Chapter 23
The evening was not going as planned.
As the dance rehearsal for Oklahoma wound down on Sunday, Aaron dropped to the balls of his feet in front of Isabel and reached for her hand. “When did you start to feel bad, honey?”
“Right at the beginning, but I didn’t want to leave. Now my stomach hurts worse.”
He laid his fingers against her forehead. No fever, as far as he could tell.
“What’s up?” Gramp joined them and bent down, propping his hands on his knees.
“Isabel has an upset stomach.”
When Gramp arched an eyebrow at her, she ducked her head.
Aaron looked between the two of them. “What do you two know that I don’t?”
“You want to tell him, or should I?” Gramp directed the question to his great-granddaughter.
Silence.
“Tell me what?” Aaron squeezed Isabel’s fingers. “What do I need to know?”
She continued to give the floor more attention than it deserved. “I think I ate too many brownies after dinner.” Her voice was so soft, he had to lean close to hear it.
“I only gave you one.”
“I know, but I . . . I went back while you were getting ready to come to rehearsal and ate another one. And another half before Gramp saw me and said I should stop.”
Good grief.
Happy as he was about her improving appetite, one generous brownie from Sweet Dreams was more than sufficient for an adult, let alone a child.
“I think we can pinpoint the source of the problem.” Gramp straightened up. “I’ll take Isabel home. You have a dance lesson to go to.”
Without the safety net of Isabel and his grandfather acting as chaperones?
Not happening.
“No. We’ll all leave.”
“Hey.” Devyn joined them and dropped to one knee near Isabel, inches away from him. “Is everything okay, sweetie? You don’t look like you feel well.”
“I don’t.”
“One—or more—too many brownies for dessert.” Aaron rose and pulled out his keys. “Sorry to have to cancel the dance lesson, but I need to get her home. Could we reschedule?”
“Sure. I could do Tuesday after rehearsal.” She stood too.
“That’s cutting it close, Aaron.” Gramp propped his hands on his hips. “The wedding’s Friday.”
“Closer may be more beneficial. The steps will be fresher in my mind.”
“What if Devyn gets tied up and can’t make Tuesday work?”
Aaron squinted between Gramp and Isabel.
Was it possible the two of them had cooked up a scheme to give him one-on-one time with their choreographer?
He wouldn’t put it past Gramp. The man was an operator when he was on a mission. But Isabel’s pallor would be hard to fake.
“Barring an emergency, I’ll be here Tuesday. We need every dance rehearsal we can get.” Devyn jumped back in.
“Let’s plan on that.” Aaron took Isabel’s hand. “Besides, we came in one car.”
“Maybe Devyn could give you a ride home afterward if you stay tonight.” Gramp gave her a cajoling smile. “We don’t live too far away.”
Leave it to the Steele patriarch to put her on the spot.
“Tuesday will be fine, Gramp.” He telegraphed Devyn a silent apology as he squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home.”
“I don’t want to wreck your lesson.” Isabel tugged her fingers free. “I can lay down over there.” She pointed to a row of folding chairs against the wall.
“You’ll feel better at home.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll feel bad because you won’t get your lesson tonight. Why can’t Gramp take me home?”
“I don’t mind giving you a ride if you’d rather stick with the original plan.”
As Devyn spoke, he studied her.
She didn’t seem any more thrilled about the idea of a private dance lesson than he was, but it was kind of her to be accommodating.
“Wonderful!” Gramp was enthusiastic enough for both of them.
“That way you’re covered in case an emergency comes up at the mill and you can’t get here on Tuesday.
You’d be in a fine pickle without a few pointers from our fancy footwork expert here.
” He held out his hand to Isabel. “Let’s go home so these two can get the lesson rolling. ”
Isabel sidled away and slid her fingers into Gramp’s.
Now what?
Unfortunately, his grandfather didn’t give him a chance to come up with an escape plan. “We’ll see you at home later, Aaron. Have fun, you two.”
With that, he hurried Isabel toward the exit and disappeared through the door on the heels of the last cast members.
Silence fell in the hall.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Sorry. Gramp can be a steamroller.” Especially if he had a bee in his bonnet about something.
Devyn’s lips quirked. “Is steamrolling part of the Steele DNA?”
“I hope not—but I have been called single-minded on occasion.”
“Guilty as charged on that count too. Tenacity can be beneficial, though. It’s certainly helped me in my dance career—and that’s a perfect segue into our lesson. Shall we get started?”
His pulse picked up . . . and he wasn’t even holding her in his arms yet.
Not good.
“Um . . . I have a feeling you may regret this.” He glanced down at her small feet, protected by nothing but flimsy pink ballet slippers.
From a practical standpoint, this was definitely a bad idea. One wrong step, and he could crush her foot—even if he had exchanged his work boots for dress shoes tonight.
He should put a stop to this before—
“Why?”
He lifted his chin to find her studying him. “I could hurt your foot. And if I put the Oklahoma choreographer out of commission, everyone in the cast will hate me.” He tried for a teasing tone.
“My feet are more durable than they look.”
Not likely.
“If I smash any of your toes, you’ll not only be sidelined from this show but from your career. And feet can be permanently deformed.”
“Ugly feet are the fate of ballet dancers.”
He gave the pale pink slippers below her leggings another inspection. “That’s a hard sell.”
After regarding him in silence for a few moments, she lifted her right foot, bent her knee, and pulled off her slipper. Repeated the process with the left food. Waved a hand over her bare feet. “Did I exaggerate?”
He stared down.
Whoa.
She hadn’t exaggerated.
Devyn, the beautiful ballerina who danced like a dream, had gnarly feet. Her toes were crooked and sported an abundance of corns and calluses. Some of the nails were discolored. Patches of skin were red. Plus, she had noticeable bunions.
And that was just the top of her feet.
Who knew what carnage had been wreaked on the bottom?
“Convinced?”
At her prompt, he lifted his gaze, trying to mask his shock. “Um . . . your feet seem to have taken a few hard knocks.” If there was a more diplomatic response, it eluded him.
“More than a few.” She repeated her earlier maneuver in reverse, sliding her shoes back on. “So as you can see, there’s very little you could do to make matters worse. Ugly feet are one of the prices I paid for choosing ballet as a career. Are you ready to dance?”
When no other excuse to delay came to mind, he nodded.
“Then let’s do this. I thought we’d begin by learning the basic step, either single or triple, depending on how it goes. Then we’ll add in a left side pass, underarm turn, and a tuck turn with a free spin. Those moves should carry you through a whole dance.”
He gaped at her.
Was she speaking English?
“Um . . . that sounds complicated.”
“It’s not. These are simple moves, and the woman does most of the work with a bit of direction from the guy.
” She walked a few feet away, talking over her shoulder.
“Watch my feet while I demonstrate the guy’s move for the basic single step.
Remember that your feet will always be doing this step, no matter what the rest of your body is doing.
So . . . it’s step on your left foot, step on your right foot, rock back on your left foot. ”
As she demonstrated the sequence, he wiped his damp palms down his jeans and tried to focus on her feet.
Maybe he could get through this if he didn’t actually have to touch her.
She ran him through the step several times, then watched over her shoulder. “You’ve got it. Very smooth. I think we could try the triple. Same basic move, just adding in a step. Check out my feet. It’s left, right, left. Right, left, right. Rock step back on the left. Try it with me.”
He mirrored her steps without too much trouble.
“How does that feel?” She faced him after they repeated the step a couple of dozen times.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Excellent. Now we’ll add in a left side pass.” She walked closer and held out her hands. “These moves can all be done in the open or closed position. The latter is the standard dance pose. For learning purposes, we’ll stick with the open position.”
That would be helpful—for his heart.
Nevertheless, when he took her hands, his pulse stuttered.
Her slender fingers felt as dainty as they looked.
He tried hard to listen as she explained the maneuver and did his best to follow the instructions as she slowly walked him through it.
Amazingly enough, it wasn’t too difficult despite the distraction of the sweet scent that tickled his nose whenever she passed him.
Once he mastered the left side pass, she continued on to the turns.
Those were trickier and required every ounce of his concentration.
After fifteen minutes of intense focus, he could do them without having to think through every single step.
“Your muscle memory is kicking in.” Devyn gave an approving nod as she released his hands.
He missed the feel of her skin against his at once.
“Is that, um, a real thing?”
“Absolutely. Once movements get encoded in your brain, you can do them without conscious thought. You’re getting there.”
“I’m not sure I’ll remember them by Friday without prompting, though.”
“If you run over the steps every night once or twice, you’ll be fine.”
He rubbed his neck. “I wish I had your confidence.”
“Trust your feet. But learning the basic steps in isolation is different than dancing. Let’s try putting them together with music.”
She crossed to the folding chair where she’d left her bag, pulled out her phone, scrolled through, and called up a song.
While he was no forties aficionado, even he recognized “In the Mood.”