16. Iris
16
IRIS
I offer Gloria a ride to dance class, and to my surprise, she accepts. I don’t know why it always comes as a shock when people willingly spend time with me. I’ve always held people at arm's length, even my book club friends. Even Sloane to some extent.
I can’t help but believe if they knew the real me—the parts I inherited from my mother, the capacity for selfishness I try so hard to suppress—they'd walk away.
My mother collected people and discarded them when they were no longer useful. In my determination to be nothing like her, I somehow decided I didn't deserve meaningful connections at all.
As much as we moved, I learned early on that being useful was the quickest way to make friends. Whether that was letting someone copy my homework or cleaning a new friend’s room when I went over to hang out—because I couldn’t invite anyone back to our crappy apartments—my combination of a need for acceptance, social anxiety, and lack of confidence made me a doormat.
By contrast, Nick found his stride with his fists. In every new school, my twin brother spent the first day quietly observing the kids and then challenging the toughest, meanest, and most arrogant boy in the class to a playground fight.
Neither of our methods was healthy. And based on the scab above my brother’s eye the last time I saw him, and the fact that I still have trouble relaxing in most situations, those early habits stuck with us.
Like Sloane, Gloria doesn’t seem bothered that I’m uptight. I’ve only encountered a few people who are so utterly comfortable in their own skin that they don’t take on the energy of the people around them. Gloria and Sloane both fit that mold.
I wish I could be like that.
Gloria tells stories about the good old days in Skylark as we return to town on the tree-lined roads, the bright gold leaves nearly at their peak. Hearing about the area through her experience makes me feel even closer to it. Makes me want to stick it out long enough to become the acquired taste Gloria seems to believe I am.
There’s very little you can’t learn by watching YouTube tutorials. Maybe becoming socially adept is one of those things.
We’re both smiling as we enter the dance studio, but mine fades as we approach our fellow class members. All eyes are watching Jake and Charlotte twirl and spin across the wood floor. The frozen emotions that had thawed out in Gloria’s company come roaring back like mountain runoff in the spring. It’s a reminder of what I might never have or feel for myself. My stomach knots as I watch him, all smooth confidence and easy charm. No wonder people gravitate toward him. I wish I didn’t want to.
How can I be jealous of two people who embody the confidence I wish for in my own life?
He pulls her in close and says something that makes the beautiful dance teacher laugh. The sound is like an angel chorus. I tend to bust out in a cackle when I forget myself enough to laugh out loud.
The music stops, and Gloria and I join the rest of the class in applauding for the show these two celestial beings just put on for us.
“Well, now, that was some show.” Tom Baker shuffles toward Char. “Janie is having a bit of a migraine today. I figured I could dance with you, Miss Charlotte. But after that display…”
“I’d be honored to be your partner during the class,” Char tells the old man, bestowing on him the same sweet smile she gave Jake during their dance.
“I could dance with Tom.” The offer is out of my mouth before I think better of it.
Char gives me a funny look. “You and Jake are partners.”
“Sure, but the two of you give us something to aspire to in a way I never could.”
“Come on, Dixon.” Jake kicks out a foot. “I wore my steel-toe boots today in anticipation of dancing with you.”
The rest of the class laughs, and I pretend to join in because I’m seriously that bad. But I don’t like being that bad at anything. Or having it pointed out publicly. I've spent my whole life trying to be perfect at everything I touch, as if excellence could somehow make up for my fundamental flaws. Being laughed at, even good-naturedly, makes me feel exposed. Like everyone can suddenly see through the competent facade to the fraud underneath.
“You dance with Jake,” Char tells me, placing a soft hand on my arm. “You’ll need all the practice you can get since you two will be doing the featured dance during the Fun Fest showcase.”
My mouth drops open, and I quickly snap it shut. “Excuse me, what now?”
“Come on, Iris, it’ll be fun.” Gloria pats me on the shoulder. “We needed somebody to be our principal couple, and no one wants to look at us old fogies up there.”
“Speak for yourself, woman,” Gilbert says, running a hand through his hair like he’s well aware of how rare it is to have such thick strands at his age, and he’s not above a bit of pride in that fact.
Jake walks over to me. “The steel-toe boots were a joke. Sorry if I took things too far.”
Am I that easy to read? That’s annoying AF. “Did you know about this featured dance?”
“I volunteered us.” He offers the charming smile I’m sure has gotten him out of all sorts of trouble over the years. The one that won’t work on me because…been there, done that. And I was left with the souvenir broken heart to prove it. “I got here early, and Char mentioned it.”
At least, that’s what I tell myself. Loudly and often.
“We aren’t doing that.”
“Iris, you love dancing.”
“I also love not making a fool of myself in public. I assumed you and I would be hiding in the back.”
“Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” he says with a wink.
“You are no Patrick Swayze.”
“You wound me, Dixon. Cut right to the heart.”
It’s also not true. He’s just as sexy and cool as any A-list actor or Hollywood heartthrob.
The strong jawline, high cheekbones, and the slightly scruffy beard he’s grown since returning to Colorado add to his outdoorsy, everyman appeal. And don’t get me started on those deep-set, soulful eyes. Or the quiet intensity that draws people to him. That draws me in.
But I’m not the right partner for him. I’m not the awkward ingénue duckling who just needs a floaty dress and a show-stopping dance lift to turn me into a swan. And I wouldn’t become a princess even if I kissed a million frogs. That life isn’t for me. Even though I want a place to belong—somewhere to truly call home. For the briefest moment, wrapped in his arms, I almost believe it could be.
The irony isn't lost on me that I chose a career in politics—a world of spotlights and scrutiny—while desperately avoiding the kind of attention that comes with relationships. But in politics, I'm playing a role, advocating for others, hiding behind policies and platforms. It's different from being truly seen.
Char claps her hands and class begins.
I take my position with Jake’s arms around me, and my body isn’t at all convinced I wouldn’t love to be a princess if this man was my charming prince.
Class goes on, and I do my best to focus on the here and now. Am I any better from all those YouTube hours? It’s doubtful. To his credit, Jake does his best to make me look like I know what I’m doing—a nearly impossible task.
“Can you two stay for a few minutes?” Char asks at the end of class.
I immediately shake my head. “I gave Gloria a ride so I need to take her home.”
“I’ll drive her and Gilbert,” Tom offers. “Janie needs quiet after a migraine so I was going to give her some time anyway.”
“Works for me,” Gloria agrees.
“I’ll take any extra time I can get with you,” Gilbert tells her.
She rolls her eyes but also blushes slightly. The way the older man is so upfront about his crush makes me smile.
“I know the feeling,” Jake says so quietly only I can hear. Shivers erupt across my skin, and a dangerous need pools low in my belly.
“I should get back to the mayor’s office,” I tell Char. “Jodi took the rest of the day off. She’s getting ready for a big date tomorrow night.” I say the last part for Jake’s benefit, but he doesn’t react.
“A few minutes,” Char promises.
I can feel Jake watching me, and I don’t want to seem scared to be alone with him. Which I definitely am. Terrified I might be tempted to climb him like a spider monkey, which is simply a reaction to being dance partners and the heat of his body pressed against mine.
It’s a simpler explanation than admitting I’m reacting to him in particular. It would likely be this way with anybody, even Tom Baker.
Yeah, right.
The studio empties of everyone except the three of us. Char approaches and hands me a slip of paper.
“What’s this?”
“The name of my favorite dance club in Denver.” She smiles. “I want the two of you to check it out. Tonight.”
Friday night in a club with Jake like we’re a real couple. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
I try to return the paper with the address to her, but she refuses to take it. “It’s a necessary idea,” the dance instructor assures me. “We have a month until the showcase, and you two are going to be the headliners. You need more practice and a bit of time outside of the studio setting to get more comfortable with each other.”
She looks at me when she says that last bit. Yep, it’s me. I’m the problem. But still…
“Jake and I can’t go dancing in Denver,” I insist.
“Why?” they ask in unison.
“Because that seems like a date, and he and I can’t go on a date.”
The smile playing around Jake’s lips fades.
“Do you want it to be a date?” Char asks, one delicate brow arched, curiosity clear on her features.
“Of course not,” I snap. “That’s why I don’t want to do it.”
“Then consider it homework. I’m giving you homework, Iris. This is important.”
She reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m new to Skylark.” Something like defiance sparks in her soft eyes. “It’s a great place to start over, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Right now, most people drive to one of the neighboring towns for dance classes because they don’t know me. My best way to advertise to the community is through the community seeing the success of my students.”
“But you’re great. You’re a fabulous teacher. A natural,” I assure her.
She laughs softly. “I appreciate your confidence, but I want to show I can do more than toddler or mommy-and-me classes. I need people to trust me. And if the two of you look like you’re having fun—like you could win the hometown version of the DWTS mirrorball trophy—it’s going to attract new students.”
She places the folded piece of paper in my hand and closes my fingers around it. “If you won’t go dancing just because I guarantee you’ll have fun, which should be reason enough, do it to help me.”
And that’s how she gets me. Because acts of service are my love language, and helping people in my community is a big part of that.
“What time should we get there?” I hold the slip of paper between two fingers like it might catch on fire at any moment.
“The doors open at eight, but things really heat up around nine. You’ll be salsa dancing…all kinds of dancing,” Char says. “It will be good for both of you.”
That’s debatable, but I nod and glance at Jake. “Pick me up at seven thirty.”
“Did I hear a please in that request?” he deadpans.
“You did not.”
If Charlotte recognizes the tension crackling between us, she ignores it. “I promise it will be fun.”
Sure. Like one of the Hemsworth brothers giving you a root canal. “I’ve got to get back to the office.”
“Have fun tonight, you two.” Char blows out what looks like a relieved breath as she rubs her hands together. “Thank you, Iris.”
Like I have a choice, but I don’t say that. I smile and head out the door.
There’s a chill to the air this afternoon, as if we might be in for our first taste of winter weather, but it does nothing to temper the heat coursing through me. It's a strange, contradictory feeling—part mortification at having my incompetence laid bare in front of everyone, and part something else entirely. Something sparked by Jake's nearness. The casual confidence in his movements. And the thought of spending even one night in his orbit.
“I can pick you up at six thirty and we can grab dinner first,” Jake says as he follows me to the small parking lot behind the dance studio.
“This isn’t a date, Jake. It’s homework.”
“Why can’t we have both?”
“You know why. I let Jodi have the afternoon off to buy a dress to wear to the rodeo tomorrow night.”
“I’m sure she’ll look lovely.”
“She will, and you’re going to fall for her.”
He takes a quick step forward then encircles my wrist with his big hand.
“No.”
I pull my hand away and plant both hands on my hips. “You told me you’d do anything. You haven’t?—”
“I told you I’d take her out, and I am. I can’t force myself to fall for somebody any more than she can. I’m not going to lie or pretend. Not even for you.”
“Why not?” I snap. “You’re good at it.”
He flinches, then searches my gaze as if I’ve uncovered some deep, dark secret I’m about to call him out on. I’ve been so busy with my own problems, I haven’t looked more closely at Jake or considered what’s really going on with him. If there’s more to him now than I know.
Something shifts in my perception, like when you've been staring at a puzzle piece and suddenly realize you've been holding it upside down. I've been so consumed with keeping my own walls intact that I never considered he might have defenses of his own. The easy charm, the casual flirtation—what if they're just as much a shield as my professional detachment? What other layers have I missed while I was busy making sure he couldn't see mine?
“That’s a low blow, Dixon.”
He’s right, even if he is hiding something. But I can’t bring myself to apologize. Not when I’m so spun up with no outlet for my overactive imagination or overburdened anxiety.
“You might like Jodi,” I say, deciding to focus on the issue at hand while I think about what he could be hiding.
“If so, it won’t be because you commanded it. I need you to understand that. I’m willing to do a lot to make up for the past. Being a man whore isn’t on my resume.”
“Nobody’s asking you for that, but don’t deny you’re good with women.”
“Why would I want to deny it?” He gives me that easy smile again, but it’s tight around the edges this time. “I like women. I like you. God knows why sometimes.”
“How lovely, the patented Jake Byrne charm on full display.”
“Why are you so hell-bent on pushing me away?” The question is spoken softly, making it hit even harder.
Do I tell him it feels easier to push before he runs in the other direction? We’re at a standoff now, and I wish I had my cowboy boots on because it feels like this setup fits the old-west Skylark history Gloria shared earlier. This town ain’t big enough for the both of us and all that.
Of course, as much as I want to throttle him, I also want to grab his shirt and pull him closer. Give both of us a reason to quit arguing, at least out loud. Use our mouths and bodies to decide who comes out on top. Or on the bottom. With Jake, I have a feeling any way would be good. It might only take one touch to shatter me.
A horn beeps, and we break apart.
Saved by the Subaru, I think, as my friend Molly pulls up. She rolls down her window and grins. I smile and wave at the two tow-headed kids sitting in the back seat.
“Another exciting beginner hip hop class coming up,” she says, then glances between Jake and me. “You doing okay, Iris?”
“Always,” I lie, but just as Molly is about to question me further, there’s a shriek from the back seat.
“Mommy,” a girl shouts, “Luke hit me.”
“No hitting,” Molly calls over her shoulder.
“Laurel called me a butthead,” comes the impassioned response.
“No name-calling,” she hollers back before focusing on Jake and me again. “They are my pride and joy,” she says through a tight smile.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“Always.” She sounds only mildly on the verge of a breakdown. “I’ll call you later,” she says, then pulls forward to park closer to the studio’s back door.
“No one is pushing anyone,” I tell Jake. “In fact, you can skip tonight, and I’ll drive to Denver by myself. I’m the one who needs practice.”
“I’m your partner,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
I hit the key fob to unlock my car. “I’m sure I can find somebody to dance with me,” I tell him over my shoulder.
“The fuck you will.”
Those crass words shouldn’t thrill me, but they do. “Have it your way.” I give a jaunty wave. “See you tonight, partner.” Then I duck into my car and pretend to check my phone until Jake turns and heads toward the ancient truck parked a few spaces away.
I’m going to need the rest of the day to tie my libido down. Shove it into the dark dungeon where I keep all the things I’ve ever wanted to do but didn’t because they were bad for me.
There’s no doubt in my mind Jake Byrne would be the absolute worst. And the best.