Chapter 27
Ladies Dancing and Lords A’Drinking
Dash
I sit slumped on the couch in my red velvet tux and stare at the door, willing Ivy to walk back into the cottage. When there’s a sharp rap on the door, my breath catches. Did I do it? Then I hear Nick calling my name and sigh. The universe sent the wrong Jolly.
I trudge across the room and open the door. Nick, Jack, and Titus stand on the porch, wearing expectant expressions.
I don’t invite them in. “Do you need something?”
Nick shoulders his way past me and the others follow. Defeated, I close the door and turn to face them.
“Get out of that monkey suit,” Jack tells me. “Go put on jeans and a sweater or something.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Because Ivy’s bawling her eyes out in my kitchen, and Noelle and my daughters told us to leave. I figure you’re over here sulking for the same reason she’s crying. So let’s go have a beer.” Nick delivers this rationale in a matter-of-fact tone.
It has the effect of propelling me to my feet. Halfway to the bedroom to change, I turn around. “Wait. Where’s my mother?”
“Griselda and Marley spirited her off to the North Pole Social Club so she could see what high society looks like in Mistletoe Mountain’s most exclusive members-only club.”
“Oh, she’ll like that. What it does it look like, though?” My curiosity is piqued.
“Like the rest of Mistletoe Mountain, only the music isn’t as loud, and you pay a monthly tab instead of paying at every visit,” Nick explains.
“How do you become a member?” Jack wonders.
“It’s invitation only,” Nick says seriously.
Titus rolls his eyes. “The invitation is printed in the monthly Mistletoe Mountaineer magazine. And it’s free to join. You just have to scan the QR code.”
I can’t help laughing. “Why bother?”
“So people can say they belong to the town’s most exclusive members-only club. Now change, because we’re taking to you an actual private club and you’re not walking in with us looking like that.”
Nobody bothers to tell me the name of this private club until I’m squeezed into the back seat of Noelle’s hatchback, knees near my elbows, and we’re rumbling out of town.
“It’s not really a private club,” Titus begins, his shoulder rubbing against mine. “But Nick belongs to a club that meets there and they have a private room.”
Nick and Jack exchange looks in the front seat. My antenna goes up. “Hold on, what kind of club?”
“The Lords of the Mountain,” Nick says. “It’s a group of motorcycle enthusiasts.”
“You’re in a motorcycle gang?” I sputter.
“It’s more of a club,” Titus clarifies. “Dancing Ladies is their headquarters.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“It’s the strip club where Titus bartends,” Jack answers.
“They’re exotic dancers, not strippers,” Nick corrects.
“No.” I grip the back of Nick’s headrest. “No, no, no. I cannot be photographed visiting a strip club that’s frequented by a bike gang. I’m trying to clean up my image, remember?”
“Nobody’s going to let photographers through the doors at Dancing Ladies,” Titus reassures me.
Brody will kill me. No, he won’t have the chance because my mother will kill me and dump my body in a snowbank.
Sweat beads on my upper lip. “Guys, I really appreciate the gesture, but—”
The car erupts with laughter. Nick’s cackling and snorting to the point that I’m afraid he’s going to drive us into a ditch. Beside me, Titus shakes with laughter. Finally, Jack wipes his eyes and regains the power of speech.
“You should have seen your face,” he tells me. “We’re not taking you to Dancing Ladies, don’t worry.”
“We were just having some fun with you, son. We’re going to the fishing cabin. There’s a case of Frosty in the fridge. We’re gonna listen to music and pontificate. Might even play some cards. A very G-rated evening to take your mind off your troubles.”
I exhale, relief washing over me, and lean back against the headrest. It hits me that they’re not treating me like Dash Pine. They’re treating me like any other guy who just had his heart stomped on by a girl in stiletto boots—which is exactly what I am.
Ivy
“I’ll be the designated driver. We won’t even have to call a Sober Sleigh,” Holly cajoles.
“No.” My voice is muffled because my head rests on my arms, facedown on the table.
“Remember how you all forced me to go to the Singles Jingle Mingle last year when Jack and I had that blowup?” She tries a new tack.
“Yes,” I answer into the table.
“The peppermint espresso martinis, while tasty, didn’t really help. But dancing with my sisters and my friends did, Ivy. And we’re not even talking about the Mingle. It’s just dancing. In the valley. It’ll be dead. You’ll feel better if we go dancing.”
“I don’t want to feel better,” I wail.
I hear whispering.
Then, “Ivy Victoria Jolly, sit up.”
I do. Mainly because I’ve never heard Noelle use a mom voice before. I wipe my eyes and stare at her.
She rubs my shoulder. “Go wash your face. Put on your favorite pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and go with Holly and Merry to the Stoneridge Saloon and get your two-step on. Or go to Finnegan’s Pub and jig your troubles away.”
I purse my lips and consider. “I’ll go out on two conditions. One, we go to 80s Night at Sk8phoria Roller Rink. And two, you come with us.”
Noelle’s face drains of color. “You want me to go roller skating with you?”
Merry’s clapping. “It’s more like roller dancing, Noelle.”
“Especially on 80s night. Or at least that was the case fifteen ago, which is the last time I set foot in Sk8phoria,” Holly chimes in.
After a moment, Noelle pushes herself up from the table. “I guess I better dig out my off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and leg warmers.”
We follow her down the hall and stop at our old bedrooms to forage through storage trunks for vintage neon pink and green sweaters and acid-washed jeans.
I know a night of gliding around the roller rink to cheesy hits from the 80s isn’t going to change anything.
But it’ll take my mind off the rock lodged in my chest where my heart should be, and that’s better than nothing.