Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
T he sound of coffee beans grinding shrieked off the tiles lining the store. Despite the name, the Coffee Haus café had been designed to not encourage its customers to linger and treat the space as a home, its demographic more the busy office workers who were employed around here. There was only one comfy couch, the rest of the place consisting of stainless-steel tables and chairs that were lighter than they looked, and a narrow wooden bar with steel-and-wood stools where some intrepids liked to work. Bailey didn’t understand it. She much preferred the soft pastels and vintage wannabe French vibes of those cafes that longed to evoke Paris, but held little actual resemblance to those she’d seen when she’d lived in France five years ago. But a job was a job, and with her money worries she’d be jumping at any extra shifts she could take, hence this one, different from her usual, which meant a different array of customers.
And while she served customers, made coffee, wiped tables, she kept a smile on her dial, hiding the consternation within. The questions from yesterday continued. What should she do? God was with her, she knew that, and Jehovah Jireh was her provider, so she knew she’d have to trust Him to open a door.
Her parents and brother had all reminded her of that in the group messenger chat when she’d asked for prayer. Cindy, her brother’s wife, hadn’t acknowledged her comment, even though Bailey knew she’d seen it, thanks to the little face next to the chat. Her sister-in-law had never understood the close relationship the rest of them shared, and Bailey suspected Cindy was jealous. Whatever. She just had to keep turning the other cheek.
“Bailey, can you wipe down those tables?” Max, the non-binary manager, pointed to the corner from behind their spot at the coffee machine.
“Sure.”
She grabbed the cleaning products and stepped to the section, stacking empty cups on a tray then wiping it down. Her backside buzzed, but she didn’t answer. Phone calls were for break times only, and Max didn’t like it when people ignored the rules. And while this new world was hard to navigate as a Christian sometimes, and she knew her father would never understand, showing Max respect had to be something Jesus would do, right? Regardless of how Max chose to identify, God still knew Max’s name, and Bailey had determined to show Max God’s love however she could. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had to work with people dealing with similar issues before. The ballet world was full of people who needed God’s love more than being pigeonholed.
So she cleared and cleaned, and returned behind the counter to Max’s nod.
“Surprised to see you working today,” Max said.
She shrugged. “I’m after any extra shifts I can get.”
“Don’t you have classes?”
“Now it’s summer, there are less kids, and I still need to pay rent.” She smiled. “Hence you get the pleasure of my company.”
Max’s mouth flickered into a micro-smile. “I’ll remember.”
A new customer entered, a shadowed silhouette filling the doorway, and Bailey paused, taking him in. The man, who looked to be around thirty, was big, broad-shouldered and obviously muscled, according to the T-shirt straining across his chest. His hair was a dirty dark brown, flowing beneath a Jets cap in a style she just knew was her all-time least favorite on a guy: the mullet. But from his tattoos and very presence, she sensed he didn’t care what she or anyone else thought about him. She noticed the way others had paused too, subtly or not-so-subtly watching as he moved to the counter. He seemed aware of but not embarrassed by the attention, like he was used to it, even though he didn’t acknowledge anyone else. Instead, his eyes were firmly fixed on her. She shivered.
He reached the counter, nodded to her, unsmiling, just like Max. But unlike Max, there was no questioning the gender of this man, who was very much the embodiment of masculinity, at least in her limited experience. Muscled, strong jawline, thick dark eyebrows, a spray of fine whiskers on his jaw, with intense dark eyes. Not exactly handsome, but strong-featured. Just very… strong. The epitome of a tough guy. “Hey.”
Even his voice was deep, seeming to splay through her. She blinked, suddenly conscious of her petite height and frame and long hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and lifted her chin and lips. “Hi. What can I get you?”
“It’s okay, Bailey,” Max said, glancing at the new customer. “Usual?”
“Thanks.”
So Mister Intimidating was a regular. He tapped his card, then moved to the serving center, eyes on his phone, leaving her feeling weirdly short-changed. Which was dumb. She didn’t know the guy, had no desire to know the guy, but there’d been something in the way he looked at her which sent a ripple through her soul, almost like he was someone she was supposed to know. Which made no sense at all. Lord? This is dumb. I don’t know what’s going on, but please stop the weirdness.
She served another customer, a woman who nudged her friend as they glanced at the big dude, still on his phone. She peeked across. He was now pivoting away as he answered a call, his shoulders sagging, like this call was bad news.
Maybe it was because she was recently familiar with bad news that she felt a new ping of interest, but she kept sneaking glances at him, noting when he inched closer to the door, like he’d forgotten his coffee order.
Max eyed her, then called out, “Luke!”
The man didn’t turn, obviously listening to the call as he shook his head, his voice too low and rumbly to hear. Not that she’d ever listen to café customers’ conversations or anything.
“Can you—?” Max gestured to the coffee. Tall black, no sugar, according to the plastic lid.
“Um, sure.”
She picked it up, then moved to the man whose back was to her, time seeming to slow like she was being drawn by an indefinable, inescapable force. She lifted a hand to tap him on the back when he suddenly pivoted, and his elbow bumped the coffee she held. Her hand jerked, the lid popped off, and hot liquid sloshed on him and her.
She squeaked as the coffee splashed her neck, he muttered something, and seemed to almost snarl, which forced her to take a step back. “I’m so sorry.”
He grimaced as he pulled his stained shirt away from where it had been sculpting his impressive chest, then glanced at where she’d been doing the same. Not that her chest was impressive. At least the coffee had mostly fallen on her apron. His expression softened. “That was my fault, huh? Sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.”
“We’ll get you another one. On the house.”
He shrugged. “Forget it. I’ve got things to do.”
“But—” She placed a hand on his arm and froze.
Her mouth dried. Muscles lay there, stealing her words. What was she doing ?
He seemed to think that too, eyeing her hand, then her, then shifting so she suddenly clasped air. Her hand dropped. He stepped back, studying her with another of those deep looks before whoever was on the phone squawked loud enough to be heard.
He snapped to attention, nodded, then pivoted and walked away.
Leaving her feeling foolish. But also feeling like something seismic had just occurred. Which was stupid. She didn’t believe in instant attraction. And this definitely wasn’t attraction. It was just instant… weirdness.
“Bailey,” Max called.
Her phone buzzed another notification, and she hurried back, conscious of smirks and muffled laughter, and a few phones held upright that seemed to be tracking her walk of shame. Unlike the man monster, she was very aware of people watching her. She might’ve danced on stages across Europe and North America, but knew people watched to criticize, not just to applaud. She faked a smile, pushing down the nerves.
“Sorry, Max. He said he had to leave, and couldn’t stay for a do-over.”
Max nodded. “No worries. He’s a regular. He’ll be back.”
“Phew.” She grimaced. “I really didn’t mean to do that. I hope I haven’t scared him away.”
“Yeah, I suspect you gotta be a lot scarier than that to throw Luc Blanchard off his game.”
“Who?”
Max smirked. “I love that you’re so dance-focused you don’t recognize his name.”
“I’ve got no idea who he is.”
“That’s apparent. He plays hockey, is a bit of a big deal around here.”
Her nose wrinkled. She didn’t like hockey, or people who considered themselves big deals.
“Now, go clean up.”
She hurried to the back room, quickly exchanging her white tee and apron for clean ones. Her phone buzzed again. Seriously. Who was this?
She drew it out, saw her friend’s name flash on the screen. What did Coco want? She hadn’t called in forever. Ever since Bailey had returned to Winnipeg it seemed Coco’s dancing career had gone on to stratospheric heights, while Bailey’s felt like it had floundered. They still messaged regularly, though. But Coco had tried to call at least three times today now. It must be important. She peeked around. The café was quiet, and even Max was drinking a coffee and chatting idly to one of the customers. She pressed Return call.
“Coco?”
“Bailey! Oh thank goodness. Look, I don’t have long, but I have an amazing opportunity for you.”
“I’m at work—”
“At that café? Honey, that’s caretaking, not work.”
“Can we talk later?”
“No, there’s no time. I’ve just pulled the most amazing opportunity for you.”
Bailey huddled behind a stack of boxes labelled arabica coffee beans. “What is it?”
“You’re about to get a call from a producer, and look, just say yes, okay?”
“A producer? For what?”
“Just say yes, okay? If you don’t do this, someone else will, and I’ll never talk to you again.”
“What?”
“Just jokes. But not really. So say yes. Oops! Gotta go.”
The call ended, and she stared at her phone. The weirdness today was in overdrive. “God,” she whisper-prayed, “I don’t know what’s going on, but You do. Open the right doors, close the wrong ones, and—”
“Bailey!” Max called.
She tucked her phone away and returned, only to have her phone buzz again. She winced. Was this the producer? If so, what kind of producer? Coco knew a lot of people, and had danced in Broadway and on TV. Was the producer connected to one of those things? Was that them on the phone now?
She tugged out her phone, saw an unknown number. Glanced at Max who was looking at her askance. “Can I please take this? It’s important.”
Max sighed, then nodded, and she returned to her hidey-hole, and pressed answer.
“Hello, is this Bailey Donovan?” an unknown female voice asked.
“Yes. With whom am I speaking?”
“My name is Joanne Mascieski, and I’m a producer with a television show called Dance Off Canada . We’ve had a little snafu with our upcoming season, and I was told by Coco Flintoff that you were available to step in as one of our dancers.”
Bailey’s mouth fell open. Thank goodness this was a phone call and not video. “Um, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“We’re a celebrity dancing competition, like Dancing with the Stars , but on a smaller scale.”
“I know the program.” She watched it when work permitted, thanks to Coco’s performances. She’d been one of the pro dancers these past three seasons. “I just don’t understand what you mean about me being a dancer.”
“We pair our celebrities with professional dancers, and—”
As Joanne continued explaining the obvious, Bailey’s heart picked up in pace. Had Coco seriously put her name forward as a professional dancer? Was Coco crazy? Bailey was a professional, and yes, even taught ballroom, but this was on a whole other level.
“—and thanks to their affair being exposed, we now need another couple pronto, and we have the man, just need the dancing partner. Coco was sure you’d agree, especially as you’re local.”
“I’m sorry, when is this supposed to start?”
“We’re shooting promotions in two days, so you’d need to fly to Toronto tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Are you kidding?”
“Look, I know it’s short notice, but we’re desperate.”
Way to go to make a girl feel valued.
“And because we know it’s short notice we’re prepared to offer you five grand upfront if you sign up today.”
Breath hitched. “Five grand?” Five thousand dollars would go a good way to paying off the bank loan.
“Plus all expenses, plus another five if you make it to week three, and another ten if you make the final.”
She closed her eyes. Twenty thousand meant she’d almost be in the clear. “How long is the time commitment?”
“Five weeks, plus this next week of promotions and rehearsals before the premiere the following weekend. You’d be starting behind the others, which is why we’re desperate to get this happening now.”
“But where? Are you talking Toronto?”
“We’re shooting the weekends in TO but the weekday rehearsals are in Winnipeg, which is where he’s based. You’re there too, aren’t you?”
“Are you saying I could use my studio here for rehearsal?”
“Absolutely. And that’d be some nice exposure for you, too.”
Yes, it would.
But how could she just up and leave her students, her commitments, for something that seemed little better than a dream?
Just say yes , Coco had said. Lord? What are You saying?
Seconds ticked away.
Then, “I understand. Never mind. We’ll find someone else—”
“No, I’m interested,” Bailey’s words spurted. “But I’ll need to see a contract.”
“We sent one already. Coco gave us your email address.”
“What?” She switched to her email app, and sure enough, an email with a bunch of attachments sat there from one Joanne Mascieski, producer with Dance Off Canada .
Oh my goodness. Oh my stars. Her chest tightened. This really was real.
“So, can I lock you in?” Joanne’s voice was tinny.
Bailey lifted the phone to her ear. “Um, I need to check the contract, and I’d need to figure out my dance school schedule, but I think so.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Joanne exclaimed. “Look, I know it’s short notice, so if you need us to reimburse you, just say the word.”
“I will need to reschedule classes, and get another teacher in.” Maybe Poppy would be okay to return. Especially if she could count as an “expense”.
“Like I said, we’re willing to negotiate.”
And now would be the time to negotiate, while they were so eager for her to join up. “I’ll need to send you my projected expenses,” she dared.
“Send it. If it’s within reason, we’ll pay it straightaway. We need this to happen now.”
What would they consider reasonable? Canada’s premier TV network wasn’t likely as flush as some US networks, although they seemed to find enough money to pay big time for sports like hockey. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll check over the contract as soon as possible.”
“Look, can you do it now?”
“I’m at work,” she protested. And there was no reason to let this woman think she was a pushover.
“I’ll need an answer by two, otherwise I have to call someone else. In fact, I might just do that anyway, as we can’t afford to delay any longer.”
“But…” She bit her lip. She really needed the money. And God hadn’t exactly put a check in her spirit to say no, had He? What if this opportunity was actually from Him?
“I’m going to read through the contract now, and I’ll get back to you immediately.”
“Thank you. I’ll hold off calling anyone else until two PM.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Good.”
“Oh, one more thing. Who would be my celebrity?”
“Well, we wouldn’t normally tell you, but seeing you’re behind the others by a week I suppose I can.” Joanne whistled softly. “And oh, you got the cream of the crop, Bailey.”
The way she said that, Bailey wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.
“He’s an athlete. You might’ve heard of him. He plays for Winnipeg’s hockey team. Luc Blanchard.”