Chapter 20 #2
“No problem.” She smoothed a hand over her filmy skirt, indecision flaring in her irises as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “It sounds like you could be in an awkward position at the wedding if you get pulled into that dance.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“I know what it’s like to be caught unprepared at a performance, though. It’s happened to me on occasion.”
He hiked up one side of his mouth. “The difference is that very few people will be watching me. If I flub up, no one but my unlucky partner will probably notice.” Still embarrassing, but he’d live.
“Well, if you change your mind and want a fast swing lesson, let me know. We could work it in one night after rehearsal, like we did with the short performance tonight.”
“I’ll think about it. And I appreciate the offer—even if you were railroaded into it.”
Her lips quirked. “I like Ben’s spunk. I also expect he had good intentions.”
“Except a certain road can be paved with those.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Not quite. I have to turn off lights and lock up.”
“Can I help?”
“No thanks. I’ve got the routine down.”
“In that case, I’ll get the troops home. Thank you again for tonight. As an introduction to ballet, it was incredible.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Thanks. You too.”
He strode toward the door, pausing on the threshold to peek back.
Devyn was taking off her pointe shoes, giving him a view of her classic profile.
The scene was almost like a Degas painting, based on what he remembered from the one art appreciation class he’d taken in college to fulfill the humanities requirement.
But Devyn was real, not brushstrokes on a canvas. And for the moment, she was inhabiting his world.
He gripped the edge of the door. Shook his head.
Who could ever have imagined that a guy who spent his days in a mill, handling rough lumber and breathing sawdust, would cross paths with a beautiful ballerina who danced to classical music and oozed refinement and culture and class?
And who would also stir up latent longings best left dormant.
Quashing the sudden surge in his pulse, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him with a definitive click.
That’s what he should do with thoughts of Devyn too. She was completely out of his league.
Besides, he hadn’t even been able to make a relationship work with someone who was in his league.
Olivia had ticked all the boxes—beautiful, smart, interested in having a family, similar background.
Yet in the end, their increasingly divergent priorities had doomed them.
If warning signs had been there in the early days, he’d missed them.
Meaning he could miss them again with another woman who came from comparable circumstances, let alone someone from a totally different sphere.
He picked up his pace toward the car.
The reality was, a woman like Devyn, who’d danced before dignitaries and traveled to glitzy cities around the globe, would never be satisfied in a small town like Hope Harbor .
. . even if she had fond memories of her younger years here.
Getting involved with someone like her would be like living with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head.
And life was too short to spend it waiting for a sword to fall.
When he reached the car and slid behind the wheel, Gramp angled toward him. “Well?”
“I’m not taking dancing lessons.” He shoved the key in the ignition.
Gramp tut-tutted. “What a missed opportunity.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. I can muddle through one dance without instruction if I have to.”
“I wasn’t talking about the dancing lesson.”
Of course he wasn’t.
Aaron started the engine. Put the car in reverse. Backed out in silence.
“Why don’t you want to let Miss Devyn teach you to dance, Dad?” Isabel latched onto his gaze in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t want to waste her time, honey.” He broke eye contact and put the car in drive. Accelerated toward home.
“I don’t think she’d think it was a waste of time. I can tell she likes you.”
“Out of the mouths of babes . . .” Gramp waggled his eyebrows.
Aaron expelled an annoyed breath. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
“Why? Am I hitting too close to home?”
“It doesn’t matter. Devyn is a short-timer here. She’ll be gone in six weeks. What would be the point of . . . anything?”
“You never know. People’s plans change.”
“Gramp.” He glanced toward the passenger seat. “She’s a world-famous ballerina.”
“And you’re a world-class man. I’d say that even if you weren’t my grandson, by the way. Seems like a decent match to me.”
“Only if you’re wearing rose-colored glasses. That’s not how life works.”
“It could.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“And you’re a pessimist.”
“No. A realist.” He tightened his grip on the wheel. “I’ve learned a thing or two about compatibility through the years.”
“You don’t know Devyn well enough yet to make that call.”
“I know the key facts. I work in a mill. She dances at Lincoln Center. End of story.”
Gramp waved aside his conclusion. “Those are externals. It’s what’s in the heart that matters.”
“True. But it takes a while to do a deep dive into a heart, and her stay here is limited.”
“I think Devyn’s heart is as pretty as her dancing.” Isabel added her two cents from the back seat.
“Truer words were never spoken.” Gramp leaned around and gave her a high five.
Aaron changed the subject for the remainder of the short drive home, but Isabel returned to it as he tucked her in for the night.
“You like Miss Devyn, don’t you, Dad?” As he pulled up the blanket, she hugged the tattered Raggedy Ann doll she’d begun taking to bed with her again after Olivia died.
“Yes. She seems nice.”
“Gramp thinks you should let her teach you how to do that dance for the wedding. So do I. I don’t get why you think it’s a bad idea.”
He smoothed out a crease in the blanket.
How was he supposed to explain the dangers of a hormone surge to a nine-year-old?
“I, uh, feel like we’ve taken too much advantage of her already.” A true, if not complete, answer.
“But I think she likes being around us.”
Which was also dangerous.
“It’s not that important, Isabel. Besides, I may not have to dance at the wedding. And if I do, I can get through one dance without a lesson.”
“Don’t you like to dance?”
“No. I don’t have any rhythm.” Or so Olivia had told him on multiple occasions.
“Yes, you do. Remember when we learned that line dance at the father-daughter valentine dinner at school last winter? You were great.”
Great might be pushing it, but he had been decent. However, his surprising ability to pick up those steps had surely been a one-off.
“I think that was a fluke, honey.”
She hugged her doll tighter. “I don’t think so. I think Miss Devyn could teach you the dance you talked about. Why don’t you tell her you’ll do it? We could stay later after a rehearsal again. Gramp and I could watch. Maybe we could learn the steps too.”
Hmm.
That wasn’t a bad idea. And it would put a different spin on the situation.
With all four of them there, any rogue sparks should be controllable. Especially if Gramp and Isabel joined in. Plus, having a few steps in his repertoire could save him a boatload of embarrassment if he did get dragged out to the dance floor at the wedding.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll think about it. How’s that?”
She heaved a theatrical sigh. “It’s better than nothing. If you decide to do it, I could tell Miss Devyn on Thursday, and you could have a lesson on Sunday.”
“I’ll sleep on it.” He bent down and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
She yawned. “They will be. I’m going to dream about Miss Devyn dancing.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He rose, turned off the bedside lamp, and crossed to the door.
“What are you going to dream about, Dad?”
At Isabel’s sleepy question, he stopped and swiveled back. “I guess I’ll wait and see.”
But if a certain ballerina dominated his dreams, one thing was certain.
It was not going to be a restful night.