by Diana Orgain
She glanced down at the floor and bit her lip. “A year. I know that doesn’t sound like very long, but I’m about to turn thirty, and I really want kids, and . . . I let my last boyfriend string me along for five years before I accepted that he was never going to commit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need him to propose right away.” She looked up and met my gaze. “Although I’d be thrilled if he did. I love him. I’m in love with him.” A giddy smile flashed across her face. “I just need to know that he’s eventually going to commit, you know? That history isn’t going to repeat itself.”
“Have you talked to Dave about your feelings?” I asked.
“I think so. Maybe I should have said it more directly—”
“Petunia, darling,” said an older gentleman from the doorway. “How are you?”
Older or not, his British accent and neatly pressed suit no doubt made most women swoon. I glanced down at my jeans. Yup. Definitely underdressed.
“That’s Leo,” said Petunia, smoothing her floral skirt. “He’s the dance instructor for your lesson.” She shifted from foot to foot and whispered, “I’m sorry. I feel like I shouldn’t have asked you. You won’t tell Dave, will you? I don’t want him to feel pressured into something he isn’t ready for.”
I promised I wouldn’t breathe a word, and a moment later, Jim returned.
“I’ll leave you to it,” called Petunia, fleeing the room.
I glanced at the clock. Five p.m. Time to dance. I took Jim’s hand.
Leo studied us, his eyes landing for an extra beat on my visible baby bump. “Have you danced before?” he asked, each word crisp.
“Mostly musical theater stuff,” I gave him my best jazz hands, and he looked suitably unimpressed.
He turned to Jim.
Jim grimaced. “A little, I mean, you know we waltzed for our wedding.”
“Very well. Let’s start with a simple rock step. Like this.” He demonstrated for Jim. “Step with your left for two counts, step with your right for two counts, step back for one count—no, with your left foot—step forward for one count. One, two, three, four, five, six—no, other foot. Smaller steps, now. There we go.”
After a half dozen tries, Jim managed a passable rock step. His rhythm was shaky, but the steps were in the right order. I cheered aloud.
Leo smirked at my antics. “Now, for the women’s part—”
“I know how to rock step,” I said, demonstrating.
Leo’s bushy eyebrows drew together, but he smiled. “A natural! Very well. Why don’t you try it together? We’ll start in open position . . . hands like this.”
Jim and I clasped fingers in front of us, facing each other directly, and Leo began to count, “One, two . . .”
I tuned him out. Step, step, rock step . . .
As Jim and I stepped toward each other, my eyes widened in alarm. I lost my balance, tipping forward and falling straight at Jim. My right foot shot backward and my arms flailed as I tried to steady myself. Jim caught me in his strong arms just as I let out a shriek. He righted me back on my feet, and I stammered, “What happened?”
Leo pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I do know how to rock step!” I hurried to explain. Tipping over would have been mortifying to begin with, but tipping over right after I’d assured him I knew what I was doing? My cheeks felt red hot. “It’s just . . . it felt different. I’m pregnant with twins, and the extra weight threw me off. I just have to account for that.”
And my abs are weak! Goodness, how did they get so weak?
“Of course you do, hon,” Jim said, resting a comforting hand on my lower back.
“Mmm-hmm.” Leo pursed his lips. “Perhaps we should start from the beginning for you as well.”
I stiffened my back. “Let’s run it again. I won’t fall this time.”
“Right-o, then. One, two, three, four, five, six . . .”
Step, step, rock step. Victory! True to my word, I put all of my focus on my balance and didn’t fall. The rock step was a bit clunky—not my finest work—but I tilted my chin at Leo in triumph.
So there!
Leo’s face remained fastidiously neutral.
Jim and I rock-stepped several more times, and then Leo said, “Now, let’s turn the single steps into triple steps. Like this. Let’s do the women’s part first.” He showed me how to triple step, and I didn’t bother to tell him I already knew how.
“Ready?” he asked in that pristine British accent.
I nodded mutely.
He clapped his hands. “Go on, then. Rock step, tri-ple step, tri-ple step.”
I kept my balance on the rock step, but as I finished the second triple step, I felt a flash of horror. I was tipping forward . . . nothing to be done . . . Leo’s quietly horrified face flashed before my eyes just as Jim caught me again.
“Ahem,” said Leo, “so, we’ll want to work on your center of gravity.”
I was sure I was blushing furiously, but I just said, “Let’s run it again. I think I know where I went wrong.”
This time I focused on nothing but my balance, making sure to lean back just a little on the transition to the second triple step. It wasn’t my best dance move of all time, but at least I didn’t humiliate myself.
Leo clicked his tongue. “That’ll do. Jim, why don’t you try? For your part, you’re mirroring Kate’s movement, so you’ll want to step back with your left foot . . .”
Jim stepped back with his right foot.
“Left foot,” said Leo, enunciating each word.
Jim stepped back with his left foot, and Leo broke down the triple step movement by movement.
Jim gave it his most valiant effort but got tangled in his own feet.
“Alright, here’s where you went wrong,” said Leo.
Jim gave it another try and stumbled when he tried to triple-step forward on the wrong foot. Three attempts in a row.
Leo sighed and massaged his temples. “Alright, why don’t we try it this way?”
Finally, Jim got the steps in the right order. I high-fived him, but Leo muttered under his breath, “And yet no rhythm or musicality in sight.”
Jim laughed, totally unruffled, but annoyance flared in my chest. Jim was working hard! There was no need for Leo to be sarcastic. He knew Jim was a beginner.
“Run it again,” said Leo.
Jim took a triple step backward when he was supposed to rock-step. He threw his hands out wide. “I am the worst,” he called. “I’m sorry. I did that wrong.”
“Well, the customer is always right,” muttered Leo.
Maybe there was a mystery here at the dance studio—the mystery of why Leo was such a pill.
I snapped, “Now look here—”
Angry shouts from the lobby cut me off. No, not just angry—enraged. Viscerally enraged.
Jim and I glanced at each other in confusion, and then Jim darted for the door. I followed, my heart hammering. We burst into the lobby to see a short, balding man letting loose a string of epithets. Petunia stood behind the desk staring him down.
“Dammit, woman, let me talk to the owners!” he screamed, a vein bulging in his forehead.
Petunia didn’t say a word in response.
I sensed movement behind me, and then two men ran past us. Dave and . . . no, Jack and Eddie.
Eddie planted himself in front of Balding Man, his arms crossed, and Jack stood alongside the desk.
Balding Man fell into glowering silence.
“Get out of here, Monte,” hissed Petunia. “You know they’re not selling.”
“Oh yeah?” Monte demanded. “I don’t think you speak for them, cupcake.”
I bristled and stepped forward, about to give this idiot a piece of my mind, but Eddie said calmly, “You’ll walk out that door in the next three seconds, or I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
At the mention of the police, some of Monte’s bluster faded. He took a step back.
<
br /> “You’ll sell,” he spat. “You’ll see. Just you wait. You’re gonna be so miserable you’ll want to pay me to take this crap hole off your hands.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Petunia put her hands on her hips.
“I said, get out,” Eddie growled. “I won’t say it again.”
Monte flipped him the bird, then turned and stalked out of the studio.
“Unpleasant business,” muttered a British accent from behind me, and I realized Leo had followed us out.
“Yes, very unpleasant,” replied Eddie, scowling in the direction of the door. Then he turned to us, brightening. “Jim and Kate! Dave said you were coming.”
“Where is Dave?” Jim asked, wrinkling his nose.
Petunia typed something on the computer and said, “He went out to grab some subs for dinner. Monte’s a coward, and Dave intimidates him. He must have been watching the studio, so he could come bother us as soon as Dave left.”
This was my opportunity. “What’s been going on with Monte? I take it this isn’t your first run-in.”
Jim shifted beside me, and I could tell he was trying to suppress a smirk. He could see right through me.
Jack, who was shorter than Eddie and Dave by a full head but looked remarkably like Dave, slumped into one of the lobby chairs. “Monte opened up a dance studio next door, and he wants our space.”
“Wants to drive out the competition, more like,” muttered Petunia, re-tucking the flower in her hair. “Our dance instructors are better than his.”
Jim stepped over to the window and peered out, no doubt looking to see if Monte was still lurking. “Why would someone open up a dance studio right next to the competition?” he asked, still staring outside. “Doesn’t seem like a winning strategy for a successful business.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “It’s not, but—”
Dave walked in, cheerily holding up a bag of subs. He stopped short, his eyes darting from his brothers to Petunia to Jim and me. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Monte paid us a visit,” said a tight-lipped Petunia. She rubbed her temples. “Gave all of us quite the headache.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, taking a step forward. If there was ever a time to offer my PI services . . .
But Dave waved me off. “You guys are already doing so much for us. We’ll deal with Monte. He’s more of an annoyance than anything.”
The door jangled, and a crew of giggling girls walked in, with an equal number of much-less-enthusiastic guys following in their wake. Late high school or early college, I thought, and no doubt the guys had been dragged here.
“Uncle Leo!” squealed one of the girls.
I glanced at Leo, and he looked almost softhearted. “Ready for the lesson, then, love?” He trained a steely glare on a boy with moppish blond hair. “You’ll not drop my favorite niece on any of the lifts this week, mind you.”
There was the grumpy, impatient Leo we’d met on the dance floor. I looked at the clock and realized that our hour was up—this group must be Leo’s next lesson.
Jim and I excused ourselves and headed off to finish the evening at our favorite Italian pizzeria. Tony, the perennially tall, dark, and handsome son of the restauranteur, greeted us and showed us to our table. Only when we sat down, did I realize how famished I was. All that exercise made the babies hungry.
“Monte was odd,” Jim said as I scanned the menu to decide if I should add a second appetizer to our usual order.
“Leo was odd,” I grumbled.
At that, Jim laughed aloud, then reached out and grabbed my hand. “You figured out your balance beautifully. You’re a natural dancer. It’s just going to take a little practice on each move to figure out what balance looks like with the twins jostling for space. And I’ll . . . well, I’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
Tony took our order—I stuck to our usual bruschetta for the appetizer—and then my phone buzzed.
It was a text from Kenny.
Laurie is fast asleep and already an expert at the tuba.
I showed the text to Jim. “I’m so grateful for Kenny. You really hit it out of the park when you asked him to be our regular babysitter. He thoughtful, dependable—”
The phone vibrated with another text from Kenny. Any chance you could pick up ice cream on your way back?
“—and dependably starving.” Jim finished my sentence with a chuckle and leaned across the table to kiss me.
“Jo-Jo can be eccentric,” said Paula as the waiter set down our hot drinks at brunch that Saturday. “Always enthusiastic. Occasionally forgetful. Make sure you write down everything he needs to remember. But I am certain he won’t run off with your ten thousand dollars.”
“I hope so.” I buried my face in my hands. “If we lose that money, we won’t be able to afford a new contractor, and we won’t have a nursery for the twins, and I’ll have to take apart Laurie’s nursery to bunk all three of them in there, and move my office onto the kitchen table.”
“You already do almost all of your work at the kitchen table,” Paula pointed out. “I don’t even know why you have an office in there.”
I gave a strangled cry and curled my fingers around my steaming coffee cup. It was a little chilly at our outdoor table.
“But,” she hastily added, “it doesn’t matter. Jo-Jo will come back and finish the work. You won’t lose that money.”
Please let Paula be right, I prayed fervently.
Mom slumped into the seat next to Paula. “Albert won’t take dance lessons with me! It was excuse after excuse.”
“Well,” I said, taking a sip of decaf, “as my mother, you’re contractually obligated to keep dating him until I get my PI license.”
Albert Galigani, my mom’s boyfriend, was also the licensed PI who was supervising me while I worked toward my six thousand hours of experience that would let me get my own license. We defined “supervision” loosely, but he’d been an invaluable mentor and I loved him dearly.
Mom rolled her eyes dramatically and motioned for the waiter. “A pot of tea, please!” Then she turned back to Paula and me. “‘I’m not good at dancing,’” she said in a spot-on mimicry of Galigani. “Well”—she popped back into her normal histrionic voice—“that’s why you take lessons, my dear. ‘What if I break my ankle again?’ Perhaps dancing would strengthen your ankle! ‘Too much exercise.’ You know your doctor wants you to exercise more. It’s good for your heart. ‘I hate music.’ Objectively a lie. He loves music, and he knows I know it.”
Leave it to Mom for a dramatic reenactment. I’d gotten my artistic chops from her.
“Well,” I said in a teasing voice, “maybe you’d like Dave’s brother Eddie better. He’s still single, and an excellent dancer.”
“Still single, eh? I always liked Eddie. Maybe I should get myself a younger man,” warbled Mom with a wink, mollified for the moment.
Paula pulled a fussy Chloe out of the stroller parked between her chair and Mom’s. “Kate says there’s also an odious teacher named Leo. He’s the worst, but he does have a British accent, so he can’t be the very worst.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ah, yes. Leo. He’s closer to your age, but he teaches dance, so I imagine he wouldn’t claim to hate music.”
Paula tucked Chloe under a nursing cover, and I felt a little pang of nostalgia. Laurie was already getting so big—we’d left Laurie, along with Paula’s two-year-old son, with Kenny for the afternoon—and I missed her being that tiny.
Instinctively, I cradled my baby bump, the nostalgia vanishing into a flare of panic. Laurie was getting bigger, but soon enough I’d have two teeny-tiny babies and a one-year-old capable of opening drawers and dumping flour on the floor. Imagine the chaos . . .
Batting away the panic, I blurted, “The money the event raises is going to cover fertility treatments for Dave’s sister-in-law. She and Jack have been trying to get pregnant for five years.”
Paula’s eyes widened, and she sat
up straighter. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t know until last night.”
“Poor thing,” said Mom as the waiter set a white teapot full of hot water and a basket of tea bags in front of her. She sorted through the selection and plucked out a bag of Earl Grey. I looked mournfully at my decaf and asked the waiter if I could have a pot of tea too.
He nodded brusquely, and swept back toward the kitchen.
“Well”—Paula’s eyes were alight—“this is about more than building my business and having something to do. We’re going to make this the best fundraiser of all time.” She grabbed a legal pad out of the stroller and started scribbling line items. “Can we run by the studio after this, so I can take a look at the space?”
“Vera!” called a man’s familiar voice.
I froze, and even Mom looked startled.
Hank, Mom’s ex-boyfriend, was walking toward our table.
Chapter 4
Maybe ex-boyfriend wasn’t quite the right word. Mom and Hank hadn’t ever properly broken up. Come to think of it, they hadn’t ever properly been a couple. She’d casually dated both Hank and Galigani for a few months, and she and Galigani had become exclusive by default when Hank had gone abroad for some extensive traveling with his daughter.
“Isn’t he in Europe?” whispered Paula.
“Apparently not anymore,” I murmured.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Hank. He was a great guy. I just really didn’t want anything to come between my mom and Galigani because Galigani was a friend and crazy about her.
The waiter brought me my own teapot, and I dunked an Earl Grey tea bag in the hot water, enjoying the spicy scent of bergamot.
Mom stood up and gave Hank a quick hug.
He pecked her on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Please, sit down,” Mom said, nearly stammering.
Paula and I looked at each other with matching expressions of consternation. Mom was rarely flustered.
Hank took the seat next to me, and said, “Kate, I may have a case for you to solve.”
I sat up, suddenly interested despite my trepidation about his reappearance in our lives. “Oh?”
