Shall We Dance?

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  “You might be right about that.”

  “So?” She tilted her head slightly. Still watching him.

  It was tempting. So tempting that he wished it were possible. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got to check in at the station house.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe another time . . .”

  “That sounds good. After the station house, I need to see Jen. I’ve got a feeling that she’s already made me something, and she’ll be upset if I don’t eat it. I’m sure you understand.” Then, of course, was the fact that he and his sister were going to have to have a heart-to-heart about her trip to the bookstore, whatever was going on with that guy . . . and he was also going to have to apologize yet again for acting like a jerk.

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” She held out her hand. “Let me take the cup from you. Be careful out there, Officer.”

  “Always,” he replied, his cocky smile faltering slightly as he realized that she had already turned and was walking back. What had just happened?

  The sound of honking horns interrupted his thoughts. Turning back to the job at hand, he blew his whistle, reminding the guy in the four-wheel-drive Land Rover that he might have a lot of money, but he didn’t own the road.

  * * *

  When he walked into the house two hours later, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Usually Jennifer had music playing and was busy in the kitchen.

  But not only was the kitchen dark and silent, there was no sign of her anywhere. Or dinner made.

  “Jen? Jennifer?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Up in my room! Why?”

  Why? Why was she up there? Why was he yelling up at her like he was a dad and she was his teenage daughter? “No reason. I’m going to go take a shower.”

  When she didn’t reply, he bit back a sigh. He was a piece of work. Here he was always telling her that she didn’t need to always cook and fuss over him, but when she didn’t for the first time in a long time, he felt let down.

  While he showered, he told himself to stop being so selfish. Jennifer needed him to be there for her, not to expect her to wait on him.

  After pulling on an old pair of gray sweats, remnants from the police academy, he walked into the kitchen. Seeing it was still empty, he felt a burst of satisfaction. He was no cook, but Shannon’s idea about grilled cheese sounded pretty good. At the very least, he could open up a can of soup and make them a couple of sandwiches.

  Feeling good about that idea, he pulled out Jennifer’s cast-iron skillet and then opened the refrigerator. Just as he was buttering the bread, Jennifer joined him.

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  He looked up and smiled. “Exactly what it looks like. I’m making us dinner.”

  Her eyebrows rose over the frames of her glasses. “You’re cooking?”

  “I do know how to work a stove top, Jen. Not like you of course, but I can make you a sandwich without burning it.” At least he hoped so. He held up a can of soup. “Tomato soup okay?”

  She nodded as she hopped up on a barstool.

  Opening the can, he looked over at her. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a soft-looking violet tunic sweater. In addition to taking out her contacts and putting on her glasses, she’d washed off her makeup. She looked almost like a kid again. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Walking to the refrigerator, he pulled out two Miller Lites and handed her one. “You know, I was worried about you today.”

  “I do know. And we already talked about this. I told you I was sorry for worrying you.”

  He poured the soup into the saucepan and added water. “I don’t want to rehash it. I . . . well, you have to see it from my point of view. You being out on your own again . . . well, it’s new for me, too.”

  “I know. But I think I need to do this, Dylan. I need to try new things and make mistakes.”

  “I hear you.” Her therapist had even told him once that her mistakes might be the best thing that could happen to her. She needed to remember that it was okay to make mistakes—and he needed to remember that she wasn’t made of glass.

  As he was pulling out plates and bowls from the cupboards, Jennifer walked to his side and picked up the spatula. “Let me help you.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “You’re about to burn them.” She slid the metal spatula under the sandwich, peeked under it, and then flipped it.

  “You know, this is good practice for both of us,” he joked. “If you’re going to be doing more things, I’m going to need to remember how to cook for myself.”

  Her expression softened, showing that she’d understood his unspoken meaning. “I agree, but your mistakes also affect my well-being, and I don’t want to starve.”

  He sipped his beer and stepped out of her way. “Since we’re cooking together and all, what’s going to happen with that guy?”

  “Jack?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

  He glanced at her sideways. Was she upset by this? Glad? “What do you want to happen?”

  She looked surprised he’d asked. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, Dylan. For the last couple of years . . . well, you know.” She pulled out two spoons from a drawer.

  He knew. She’d been wary and scared. All with good reason.

  “I’m trying to remember what you were like before you got attacked, Jen.” He stirred the soup even though it didn’t need to be stirred. Just gave him something to do instead of staring at her. “Do you ever think about those days?”

  “I didn’t used to. But now I’m kind of wondering if it would be possible to get a little bit of myself back.” Placing the sandwiches on plates, she looked at him. “One day I think I’d like to smile again at people without being scared . . . and to do something spontaneous without feeling like I’m about to have another anxiety attack.”

  “That’s going to happen, Jennifer. I know it is.”

  Watching him carry their simple meal to the kitchen table, she nodded. “I think so, too. Actually, I think it’s time I started dancing a little more and being scared a little less. I think I deserve that.”

  He knew she did. Actually, he thought that maybe they all deserved dancing more and worrying less.

  That was a good thing, too, since he was becoming very fond of a certain lady who knew a thing or two about dancing.

  CHAPTER 14

  “What would life be like without a little tango?”

  “One of us needs to learn to cook,” Traci announced as she glared at the stove like it had offended her. “Which of you wants to take cooking lessons? I’ll pay.”

  Shannon glanced at Kimber. She was leaning against the doorframe and not looking particularly pleased. “What do you think, Kimber? Are you up for cooking classes?”

  Looking as haughty as all get-out, Kimber lifted her chin. “No, I am not.”

  Shannon chuckled. It had taken a couple of weeks of living together to learn the various nuances of Kimber’s dry sense of humor. Kimber would probably be surprised to learn that she was far more big city than she realized.

  Turning to her other sister, Shannon shrugged. “Sorry, Trace. If you want better food made in this kitchen, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

  “I was afraid of that.” She turned and opened the refrigerator. Then looked in the freezer.

  “Are you looking for a chef in there?” Kimber asked.

  “I wish. No, I was just thinking about Dylan’s sister. He said she makes him dinner every night.” She shut the freezer door and leaned back against the appliance. “Wouldn’t that be something? We could come home and have a hot meal waiting for us.”

  “Sounds like you need a wife,” Kimber mu
rmured. “Like, one from the 1950s.”

  If Traci heard Kimber, she was ignoring her. “Maybe I could hire someone to make a couple of meals that we could freeze and then heat up,” she mused.

  Shannon was about to ask about how she was going to pay for that service when it all clicked together. “Wait, who are you talking about?”

  “Jennifer, Dylan’s sister. The 1950s cook,” Traci said. “Dylan said she’s real fond of casseroles. I haven’t had a decent casserole in forever. Doesn’t that sound so good? Something warm and hot with melted cheese on top and maybe crushed crackers or potato chips on top?”

  Kimber looked horrified. “I’ve got a magazine shoot in two weeks. I can’t go around eating casseroles with potato chips.”

  “That’s too bad. You’ll be missing out.”

  “I would be all about it, you know . . . if, after my shoot, we had a casserole like that in our future,” Kimber replied as she stared into the empty freezer. “Which, we do not.”

  Ignoring the casserole talk, Shannon smiled at Kimber. “You didn’t tell me about your new job. Congratulations! Is that the spread you were hoping to get?”

  Kimber smiled. “Yep. I couldn’t believe it when my agent called this morning. It’s for a bathing suit and sportswear magazine. Five days in Cozumel wearing string bikinis and skimpy clothes.”

  “Better you than me,” Shannon said, imagining how much she’d hate to be barely dressed in front of a bunch of people analyzing how she looked. It was hard enough dancing in front of judges. “Kimber, do you ever get tired of everyone judging you?”

  “Sometimes, but then I remind myself that they’re paying me a small fortune. That usually helps.”

  Traci grinned. “Do you need someone to carry your luggage?”

  “Sorry, I’m not bringing much more than a backpack,” Kimber said.

  Shannon was fascinated. “Really? That’s all you’ll need? What about all your beauty products?” She and Traci had teased Kimber more than once about her forty-minute beauty routines—and the array of lotions and potions that took up half the bathroom counter.

  “They’ll have makeup and hair people and all the clothing. All I have to do is show up on time and look decent.”

  “But what about clothes for when you go out at night? I heard there are some great clubs in Cozumel.”

  “I’m not going to be clubbing.” Kimber looked incredulous. “Honey, all I’ll be doing is sleeping at night.”

  “Really?” Traci looked pretty disappointed. “I thought models partied all the time.”

  “Not this one. Plus, I can’t risk getting bloated by beer. Those bikinis are tiny.” She winked at Shannon. “Things do get awkward if I look like I’ve gained weight.”

  Shannon was starting to get a whole new appreciation for the pressures of Kimber’s job. “I guess even a pound would show up when you’re wearing practically nothing.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. That’s why I’ll be drinking bottled water in Mexico . . . and not eating any casseroles until I get back to Ohio.”

  Now that they were talking about food again, Shannon said, “Speaking of casseroles, I think I just made a really stupid mistake.”

  “What? Why?” Kimber asked.

  “When I walked out to give Dylan a cup of coffee, I asked him in, but he said ‘Jen’ probably had a meal for him. I didn’t put two and two together and got jealous.”

  Kimber smiled. “Here you thought he had a girlfriend and it’s just a sister.”

  “Yes, which is embarrassing. We had a whole meal with Jennifer.”

  Traci opened the refrigerator again and pulled out a Dr. Pepper, which seemed to be her favorite thing in the world. “Backtrack a sec, Shannon. When did you see Dylan?”

  “When he was directing traffic in front of our house.”

  “He looked good, too.” Kimber snickered. “Just a little chilled.”

  “He was out there a long time.”

  “So you just decided to bring him a cup of coffee?” Traci looked incredulous.

  “Well, yes.”

  “She met him on the median,” Kimber supplied. “It was super cute.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone out there. Vehicles were sliding everywhere. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  “Dylan said the same thing.”

  “Because he was right. Some of those drivers are idiots.”

  “I was careful. And for the record, I can’t say that I was real excited about watching Dylan stand in the middle of the intersection while cars and trucks were sliding around.”

  “We’re trained, you know. You are not.”

  “Traci, I’m fine. I was only out there for a few minutes and then I got sent back inside.”

  “Good.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t act like a grown woman can’t deliver a cup of coffee.”

  “I didn’t say that. But you have to be careful.”

  “I could say the same thing about you, Traci. Kimber and I were worried about you today.”

  Traci froze for a moment before an expression came over her face that told everything.

  Shannon realized then that her spunky, brave sister wasn’t used to have people looking out for her. Sadness gripped her hard, hating that she’d been so cosseted as a child while Traci had only known the opposite of that.

  Even though Shannon knew she was making herself vulnerable, she said, “You two are just going to have to get used to being worried about. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to y’all.”

  Kimber blinked hard. “I feel the same way. For so long I wondered when I was going to fit in. You gals made me realize that I just had to wait for you two.”

  “I feel the same way,” Traci said. She turned away abruptly. “But I’m going to eat my foot if we don’t get something going.”

  “You know, since no casseroles are in our future, we really need to eat something.” Kimber walked to her side. “We have lettuce. I could make a salad.”

  “We have ham, cheese, and eggs. How about omelets?” Shannon asked.

  “That’s perfect,” Traci said. “And I’ll make hot chocolate and cookies for dessert.”

  “You know how to make cookies?” Shannon asked.

  “Well, I know how to make the slice and bake ones,” Traci said.

  “That’s it. I’m going to call Dylan’s sister and ask her to make some meals for y’all,” Kimber said. “Unless you want to do the calling, Shannon?” she added with a gleam in her eye. “Who knows, maybe she’ll give you some more information about Dylan.”

  “Or, I can give you more information. What do you want to know about him, Shannon? I’m great at interrogating,” Traci teased.

  Shannon knew she was turning bright red. “I appreciate that, but I’ll take a pass. If I need any more information I’ll ask him at our next class. I’ll ask him about Jennifer making us a meal, too.”

  Kimber shared a smile with Traci. “Can’t wait to hear about what you learn, girl. I have a feeling your conversations aren’t going to center on speeders and breaking and entering.”

  Boy, she hoped not. “Let’s eat before Traci gets hangry.”

  “Or hangrier,” Traci murmured.

  That was all they needed to hear before they got busy and the three of them started working side by side in the old-fashioned, small kitchen.

  When Traci put on some music, they all started singing an old Maroon Five favorite together.

  And they realized that they didn’t need much else.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time.”

  —Don Miguel Ruiz

  Three Days Later

  Jennifer clicked end on her cell phone, set it on her kitchen cou
nter, and then stared at the now blank screen.

  What had just happened?

  She’d been so surprised when Dylan had asked if he could give Shannon her phone number that she’d given permission without wondering too much about the reason behind it.

  She’d been almost as surprised to actually get that phone call.

  But the quick conversation that had ensued had completely taken her by surprise. Shannon had been all business, talking about how she and her sisters couldn’t cook, how they couldn’t live much longer on sandwiches, takeout and omelets. Then she’d gone into some kind of convoluted explanation about modeling, casseroles, and Traci’s getting hangry.

  Jennifer had found herself agreeing to bring over a meal that evening. In six hours.

  Luckily, she already had a full pantry, so it would be easy enough to make a poppy seed chicken casserole, rice, and a lemon meringue pie for dessert. And then deliver it.

  Her hands started shaking. Was she even ready for this?

  What if she wasn’t?

  Then those girls would be wondering where their food was and Dylan would be forced to deal with the consequences, since both his partner and his dancing instructor were going to be affected.

  In a panic, she dialed Dylan’s number. He answered immediately.

  “Jen, you okay?”

  As it had so many times before, her brother’s brusque, matter-of-fact tone calmed her down. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.” She heard him rustle some papers around. He was at his desk. “What’s going on?”

  “Shannon Murphy just gave me a call.”

  “She did? Hmm. What did she have to say?”

  The warmth in his voice told her that she was the only one surprised. “After telling me all about how neither she nor her sisters could make much of anything that was edible, she asked me to make them dinner tonight. For money.” She took a deep breath. “I told her I would.”

  “Really? Hey, Jen, that’s great.”

  She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “I think I said I would do it before I even realized what I was doing,” she admitted.