one outside the fashion business would even think about. “I bet.”
Esme paused, obviously waiting for some more envy-laced comments or another couple of questions. When Kimber remained silent, she added, “You would have had a ball.”
“It does sound like a good time,” she murmured, because modeling bathing suits on a beautiful tropical island had once been her dream job. She’d loved the beach and the downtime and the gorgeous clothes and samples that she’d been given. “I would have loved those days on the beach, if I wasn’t retired.”
Esme cleared her throat. “You don’t have to be, Kim. We were all talking about you. John Creek swore that you could go another five years.”
John Creek was one of the top photographers in the business. For him to say such a thing was a compliment, and very generous.
Kimber guessed it was maybe too generous. She might have had three more years modeling—and that would have been stretching it.
She could have gone for a while longer . . . if she’d been willing to continue the same grueling pace.
That was, she would have had a ball modeling bathing suits and ball gowns for high-end fashion magazines while getting paid an obscene amount of money to pose on the beach on a Caribbean island.
All she would’ve had to do was stay hungry, swallow her pride, and pretend that nothing else mattered to her except being photogenic and having a great savings account.
But that was the thing—for the last year, none of that mattered to her anymore.
Or maybe it never had.
“Esme, it’s been real good talking to you, but I’ve got to go.”
“How come? What are you doing these days?”
She was currently doing a lot of nothing . . . except for her new volunteer gig at the elementary school library. “I’m still getting my bearings, though I have been volunteering lately.”
“That’s it?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. Doing nothing feels pretty good.” Before Esme could reflect on that, Kimber softened her voice. “I am real glad you called, Ezzie. You sure didn’t have to think of me. I appreciate it.”
“We’re friends, right?”
She felt terrible. “Right. We are friends. I’ll call you next time.”
“I hope you will. Oh! Door’s ringing. I’ve gotta go, bye.”
“Bye,” Kimber replied, though the line was already dead.
After swiping the screen a couple of times to see if she had any more messages or emails, Kimber set the phone down. If the last phone call hadn’t done it, the lack of anything else would have cemented the state of her life. She was currently doing next to nothing.
She would’ve thought that it would have felt a lot better than it did.
* * *
“Everyone, let’s say a big Coyote hello to Miss Klein and thank her for being our reading volunteer today!”
Kimber smiled, then tried not to wince as the group of eighteen nine-year-olds howled at her.
When the librarian looked her
way expectantly, Kimber said, “I don’t have to howl back, do I?”
“Absolutely not, dear.”
“Whew. I was a little worried there.”
She’d been serious, but everyone in the room chuckled—the kids, the librarian and her aide, and even the kids’ classroom teacher.
Actually, everyone seemed pretty amused by her except for Jeremy, who was standing in the back of the room with his hands stuffed in his new jeans. She’d learned during her first visit that the fifteen-year-old was earning some volunteer credits this semester. He came to the elementary school a few times a month and helped various teachers for an hour or two. Mrs. Lentz, the librarian loved having him shelve books.
Kimber figured she normally wouldn’t have given the teen a second thought, but there was something about him that called to her. Maybe it was because he looked just as uncomfortable in his skin as she felt.
Not for the first time, she wondered what his story was.
“Miss Klein, would you like to begin now?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course, Mrs. Lentz.” Holding the picture book up, Kimber said, this is one of my favorite holiday stories, The Christmas Mouse.”
As she began reading through the well-loved story, everything that had been bothering her began to fade away. The doubts, the boredom, Peter Mohler and his creepy fixation on her.
One by one, the kids stopped fidgeting and got caught up in the story. Little by little, they began to smile about the little Christmas mouse’s adventures.
All except for Jeremy. He kept shelving books, but stopped often to listen. But every time their eyes caught, he looked away like he was embarrassed.
When Christmas day came and the little mouse had a cozy home all his own, Kimber closed the book with a satisfied sigh.
“So, what did all of you think?”
Hands shot in the air. Laughing, she called on the little girl with the red pigtails in the front row.
“I want a Christmas mouse.”
“I do, too. Does anyone have a favorite part?” She called on a boy in the back corner.
“When he was almost caught in the trap. That was scary.”
Kimber nodded. “I thought so, too.”
Mrs. Lentz joined them. “Everyone, it’s time to line up. The bell’s going to ring soon and we need to get you back to class.”
Immediately, all twenty-four of them jumped to their feet and hurried into line. It was obvious that they’d completely forgotten about her and were excited to move onto the next part of the day.
After the kids left, she glanced at Jeremy. He had picked up the book and was examining the cover.
She walked to his side. “It’s a cute story, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a fan of picture books. I’m always in awe of the illustrations. Do you like them?”
“They’re all right, I guess. I . . . I’d just heard this one before.”
“Did your mom read it to you when you were little or something?”
He paled. “I’ve gotta go.” Looking like he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, he spoke a couple of words to Mrs. Lentz, held out a card for her to sign, then grabbed his coat and strode out the door.
Unable to help herself, Kimber watched him until he was out of sight.
“He got to you, didn’t he?” Jeanie Lentz said.
“I guess he did, but I’m afraid I just scared him off. I don’t know what I did, though. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. Jeremy is a good kid, but he’s a little aloof.”
“I know you can’t share too much, but is he okay?”
“I think so.” She paused, then said, “He’s in foster care with a single dad.”
“He’s a foster kid? Poor guy.”
“People say he’s been through a lot.” Jeanie smiled softly. “I heard that his parents died in a car accident or something a couple of years ago and he’s been a couple of homes ever since.”
Now she felt terrible. “No wonder he took off so fast. I asked him if his mom used to read The Christmas Mouse to him.”
Jeanie shrugged. “No reason to feel bad, dear. You couldn’t have known about his parents. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have been too surprised if he had told you all about his mom. He might have enjoyed sharing that memory with someone.”
“Maybe.” Thinking about her own mom—who had adopted her when she was just a baby—Kimber nodded. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to get out of here as well. Thanks for letting me come back.”
“It’s my pleasure. You have a great rapport with the kids, and it’s obvious that you love the books, too. I’m delighted that you’re volunteering.”
“Thanks.”
“Actually, no pressure, but if you’d like to do more around here, I’d love it.”
“You mean read to more classes?”
“Yes. And help check in and out books. Maybe do a little bit of tutoring.”
“Wow. Let me think about it.”
“Sure. Like I said, it’s all unpaid, so just do what you want.”
“I’ll let you know next week.”
“Perfect. Now, you better get on your way. The final bell’s about to ring. If you’re not careful, you won’t be able to get out of the parking lot for another twenty minutes.”
Kimber grabbed her purse and coat. “See you soon,” she said before rushing down the hallway. After making a quick stop at the volunteer desk, she trotted out to the parking lot.
Her pace slowed as she realized that she was going to be there for quite a while. There was already a long line of parents waiting to pick up kids.
Then she stopped at her brand new all-wheel-drive gleaming white Mercedes. Two of the tires were flat.
Flat like she wasn’t going to be anywhere anytime soon. Flat like they’d been slashed on purpose.
And then she saw the familiar-looking note with the familiar-looking handwriting tucked under one of the windshield wipers.
Peter Mohler had found her again.
Standing right there in the middle of the Bridgeport Elementary parking lot, she tried her hardest not to burst into tears.
Acknowledgments
As always, I’m so grateful for the number of people who have helped me organize a bunch of ideas and thoughts into a real story. I don’t know what I’d do without so many helping hands!
First, as always, I owe a big thanks to my husband, Tom. We go on lots of long walks together, and at least half of them are spent plotting my books. He always helps me turn my convoluted plots into smooth-flowing story lines.
I am also indebted to several other people who helped so much with all the details in this novel. Once again, Officer Alex Napier’s patient explanations helped with my “cop questions.” Though I obviously took a few liberties, he was instrumental in helping me create a tough police officer with plenty of vulnerabilities. My new friend and neighbor, Tiffany, spent a whole afternoon talking to me about nursing duties in a hospital and navigating a young woman through a high-risk pregnancy. She gave me an even greater appreciation for everyone who works in the medical field.
Once again, Yvette, ballroom dancer extraordinaire, patiently guided me through several dances. She also answered lots and lots of questions about teaching folks ballroom dancing.
Thank you to Lynne who read this whole manuscript, even though she didn’t have a lot of time and, as usual, provided lots of “fixes” so I could turn in a book I was proud of to my editor.
I am so grateful to the whole team at Blackstone Audio and Publishing for working so hard to make this book shine. Everyone goes above and beyond to make my books the best they can be. I’m especially grateful to my editor, Ember Hood, for both her insight and her cheers. She makes me excited to turn in a book!
Finally, this letter wouldn’t be complet
e without thanking my Bridgeport Book Club readers and the many people who have embraced these books. I have always wanted to write novels about imperfect people who truly care about their families, friends, community, and faith. Thank you for accepting them into your lives. I’m so very grateful.
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