Waltz This Way

by Dakota Cassidy

  It had been an ugly night in the emergency room for Nate and Drew, when they’d gotten a call five months ago that she’d been in a serious auto accident. With Stan’s help, and his resources, Mel had convinced Drew that Sherry could be helped—if she’d just reach out.

  She’d done just that, and now she was in a sober living facility, painting again, happier, and making plans to spend more time with her son.

  Stan continued to make gestures, small and large, in order to prove he needed Mel’s forgiveness—like helping talk Sherry into rehab—a facility Stan knew well from the occasional dancer’s bout with addiction.

  And though she’d told him time and again, it wasn’t necessary, Drew had reminded her that this was Stan’s way of helping all the lives he’d turned upside down, sit right side up again. He was trying to earn her forgiveness, and there was something to be said for the amount of time and effort he was putting into it.

  She hadn’t completely forgotten what Stan had done. Though, she tried very hard to forgive. There were still moments when something reminded her of her old life, the things she’d never experience because she’d been wrapped up in Stan, and they still stung. But lately, she smiled more than frowned when she thought about him. And that was a huge leap from wanting to set him on fire. In a rather bizarre way, they’d all become an extended family of sorts.

  Drew finally shot her a smile. “I’m glad for Nate. He deserves the best mother she can be.”

  Nate poked his head around the doorway, hands over his eyes.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Wow! Somebody looks pretty handsome.” Mel rose on tiptoe and sniffed. “And is that cologne I smell?” She whistled her appreciation.

  “Whatever,” he drawled in his usual teenage disinterest. “Hurry it up, Dad. We have to go. Stan and Neil are downstairs with Grandpa Joe, and Grandma, Grandpa, and Aunt Myriam are already there.”

  Drew gave Mel a wicked smile. “What’s the rush, pal?”

  Nate gave them a dramatic sigh. “You know exactly what the rush is, Dad. I know you know about Mercedes, and do I have to explain the flux of hormones to you again?”

  Mel’s snort was a sputter. “Okay, okay. We get it. I don’t need another speech on the species known as teenager. Go get Stan and Neil into the truck. We’ll be right there.” She gave him a peck on his cheek and watched him head down the hallway to the stairs.

  She swatted her husband’s gorgeous backside. “You heard him. Hurry it up. Mercedes awaits. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for thwarting young love, would you?”

  Throwing on his jacket, he nipped at her lips. “Oh, the horrors.”

  Just as Mel rushed to their bedroom doorway, Drew grabbed her hand, dragging her close to him. “Hey, in all the chaos, find the time to save me a dance, would ya?”

  She straightened his tie, yanking on it to pull him to her lips. “Did you really just say that to me, Drew McPhee?”

  “Nate and I have been practicing at the studio. I think I finally nailed that running finish in the quickstep.”

  Yeah. He’d nailed it—when he’d slid into the wall like he was sliding into home plate. “I can’t wait to see.”

  “Just do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” she cooed up at him, her eyes warm with love.

  “Make sure you clear a path. I’m good at the starting. Not so much on the stopping.”

  Mel laughed until tears stung her eyes. She cupped his face in her hands, loving that while he continued to be the worst dancer ever, he tried at every given opportunity to learn. “I love you, Drew. Crappy dancing and all.”

  “You can tell me all about it tonight when I take those thigh highs off.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows suggestively at her.

  Mel threw her leg around his hip. “Promise?” she purred.

  He rubbed her chin with his thumb. “That’s a promise, Mrs. McPhee.

  A promise she knew—as sure as she knew the steps to a cha-cha—was one he’d keep.

  Forever.

  The End

  Preview another book by this author

  Sexy Lips 66

  Dakota Cassidy

  Chapter 1

  To: Writer66@heavenlyhookups.com

  From: Goodoldboy@heavenlyhookups.com

  Subject: No serial killer here

  Dear Writer66

  U sure r easy on the old eye. You have the purdiest lips I ever saw. I think I can take on a little fily like you. I’m no serial killer (your profile was funny). How bout you call me and well talk about it?

  Love,

  Martin

  How about you utilize the old spell-check, Martin? Callie Winston thought. It’s a gift from Microsoft—make friends with it.

  Did non-serial killers even know how to turn spell-check on?

  Purdy lips?

  Purdy? Good gravy. Martin was seriously offending her loyalty to the King’s English.

  Callie eyeballed her e-mail inbox at “Heavenly Hook Ups,” an online dating site she’d joined, and sat looking in utter disbelief at the enormous amount of e-mail she’d received. Her research for the humorous column she wrote at the magazine California Hip had become a monster of epic proportions like overnight. Callie decided Martin could wait until later for an answer to his e-mail.

  Callie’s hand shook as she was compelled to click on the next e-mail in a slew of them. They became a blur of black font as she read one after the other. This one was from a user who’d dubbed himself Manbeast and at first it made Callie snort. His userid was really kinda off-beat and she liked that.

  Then Callie shivered. Manbeast? What the hell was a Manbeast? Only way she’d know was if she clicked on the e-mail and opened it.

  She did so holding her breath and squinting out of one eye…

  From: Manbeast@heavenlyhookups.com

  Subject: A poem

  So you’re a writer? I can write too. I wrote this just for you. I liked your profile. You’re hot. Your lips are sooo sexy. Please read my profile and e-mail me if you’re interested. I hope you like my poem.

  Roses are red

  Violets are blue

  I think I want to get with you.

  Love,

  Manbeast

  Callie twisted a strand of her hair as she pondered Manbeasts poem. I want to get with you?

  Callie clicked on Manbeast’s profile, conveniently available for her to peruse, just to the right of his picture, which wasn’t horrible. Not a lot anyway. He was attractive in a…well, a receding hairline way. Yes, that was it. In a very receding hairline kinda way. Hair wasn’t exactly a prerequisite in Callie’s book. Okay, so maybe the wrap-around might have to go, but he was kinda cute and his poem wasn’t awful, could be called creative even, albeit not swoon worthy. As she glanced at his profile, Callie noted they had nothing in common other than the fact that they both read.

  Manbeast read tech manuals and she read romance novels.

  Not a huge gap by any stretch of the imagination, eh, Manbeast? Callie snorted. Oh, and he lived in Kentucky. A hell of a commute to sunny California. She did state California applicants only in her profile, didn’t she?

  Callie re-read her entry into the dating world just to be safe as she looked at her picture and tried to understand how her lips could be considered even remotely sexy or for that matter purdy.

  Writer seeks REAL Man:

  I'm thirty-eight and single for the first time in 10 years! I’m a writer by trade and I'm really loving life. I like all sorts of stuff—stuff that you can only find out about if you contact me. I'm not into one night stands/bar hopping/bed hopping/ serial killers/ or health freaks. If you can't enjoy a bowl of ice cream without guilt then we can't hang out. I'm not a health nut, but I watch what I eat (most days) and I can wear jeans or a sexy dress. I'm low maintenance and take care of myself quite well, thank you. I love to laugh and talk and I swoon when a man behaves like a real man, and doesn’t just pretend to be one. I don't need oodles of attention and I'm not clingy—if y
ou need to be the center of all things in my world—you need to look elsewhere, but affectionate is a good thing! I'd love to meet someone who has a good set of values—solid and unwavering—attractive is fine, but a good heart is BETTER. No PRETTY BOYS, please. I like my man to look like a man and I never share my mousse.

  About Writer66 Dream Date:

  I'd like to meet someone strong, and independent, who has his own place, likes to just have fun, loves animals and has good sentence structure ( I am a writer, LOL) and doesn't need me 24-7, but knows I'm there if it's necessary—someone who doesn't think smooth talk will get past me unnoticed and isn't Rico Suave slick. I don't need your money and I don't need you to fix my toilet, but I would like it if you are confident enough to do so. If easygoing, fun, love of life stuff is what you're into—then, take the bull by the horns and e-mail me! California residents only, please.

  Yep, she’d very clearly stated California residents only and had pretty much covered the gamut of her desires in a date—she’d written it as if she were really looking for her dream man. Callie couldn’t very well interview men from Kentucky. Tyler, her boss at the magazine, just wouldn’t allow airfare on her expense reports.

  Manbeast’s Kentucky residence made Callie decide to weed the rest of the e-mails out by location from here on out, thus trimming her response time to each of them and she would respond—to all of them. Callie couldn’t just ignore them, it wasn’t very good manners. Never let it be said she didn’t have proper cyber etiquette. Her fingers paused at the keyboard and then she let ‘er rip back at Mr. Manbeast with a snappy reply.

  From: Writer66

  Subject: Re: a poem

  Dear Manbeast,

  Roses are red

  Violets are blue

  You live too far away for me to “get” with you.

  But thanks anyway.

  Writer 66

  Callie straightened in her office chair and giggled maniacally at her response.

  Now that was fun. Get with that, Manbeast.

  Leaning back, she grabbed the mouse again and skimmed just the locales of the profiles attached to each e-mail.

  Bangladesh, Cairo, Zimbabwe, Iraq…you name it she’d received an e-mail from all corners of the earth and then some.

  It would seem that the other half of the world needed green cards.

  Callie sat back in her chair and gazed blankly at the computer screen, trying to catch her breath and glanced once more at the number off to the left that told her how many e-mails she’d received in response to her profile and picture on “Heavenly Hook Ups”.

  One hundred.

  One-friggin’-hundred e-mails in a day. Overnight…

  Holy, hell. What was wrong with these men? It wasn’t like she was Tyra Banks…it must be the “I can fix a toilet” thing. All guys wanted a chick that could be a domestic goddess while looking like the Tool-Time babe. Well, they were sadly mistaken if they thought Callie’s thighs could compete with Pamela Anderson’s, but she just might skate by as a trophy wife for a sixty-year-old man.

  Oh, this one looked good. ED2476 was from California and he was six foot two, blond hair, brown eyes. Well, she liked men with dark hair, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Callie was in no position to refuse manna from heaven. His subject line caught her eye. It simply said, Wow…

  From: ED2476

  Subject: Wow…

  Dear Writer66,

  Something about your eyes speaks to me. I don’t have words to describe the message they sent. I want to know you. I want to learn you from the inside out.

  Oh, by the way. Do you have any arms and legs? I’d like to see a picture of them.

  Respectfully,

  Ed

  Yeah, wow.

  Callie burst out laughing. What ED2476 wanted to know was if she was really five-hundred pounds before he took a chance on meeting her. Callie took another peek at the picture she’d placed on Heavenly Hook Ups. It was dreadful in her honest opinion. Just a head shot—it was all she was willing to put on the site for scrutiny in her ad. She’d had food in her mouth and had been caught off guard by an overzealous photographer at a Medieval Festival. Regardless, the picture seemed to be speaking to everyone from here to Bangladesh.

  What in the hell were her eyes saying to these guys anyway?

  They were big, black orbs of nothing with a little Estee Lauder shimmering gold for accent.

  Callie cracked her knuckles and sent ED2476 a message back.

  From: Writer66

  Subject: Re: Wow

  Dear Ed,

  Nope, I have no arms and legs. I’m just one big head…

  Limbless in sunny CA,

  Writer66

  Oh, was that too abrasive? Shit. It was too damn late now if it was. What kind of question was that? Did she have arms and legs? Good hell.

  Men…

  Callie took a deep breath and tried to remember most men were simple creatures, visual by nature. They wanted to see her entire package. If someone else asked her about her appendages she was going to ask to see their package.

  Callie swiveled her chair away from her desk and looked out of the window of her office, gazing at the shoreline in the distance. The soft swell of waves never failed to soothe her when she was overwhelmed.

  One hundred e-mails constituted overwhelmed.

  This online dating thing had begun as a research project.

  She was a simple columnist at a California magazine, fighting to keep her head above water with the hip and trendy up and comers who wanted her job and her column. At thirty-eight, Callie Winston struggled to be hip and trendy without being lame and farty. She swam with the little twenty-something vipers who thought they could replace her every day and she wasn’t about to sink.

  Though, she did currently have a really good doggie paddle going on.

  Callie sighed and twisted a long, dark strand of her hair as she tried to wrap her head around the “what now?” moment she was having over all of this damn e-mail. When she’d approached her boss, Tyler Atmore about doing this article for online dating he’d been less than enthusiastic.

  Well, truth be told, he’d been more like completely disinterested in much but the bottom line—making money.

  Whatever.

  It wasn’t going to stop Callie from pursuing this—both guns loaded. She had nothing else left in her creatively these days—this was the dregs of her brain, the bottom of the friggin’ barrel brought on by one of those pop-up ads on the Internet she’d seen one night researching online. Her column was in danger of cancellation according to the bigwigs and this just might be cutting edge enough to keep that from happening. Callie fully admitted she wasn’t cutting edge, but she could be a dull knife…

  She loved her column. She’d had it for six years now and she wasn’t giving it up without a knock-down, drag-out, hair pulling, wrestle in some lime Jell-O and that was just the attitude she used when she approached Tyler.

  “Look, Tyler. This online dating thing is huge. There are more sites online than there are Viagra ads.”

  Tyler looked up from his desk, tipping his glasses over his narrow, pointy nose and snickered. “So? Who gives a crap about online dating? Bunch of losers with no other way to get a date place an ad, tell all sorts of lies about themselves and show up looking nothing like their pictures.” Tyler’s features twisted into a sneer.

  Whew, that was a strong statement coming from a man like Tyler. Somebody had been dipping into the online dating jar and had been left bitter about the experience…

  “How would you know?” Callie asked suspiciously, because a force unknown to caution compelled her to dig at her shithead boss in any way she could.

  “I don’t,” Tyler snapped just a bit too quickly. “I just know what I’ve heard through conversations with others.” He waved his hand as he said it, dismissing the notion that Callie just might have found out something personal about Tyler Atmore.

  “Look, Tyler. I think I’ve got something here. Th
e Internet is the newest and hottest way to find a date. No more lookin’ for love at happy hour in the local bars. No more inter-office nookie that has the potential to become nasty little sordid affairs. Yeah, it’s risky to hook up with someone you don’t know, but they have all sorts of precautionary measures to take before going on a date on the sites. You can have your pick of dates, pictures and profiles galore, sorta like a police lineup. Sure not all of them are truthful about who they are, but it’s the way the new millennium is dating and perfect for people who are tired of the bar scene.” For whatever reason, Callie pushed Tyler on this. Under normal circumstances, she’d back down and write another lame column on liposuction, but this could create real interest in her column again. Intrepid reporter delves deep into the underworld of online dating…Firsthand accounts of how to get started—what to expect—what not to expect.

  Callie needed something to keep her head above water here. So she intended to document her own experiences and let her readers live vicariously through her. Maybe she’d get a little living thrown into the mix for herself too.

  “So what are you going to do? Join one of these sites?” Tyler’s question was rife with incredulity.

  Callie squirmed. Well, yeah. How else could she get an inside track to this? “Well, yeah. I’ll put up a snappy profile and my picture and see what happens. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll get a response or two and I’ll go out on some dates and find out what kind of results people are getting. What they’re looking for—what they’re expectations are.”

  “You? Date? Have you had a date since you got your divorce?”

  Callie bit the inside of her lip. Was her life so small that even her boss knew she hadn’t had a date? Shit. Callie shook her head. “Nope, but no time like the present, huh? I’ll be the magazine’s guinea pig.”

  Tyler made a steeple of his hands under his chin and gave Callie the “don’t say I didn’t warn you” look. “As long as it doesn’t cost me a boatload of money, go right ahead. It’s human interest if nothing else. Help get circulation up and keep the expense report small.”