Chapter Nineteen
Ellie burst through the door as if the devil was on her heels. “I’m going to prom!”
Her voice carried all through the house, her excitement palpable.
James mustered up a smile. “Let me guess . . .”
She dropped her softball bag just inside the door and kicked off her shoes.
Madison ran down the stairs. “How did he ask?”
“He asked at practice.”
“But how?”
James had been walking through the foyer with a pile of mail in his hand when Ellie had shouted her way into the house. Now the three of them stood staring at each other.
“He just asked.”
Madison’s shoulders fell. “What do you mean?”
“He was waiting for me at my car when practice let out, and he asked.”
“No flowers?”
Good call, James thought.
“Flowers aren’t my thing.”
“A big sign with hearts?”
Okay, another good idea.
James looked at Ellie.
She didn’t reply.
“Chocolate? A stuffed animal?” Madison continued.
Still no response from Ellie.
“A cute note?”
Ellie shook her head.
“Nothing?”
“He just asked!” Ellie’s voice rose an octave.
James was slightly impressed at the depths to which Madison could roll her eyes. “Weak AF.”
Now Ellie was frowning. “You’re just jealous.”
Madison turned and headed toward the kitchen. “Olivia’s boyfriend serenaded her outside fifth period. He had a portable microphone and everything.”
Ellie followed her sister.
James stayed a few steps behind.
“Olivia’s boyfriend is in a band. Trevor doesn’t sing.”
“Still lame. He knew you’d say yes, so he didn’t put any effort into it.”
James could see Ellie’s joy fading.
And as much as he didn’t like Trevor, he didn’t want to see his girl brought down because of the dating expectations of her sister.
“When I was in high school, most guys just asked. It’s not a big deal, Maddie.”
“Dad’s right,” Ellie said.
“He better make it up by taking you somewhere nice before.”
Ellie lifted her chin. “He will.”
“All I ask is he meets you at this door.” James wanted to demand more.
“He will.”
“And no motorcycle. It’s a car or you’re not—”
“We’ll be dressed up, Dad. We can take my car if he needs to.”
Chastity belts and ivory towers.
“Have you told Mom yet?” Madison asked from the other side of the kitchen island.
“I’m going over there after dinner.”
Both girls looked at him at Ellie’s mention of dinner.
“How about pizza?” he asked.
Ellie drew her phone from her back pocket. “Fine, but it’s my turn to pick.”
James tapped the mail in his hand on the counter and looked at the time. “Save me a couple of pieces.”
“Where are you going?” Madison asked.
“I signed up for a dance class,” he said without pause.
Both girls stopped what they were doing and gaped at him.
“What?” Madison asked.
“Dance class!” Ellie exclaimed.
James turned his attention to the mail. “I thought I told you.”
“Ahh . . . no. You didn’t.”
They were both still staring as if he’d suddenly grown horns. “I had a good time on the ship. Your old dad has some great moves.”
“Cringe, Dad.”
He winked at Ellie. “Women love a man who dances. Maybe I’ll meet someone.” Whose name is Mari that owns a restaurant and makes me smile like a teenage girl that has just been asked to prom.
“Slightly less cringe,” Ellie amended.
“What is it . . . like ballroom dancing or something?”
He shook his head. “We signed up for swing. I don’t waltz.”
James poked his finger between the edges of the envelope that looked like junk and started to rip.
“When will you be home?”
“No idea. Before you’re in bed.” He turned to leave the room. “Use Uber. We still have credit on that account,” he said.
Both the girls said okay, and James walked away.
He needed a shower and a shave.
And Mari to spin around the dance floor.
It was going to be a great night.
Ellie and Madison linked eyes.
That knowing twin sixth-sense thing buzzed between them.
“You heard that, right?” Ellie asked.
“He said we.”
“I knew he was acting weird.”
Madison waved a hand at Ellie. “You order the pizza, I’m calling Mom. She’ll know something.”
The dance studio was situated in a town north of Mari and south of James.
Eleven people, thirteen if you counted the instructors, stood around a large, open studio.
Two entire walls were floor to ceiling mirrors, and the space was large enough to host five times the number of people than was there.
The perimeter of the room had chairs lining the walls.
Turned out, Mari and James were one of three couples, the other two married and half their age. The other four people were closer to their age. Rosa, of course, plus two other women and one man.
“I’m a third wheel,” Rosa whispered as the instructors rounded everyone up.
“It’s only for a few lessons.”
Their instructors, Leticia and Bayani, were somewhere in their midthirties.
Both enthusiastically greeted each of them before going around the room and asking about their experience with formal dance lessons.
One of the couples confessed to taking salsa lessons while the rest of them claimed this was a first-time experience.
“Those of you that are without partners, don’t worry. That is why Bayani and I are here. In addition, we switch up your partners throughout the class.”
“See,” Mari whispered to Rosa.
“Tonight will be the easiest, yet the most fundamental, introduction to West Coast swing that you’ll have. If you understand the concept of who is leading and where you’re headed on the dance floor, the rest quickly makes sense.”
For the following hour and a half, Mari counted to six more times than she had since she was a toddler learning her numbers. “One, two, three and four, five and six.”
James virtually stood in one spot, stepping to the same six count, while he passed Mari from one side of him to the next.
If his hand moved up, she passed with a spin.
All of which felt a lot like what they’d done on the dance floor on the cruise.
Only this was much more organized. Not that it didn’t come with its own stepped-on toes.
Rosa was passed from Bayani to the lone male student who seemed to be struggling with how to lead.
For the most part, James and Mari danced exclusively with each other.
James pulled her in, passed her to the other side. Pulled in, one, two . . . spun her around, three and four . . . anchored her in place, five and six.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Several times, Mari felt herself looking over at Rosa. Her fake smile was easy to see.
“She’s having a miserable time,” Mari quietly told James.
“It’s temporary.”
“But . . .”
James pulled her in again. Turn, three and four. Shuffle her feet, five and six.
“Or we can tell our families that we’re dating.”
Pull in, one, two . . . “I’m getting there,” she assured him. Since the return from the cruise, she’d been watching for red flags. The things Chloe spoke of relentlessly when she was dating.
Of course, Mari’s red-flag barometer and her daughter’s were entirely different.
Okay, maybe not entirely. The man needed to be employed, age appropriate, and financially secure.
In Mari’s case, that meant he needed to own his own home.
And while she’d not considered what a man needed to date her .
. . since she never thought she’d be in this position .
. . the man needed to be a father. Because without that element, how could he ever understand about family?
They needed to have similar interests.
Mari couldn’t tell you what those interests were before meeting James. Aside from taking care of her family. Spending time with her grandchildren. Yet here they were, exploring professional dance lessons as a way to see each other without suspicion.
And she liked it.
More than bunco, but she supposed that had a place in her life. That new group of friends was how she’d met James, and for that, she was grateful.
Ninety minutes felt like ten.
On the way out the door, the instructors encouraged them to practice, if possible . . . and to consider buying shoes that made it a little easier to turn on the dance floor.
Sneakers weren’t ideal for either party.
The sun had set while they were in class, leaving Mari and James to say good night in the dark parking lot.
Rosa waited in the car while James and Mari stole a few seconds alone.
Each time he gathered her in his arms, she anticipated his kiss before it happened. And as silly as it sounded, she felt like a young woman each time.
“I don’t want to wait a week to see you again,” he told her.
“But you have a business trip, and my weekend is full. Next Tuesday will have to do.”
James looked over her shoulder as another couple from the class passed by.
Mari was keenly aware of how they looked.
Two adults talking in the dark, James’s hand on her hip, their bodies close enough to feel the heat of the other.
“Dance classes was a genius idea,” James said. “Not only do I have a weekly date, I get to touch you.” His free hand ran down her arm.
She shivered.
“And you’re cold.” He pushed away from the car and pulled her close. “Just a little bit more.”
He brought his lips to hers for more than a breath or two.
But didn’t linger, which Mari was grateful for because someone might be watching.
Yet his short kisses were starting to feel incomplete.
It seemed all they’d had since the cruise was short moments of intimacy.
Always because there were people around.
Outside of restaurants, by a car . . . in a park. Two grown adults stealing a touch.
Mari was starting to see the idiocy of that.
And she wanted more.
Her body wanted more.
Her heart wanted more.
James lifted his lips and stared. “This is getting harder and harder,” he said.
“I agree.” And she did.
He made a growling noise before turning her around and walking her to her car.
Rosa rolled down the window and leaned outside. “Are you kids done?”
Mari chuckled.
James opened the car door. “I have her back before curfew.”
Mari felt James’s hand on her hip tap as she slid into the passenger seat. “Call me when you’re home.”
“I’ll get her there in one piece, James. Don’t worry.”
Mari waved Rosa’s words away. “Good night.”
Once she was settled, James closed the door and started back to his car.
From the dark interior of the car, Rosa’s mirth could be felt. “You looked like teenagers out there.”
“I know.”
Rosa put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.
Mari glanced in the side mirror and saw the taillights of James’s car glow.
“What is it you’re waiting for?” Rosa asked. “Why keep this a secret?”
“Fear,” she said without pause.
“Fear of what? James? The kids?”
They pulled out onto the street.
Mari stared at the passing lights as they drove along.
“Yes, the kids. I don’t want this to touch them—”
“If it doesn’t work out,” Rosa interrupted. “Clearly, it’s working out, Mari. And how can you truly tell if this is right if the two of you can’t be alone? Don’t you want sex?”
Yes. Yes, she did. But not just sex, she wanted James. “I know you’re right.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Is this about Paulo?”
She wanted to say no. “Less and less each day.”
“Good,” Rosa shot out. “Good.”