The Daddy Dance (14 page)

She had completed the flyer with information about all of the classes that they offered, from Introductory Ballet to Advanced Showcase. Instructors’ names were listed inside parentheses—Miss Sarah, Miss Emma, Miss Virginia. The only blank class was the Advanced Showcase; the former teacher had not responded to the dozen messages Kat had left.

That made sense, actually. Miss Courtney Thomson had been the most accomplished of the studio’s instructors. She was likely to take her career the most seriously, to have been the most turned off by Rachel’s haphazard management. Kat suspected that she’d already taken on work in a neighboring town, moved on with her life. Kat really couldn’t blame her.

“That’s great,” Rye said, and she realized that he’d been reading the full text on the page.

“It’s nothing,” she said, but she was pleased by the compliment. She’d spent a lot of time on Saturday writing the brochure. “I need to take it to my mother this afternoon.”

“She’ll love it. It reads like something from a professional advertising company.”

“We can do something similar for you. Specific to plumbing and electricity and stuff.”

“Stuff,” he teased. “You make it sound so complicated.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, I do,” he admitted. Without fully intending to, he placed his hands on the back of her chair, spinning her around to face him. He heard her breath catch in her throat as he edged forward. She looked up at him, an uncertain smile quirking her lips. He leaned down and planted his palms on the arms of her chair, the motion bringing his lips close to hers. “I know exactly what you mean,” he growled, and suddenly neither of them was talking about stationery or computers or…stuff.

Before he could follow through on the promise of the suddenly charged air between them, a clatter came from the studio. Something metal hit the floor, followed by a sharp curse.

“Brandon?” Rye called, already turning to the door.

“I’m all right,” came the quick reply. “But I could use a hand out here.”

Rye set his hand against Kat’s cheek. “I—” he said, so softly that Brandon could never hear him. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
I want to finish what we started Friday night. I don’t care about stationery, not when we could be talking about something else.
Doing
something else. I don’t give a damn about Richmond, or New York, or Eden Falls, or anyplace, so long as I’m with you
.

“Go,” Kat said, and she watched him swallow hard. “I’ll be here. Brandon needs you.”

She slumped into her chair as he hurried out the door. She should have Rye check the air-conditioning in the office. It was about twenty degrees too hot in the small room. She pretended not to hear the muffled curses as the men negotiated over some spilled hardware.

Before Kat could pull herself together enough to go back to the stationery website, the computer chimed. She had new email. She clicked on the icon, opening up a message entitled Coppelia. The sender was Haley, writing from New York.

The first paragraph was a breathless apology for failing to write more often. Haley’s on-again, off-again boyfriend was back in her life; he’d given her red roses for her birthday—
two dozen!!!
The apartment was fine. Slimeball Adam had finally come and picked up his junk. Skanky Selene had already dumped him and moved on to another dancer in the company. Kat’s eyes skimmed over the words, as if she were reading some boring nineteenth-century novel about people she’d never met.

But then she saw the real reason for Haley’s message.

Sign up for Coppelia auditions closes at midnight, May 1. You have to do it in person; they won’t let me add your name to the list. Are you coming back in time?

Kat stared at the screen, at the Xes and Os that closed out Haley’s message.
Are you coming back in time?

Coppelia
. Kat had always dreamed of dancing the lead role of Swanilda. The ballet had been her absolute favorite, ever since she was a little girl. It told the story of a lonely toymaker in a mountain village, a mad scientist who created a life-size doll who only needed the sacrifice of a human being to come to life. Swanilda was the wise village girl who figured out the madness of the toymaker’s work—she saved her betrothed from being sacrificed. Swanilda defeated the mad woodcarver and married her beloved.

The role was physically demanding. In addition to classical ballet moves, the part required executing a number of country dances and one extended section where Swanilda pretended to be the jerky windup doll, Coppelia.

Kat flexed her toes inside her walking boot. Even when she arched them to their full reach, she felt nothing, no twinge of pain. Her foot was almost healed.

She looked around the office. Despite her still- elevated heart rate as she listened for Rye, out in the studio, her work here was nearly done. She could place her order for stationery right now. That would leave one last thing to clean up: the bank accounts. Kat couldn’t believe that she’d let the problem linger for nearly three full weeks. But it wasn’t really a surprise. The lost money was the one thing she couldn’t fix. That was Rachel’s one failing that Kat couldn’t tidy up, couldn’t erase away. Her parents would be devastated, and there was nothing Kat could do—and so she’d let herself shrug off the responsibility, ever since she’d identified the problem.

But for the past week or so, there had been another reason that she’d failed to handle the financial crisis. Once she told her mother about the lost money, there’d be no reason left to stay in Eden Falls. And Kat had to admit that part of her did not want to leave.

That was only natural, she tried to assure herself. Her father had looked so healthy as he walked to the park on Sunday. He was sitting up in his recliner at home, even heading to the kitchen to get his own snacks. Susan would be able to run the studio on her own soon enough; Amanda could probably juggle her own teaching schedule to help out for the first rough weeks of transition.

Even Niffer had calmed down. Sure, the child still whined when she didn’t get her way. And she would choose candy over a healthy meal, given half a chance. But she’d taken to the new structure in her life like the duck to water. Just that morning, she had returned her crayons to her toy box without being asked to straighten up the kitchen table.

For all intents and purposes, Kat’s work here was done. Except for the accounting ledger.

Out in the studio, Rye laughed at something Brandon said. No. Rye was not a reason to stay in Eden Falls. He lived in Richmond. He was on the threshold of his own successful career.

She flashed again on a memory of how incredible it had felt to lie within the shelter of his arms. His heartbeat had pounded against her own. His warmth had enfolded her as she drifted off to sleep.

She had braved the embarrassment of shopping at the drugstore, of securing the protection they needed, so that they could complete what they’d started Friday night.

No. Rye was a spring fling. A light touch of relief as she juggled all the responsibilities of family. An enjoyable confirmation that her demanding life in New York hadn’t ruined her, that she could still be a desirable woman.

She didn’t have any right to turn their fun and games into anything more. It wouldn’t be fair to Rye. It wouldn’t be fair to herself.

Squaring her shoulders, Kat clicked on the button to reply to Haley’s email. She typed:

Glad to hear all is well. I’m wrapping things up here and should be home in time to sign up. Thanks a million times over! XOXO. Kat

She read the message four times before she clicked Send. And then she dug out the studio’s oversize checkbook, determined to calculate all of Rachel’s red ink, down to the last penny. Then, she’d be free to leave Eden Falls. To return to her home. To New York.

Out in the studio, Rye was pleased to find that a drop cloth had caught the spilled staples and oversize staple gun that Brandon had dropped. Nevertheless, he said to his cousin, “Let’s take this thing outside. I don't want anything to scratch the new floorboards.”

“You’re the boss,” Brandon said. He hitched up his Levi’s before he helped Rye maneuver the heavy cloth out the door.

It was only when they stood in the parking lot that Rye said, “Wait a second. There’s just a handful of staples.” He looked over at Brandon. “What the hell made so much noise?”

“You mean this?” Brandon reached into the bed of the truck, fishing out a clean metal tray for painting. He shoved it beneath the tarp and then emptied a box of staples onto it. The clatter was suitably dramatic.

“What the—”

“I had to get you out of that office, buddy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard the two of you talking. Don’t you realize that girl thinks you’re picking out wedding invitations?”

Rye laughed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She accidentally pulled up that screen. She was showing me how to put together flyers for the new business.”

Brandon snorted. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you? You’ll believe just about anything.”

“You couldn’t see the computer screen, Bran. I’m telling you, it was filled with ballet shoes."

"
What if I want the silver, from the other screen?
” Brandon quoted.

Rye sighed. “I was just teasing her. There isn’t anything serious between us. There can’t be. She’s heading back to New York in a week or two.”

Brandon bent to retrieve the paint tray and staples, taking his time to stow them in the bed of the pickup. He was still facing the truck when he muttered, “That shouldn’t be the only reason there isn’t anything serious.”

Of course, Rye heard him. Rye was pretty sure he was
supposed
to hear him. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey, I’ve got eyes. And I know you. I knew you a couple of years ago, when that crazy Marissa chick was jerking you around, and you were practically living on my couch.”

“I wasn’t living on your couch.”

Brandon pinned him with glittering eyes. “No, you just stopped by every other night because I’m such a wonderful cook. Come on, man. That was Johnnie Walker
Gold
that we killed the night your Marissa said she was heading out to California.”

“She wasn’t ‘my’ Marissa,” Rye said automatically.

“Of course not. She was just the reason you forfeited the lease on your first place up in Richmond. And put off getting your contractor’s license, for two years running. And didn’t bid on that antebellum mansion gig. Or that showcase house. Or—”

“Okay!” Rye clenched his fists, his stomach churning at the memory of all the opportunities he’d let go because of Marissa.

“No,” Brandon said. “It’s not okay. Because I see you doing the same thing, all over again. You’re throwing away your life, because of a woman. You’re staying in Eden Falls, even after you promised to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“I have an office up in Richmond, Bran.” Rye barely held his temper in check.

“And just look at how much time you’re spending up there.” Brandon reached into the back of the truck, pulling a soda out of the cooler that was lashed to the bed. He popped the top and passed it to Rye before salvaging another for himself. He downed half the drink in a few noisy swallows before gesturing with the can. “Don’t do this, buddy. I’m telling you. She isn’t worth it.”

She’s worth a lot more than you know
, Rye thought.
You haven’t seen her, the way she can laugh. The way she cares about—really loves—her niece. The way she’s set aside her own life, helping out her family when they need her. You haven’t seen the way she looks with her hair down, and her lips swollen from a good kiss, and….

But of course he didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, he sipped from his own soft drink can and stared across the parking lot, as if the billboard on the far side held the answer to all the secrets of the universe.

He wasn’t going to fight his cousin over this. Especially when he knew that Brandon was right about one thing. Kat was going to leave Eden Falls, and then all the fun and games would be over. Kat was heading back to the National Ballet and New York, to the life that she’d built for herself.

And nothing Rye could say would change that. Marissa Turner had taught him that, for sure. He could never control a woman. Only himself. Only his own decisions.

Brandon finished his soda in another long swig, belching before he crushed the can and tossed it into the back of the truck. “I pity you, buddy. You’ve sure got it bad.”

Rye punched him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Bran, okay? Let’s get back in there. It’s time to get this job done.”

“You’re the boss. Just remember, you can hang out on my couch, anytime you need to.”

As Brandon headed back into the studio, Rye pretended to remember that he had to make a phone call. He was only standing there, though, with his mobile beside his ear. Standing there and realizing that Brandon was right. Rye did have it bad.

Because no matter how this ended, no matter how broken up he would be when Kat went back to New York, he wasn’t ready to stop yet. No, this wasn’t the same as it had been with Marissa. He wasn’t going to throw his own life away, just because of a woman.