Save the Last Dance

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Kimber pulled one of the costumes up. The white leotards were embellished with silver sequins and rhinestones through the midsection. Wide silver and white ribbons were attached to the side seams, then trailed down for a good eight inches. No doubt the ribbons would flutter in the air every time a dancer moved. “These are really pretty.”

  “Thanks. My mother made them. She’s the best.” Shannon carefully shook each one and laid it neatly on the floor around her. “We’ll have to put Traci on it. She can look him up.”

  “Wait . . . Why not Dylan?”

  “He’s not the type of guy to get into that. He’d say I was meddling and wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him that I was only looking out for you.” She rested on her knees. “Did you count twenty?”

  “Only seventeen.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I’m going to have to order more—my mom’s on a river cruise in Europe.”

  Shannon looked so put out by that, Kimber chuckled. “Do you even know where to order dance costumes from?”

  “Of course. Dancer’s Warehouse.” She pursed her lips. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they have costumes for little girls. If not I’m going to have to do more hunting tonight.”

  Comments like that were why Kimber felt like she needed to help Shannon out as much as possible. “Girl, you need help.”

  “I know. I love to dance and I love to teach dancing. But all this other stuff? It’s overwhelming as all get out.” She shrugged. “But what can I do? I’ve got a building to pay off.”

  “You can ask your sister to help you with the payments. And for the record, I’m talking about me, not Traci.”

  Shannon’s eyes got big. “I can’t ask that of you. You’re busy.”

  “I’m not that busy. Plus, you know I can pay for things.”

  “No way. I don’t want your money.”

  “I have money to spare. And . . . I could also be your assistant.”

  “You don’t have that kind of time.”

  “I do, and you know I do.”

  Looking around at the pink fluff surrounding them, Shannon blew out a burst of air. “Then I accept. But be warned. Being in my studio means you’re going to be surrounded by teenage girls and ballroom dancers.”

  “I promise. I’ve already figured that one out. As long as you don’t make me start tap dancing, it’s all good.”

  CHAPTER 5

  the nutcracker: Clara’s new toy that comes to life. He is magically transformed into a handsome prince and accompanies Clara on her adventure.

  Gunnar couldn’t look away as the contractor at the front of the long line he was in pulled an attitude with Suzanne, the clerk who was in charge of approving building permits. No matter what she said, the contractor argued with her. They were loud too. Loud enough to be clearly heard over the canned Christmas music playing throughout the building.

  Usually that kind of thing pissed him off. He didn’t like to waste time and he really didn’t like to watch idiots self-implode.

  But it was bitter cold outside and spitting snow. At least here inside the county office it was warm, and there was a good sandwich shop next door. As soon as he got his paperwork finished he was going to grab a cup of soup and a roast beef sandwich.

  Plus, he wasn’t the only person in the room watching the interaction with interest. The other eight or so men and women were focused on the argument as well. Who could blame any of them? Suzanne was as grizzled as any of them and didn’t put up with much. Besides, the contractor was a real bonehead.

  “My money’s on the clerk,” Hodges said behind him.

  Gunnar grinned. “Well, yeah. Of course Suzanne is going to win—she doesn’t put up with much. No, I’m thinking the bet needs to be on when she’s going to win, not if.”

  “I say less than four minutes,” the woman in front of Gunnar said. “Suzanne is beginning show signs of irritation. She’s repositioned her glasses twice now.”

  “I’m going with eight minutes,” Gunnar said. “Suzanne looks like she’s playing with him the way a cat tortures a mouse.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I think this is her fun.”

  Hodges and his partner jumped in. Each made a bets, one declaring that Suzanne was about to call for security within two minutes, the other saying that he didn’t think the clerk took anything personally and she was just slow.

  As the clock ticked, they all watched intently—even the old guy at the end of the line who seemed like he didn’t hold with the way they were joking around.

  And then . . . six minutes later, Suzanne pointed to the door and the arguing dude slumped out, looking equal parts ticked off and dejected.

  Hodges and his partner had just whistled low when Suzanne focused on the lot of them and glared.

  That shut all of them down immediately. Everyone knew better than to piss off Suzanne. As she’d just illustrated, she could make a person’s life quite difficult—bring an entire construction project to screeching to an abrupt halt.

  “Next!” Suzanne called out.

  The woman in front of Gunnar stepped right up and presented her file. Two minutes later, Gunnar did the same.

  Suzanne, all hard lines and silver hair, held out a hand. “Sounded to me like you were having yourself a good old time in line, Mr. Law.”

  “I didn’t mean anything. No disrespect intended, ma’am.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gunnar decided to keep his mouth shut then, only speaking when she asked him questions.

  Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, Suzanne stamped his paperwork and handed it back to him. “You have a good day now.”

  “You too, ma’am. I sure appreciate your help.”

  She half rolled her eyes at his good boy act. “Next!”

  Grinning to himself, he neatly folded the permit in his wallet and waited in the line at the sandwich shop. Luckily, it moved much faster, and in less than ten minutes, he was sipping hot potato-cheddar soup and biting into a thick roast beef sandwich.

  He was almost done when Ace called. “Hey, Gunnar.”

  “What’s up?” He wasn’t scheduled to work for another two days. “Do you need me?”

  “Nah, nothing like that. I was just wondering if you’ve seen that Mercedes gal again.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you?” Ace pressed.

  “I haven’t. Why?” he asked again. Ace wasn’t the type to call him with random questions like this.

  “Oh, no reason. No reason, other than it looked like there was something between you two.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. Was his buddy seriously trying to play matchmaker? Weighing his words carefully, he said, “I don’t know if there was something between us or not. It’s doubtful that I’ll ever see Kimber again.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was her name, wasn’t it? Kimber.”

  Shoot. He’d said too much. “Any reason you’re pushing this?”

  “No reason. Not other than this Kimber seemed real sweet.” He lowered his voice. “She also asked about you when she picked up her car. She seemed disappointed that you’d already left for the day, Gunnar.”

  Even though a part of him was pleased about that, Gunnar did his best to play it cool. “I don’t know why Kimber would be disappointed or not. I mean, all I was doing was helping her out.”

  “She’s real pretty and she seemed sweet too. Not every woman is like that, you know.”

  Gunnar knew. Avery, his ex-girlfriend, had seemed sweet—until she’d opened up and turned into a demanding, conniving shrew.

  “You got lucky with your wife, Ace.” His wife, Meredith, was one of the sweetest ladies Gunnar had ever met.

  Ace’s voice brightened. “True that. Now, I know I’m sounding all in your business, but you’ve been alone for a while now. You might want to think about giving Kimber a call. She seems like a woman who
would be worth your time.”

  She’d been a mystery, that’s what she’d been. Beautiful, direct, and confusing. And, most likely far too city for a hick from small-town West Virginia like him. “I’ve got enough going on with Jeremy, Ace.” Moreover, he didn’t necessarily want anyone digging into his personal life.

  “Fine. I hear you.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “You’re off the schedule until Monday. But will I see you Friday night?”

  “I’ll be there.” Ace’s son Finn had just signed with a college to play ball next fall. Ace was beyond proud and was hosting a big spaghetti dinner in his honor.

  Just as he got up to toss his trash, his phone buzzed, signally an incoming text.

  Looking at the screen, he sat back down again.

  Speak of the devil, it was Miss Kimber Klein.

  Hey. Just wanted to thank you for your help the other day. I’ve got four working tires again. Everyone at your shop was great.

  As he read her text a second time, he felt a quick little burst of adrenaline when he thought about texting her back.

  Lord, he was so out of practice dating. Finally, deciding that it would be rude to not text back, his thumb hovered over the screen before finally replying.

  No problem.

  One minute later, she wrote back again.

  Hope you don’t mind that I got your number from Jeremy. I promise I won’t start texting you all the time.

  To his surprise, he realized that he wouldn’t mind if she did. But then what would they do? He didn’t date . . . Did he?

  He decided to keep it simple.

  Glad you’re all good again.

  He pressed Send before he did anything stupid and asked her out.

  He stared at his screen, saw those telltale dots that meant she was forming a reply . . . Then they disappeared.

  She was going to write him back but then changed her mind. He felt a burst of disappointment before reminding himself that he didn’t have the time or the inclination to date again.

  But as he walked to his truck, he knew he was lying to himself. After the Avery debacle, when he’d literally discovered her with another mechanic at his shop, he’d been afraid to put himself out there. He’d been burned, it had hurt, and he wasn’t in any hurry to get burned again.

  He was gun-shy. That’s what he was.

  As he contemplated that bit of truth, Gunnar realized that he was a lot of things, but he’d never been a man who was afraid of things. Not to move to Ohio from West Virginia. Not to start contracting in addition to his auto mechanic job. Not to finish building his dream house, even when his girlfriend exited his life.

  Not even to decide to foster a teenager, even though he had next-to-no experience parenting.

  So to be afraid of starting a new relationship didn’t sit well with him. It didn’t set well with him at all.

  He just wasn’t sure about what to do next.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Just as I am—though toss’d about

  With many a conflict, many a doubt,

  Fightings and fears within, without,

  O Lamb of God, I come!”

  —charlotte elliott

  So her whole texting thing with Gunnar Law had been a mistake. Every time she reviewed their messages over the last week, Kimber blushed like a schoolgirl, and she was pretty sure that she’d stopped blushing a long time ago. Until now.

  When she’d first seen Jeremy at the library, she’d kept everything easy and cordial with him. At first, she wasn’t going to mention Gunnar but then later decided that it would be rude not to fill the boy in about what happened.

  Her chance came soon after the last bell of the day rang. “I think your foster dad is a hard nut to crack,” Kimber told Jeremy when she ran into him in the elementary school parking lot.

  For a second, it looked like the boy wasn’t sure whether to act like he knew her or not . . . but then her words registered. “Huh?”

  “After I got his number from you, I texted him in between classes. I told him thanks for helping me out the other day, but he didn’t write much back.”

  A reluctant smile appeared. “Gunnar isn’t real good on the phone. He hates texting too.”

  “I got that impression.” Kimber smiled back. “Thanks for passing on his number, though. It was real nice of you to do.”

  Though he looked pleased, he shrugged off her words. “It wasn’t any big deal.”

  She figured Jeremy didn’t realize it, but Gunnar had almost said the same exact words to her last week. Hiding a smile, she added, “I hope he didn’t get mad at you for passing it on or anything.”

  “He didn’t get mad. Gunnar doesn’t get mad about things like that.”

  “No? Well, that’s good.” Gunnar Law didn’t seem like the kind of man to get riled up about much. Probably wouldn’t break a sweat about anything that he didn’t care about too deeply. She wondered what he did care about. Was it just Jeremy? Or was he already seeing someone and she was making a fool of herself? “Hey, Jeremy, sorry if this is too personal, but is Gunnar seeing anyone right now?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Seeing, like does he have a girlfriend?” His voice had risen an octave.

  “Yes. Like that.” Or, like, a wife.

  “No, he doesn’t.” The boy almost smiled again, but something just beyond her seemed to have caught his attention.

  “Oh. Well, um, thanks.”

  “No problem.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets then glanced across the parking lot. Kimber followed his gaze and saw he was looking at a group of cute girls standing together. No, it was obvious he was gazing at one of them in particular.

  Kimber had noticed the girl right away. She was a pretty thing with truly gorgeous long, light-brown hair. She’d also been casting covert glances at Jeremy whenever he looked the other way.

  Deciding to do Jeremy a favor, since he’d helped her out, she said, “This isn’t my business, but it’s been my experience that if a guy doesn’t make the first move, a girl assumes that he doesn’t like her.”

  Jeremy’s head whipped around to stare at her. “Really?”

  “Honest. Girls might be all ‘this is 2020,’ but some things don’t change. They don’t want to make the first move.” She grinned. “I don’t lie about relationships.”

  When Jeremy looked longingly over at the girl again, Kimber decided to give him some space. “Well, I’m outta here,” she said. “Have a good evening.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “’Kay. You too.”

  After inspecting her tires and releasing a sigh of relief that nothing was damaged today, she got in her car and left the school grounds—pleased to notice that Jeremy and the girl were now chatting up a storm. Well, maybe things were going better over there.

  Kind of like her day had gone better than the other days she’d volunteered. The kids weren’t looking at her strangely as much and Mrs. Lentz was giving her more to do. So those things were a plus.

  Though she loved books and she liked reading to kids, she now knew that working in a library wasn’t going to satisfy her, career-wise.

  She just wasn’t sure what her dream job actually was.

  That was frustrating, because she seemed to be harboring a sense of confusion about who she was too. She’d always been kind of reluctant to model. She’d liked it, but she’d never gone out of her way to talk about her modeling life to anyone. It hadn’t been because she’d been shy about the traveling, long days, or the success she’d achieved.

  Actually, she’d felt the opposite—she just hadn’t cared that much about it.

  Traci had once accused her of being modest, but that hadn’t been it either. Oh, she’d been pleased with her success and the way everyone in the business had seemed to like how she looked. She liked doing things well, so she’
d worked hard to garner a good reputation. She’d arrived on time for shoots, been easy to work with, and been diligent about maintaining her measurements. Designers hated it when models’ weights fluctuated and they had to make emergency alterations.

  But although she’d done a good job, she’d felt nothing but relief when she’d finally made the decision to quit.

  But now? Now she realized that she’d looked at her profession as who she was.

  So if she wasn’t Kimber Klein, the successful model . . . she didn’t know who she was.

  As if her mother was reading her mind, her cell phone rang. Glad that everything was all connected via blue tooth in her fancy car, she clicked on the icon on her steering wheel. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Kimber, I’m so glad I caught you.”

  Her mom sounded a little breathless. Worried now, she said, “Why? What’s up?”

  “It might be nothing, but we got the strangest call on the house phone last night. I was going to call you right away, but your dad told me to let you sleep.”

  “Let me sleep? How late was that call?”

  “After ten.”

  She wouldn’t have been asleep, and she doubted her parents had been asleep either. But it still seemed late.

  Her parents refused to get rid of their landline, which meant they got a good handful of phone calls from telemarketers every day. “Mama, I’ve told you, those telemarketers are trouble.”

  “It wasn’t one of them, honey. It was from Brett.”

  “You mean Brett, my agent?” What in the heck was he doing, calling her parents? Was he hounding them about something? If so, she was going to kill him.

  Her mother’s usually bright voice turned more tentative. “Yes, I mean, I believe so. I don’t know any other agents, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then . . .”

  Her mother was a chipper sort of person. She was also a successful financial advisor, opinionated, and into everyone’s business. Her mother was not tentative. Ever. So hearing that unfamiliar note in her mom’s voice was not a good thing. She was going to give Brett Day a piece of her mind if he upset her mother.