The Daddy Dance

by Mindy Klasky

  Kat wasn’t an idiot. She could tell that something was wrong.

  Something. There wasn’t a lot of mystery about that, was there? What was the one thing that had changed since she and Rye had last talked, had been easy and comfortable and happy in each other’s company? Her cheeks grew hot, and she wasn’t sure whether the leap in her pulse was because of the memories of what they had done, or her regrets about what they hadn’t.

  But that wasn’t all. She understood the warning behind Rye’s stilted conversation. She knew that he lived in Richmond now, that he was only here in Eden Falls as a favor to her. He didn’t even want to be working on the studio. That was just as well. She was going back to New York, after all, leaving all of this behind in just a matter of days.

  And that thought left her strangely numb, as it had every time she thought it over the weekend.

  But that was ridiculous. New York was her home, had been for ten years. New York was the place where she had her friends, her job, her life.

  She thought of the gray concrete canyons, the buildings so tall that sunshine never touched the streets. Before she could be depressed by the memory of such a bleak landscape, though, she forced herself to confront the hard facts of living in Eden Falls. A big night out was stopping by the cinema to watch a first-release film. There wasn’t a single twenty-four-hour business in town. The only restaurants that made deliveries were the pizza parlor on Elm Street and the Chinese place on Baker.

  But she and Amanda had had a lot of fun at the movies, just last night. She’d left Niffer with her parents, and she and her cousin had shared a huge tub of popcorn, watched some silly chick-flick. After all, who needed to work twenty-four hours a day? And why would she ever need to order in anything other than pizza or Chinese?

  No. She could never live in Eden Falls long-term. No matter how much fun she was having on this spring break. Vacation wasn’t the real world, even a vacation rooted in caring for her healing father, for her wayward niece.

  Bottom line—it was absolutely, positively 100% necessary to drive around a town like Eden Falls. Kat had been imposing on her mother and Amanda for the entire time she’d been here. Sooner or later, her family was going to refuse to ferry her from one place to another. And she had no intention of making another disastrous attempt at getting behind the wheel.

  Eden Falls had nothing on New York. She just had to remember that.

  In fact, there was one more dangerous thing about Eden Falls: Rye Harmon. She had a sudden vision of his lips on the inside of her thigh. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the pleasure he had given her. At the thought of the fulfillment he’d denied himself. She had to say something, had to let him know that she had stopped by Doherty’s Drugstore the day before. He needed to know that she had purchased a packet of silver-wrapped condoms, to use in the future.

  Whatever future they had. She cleared her throat. “Rye, about Friday night,” she began, even though she had no earthly idea what she was going to say after that.

  He answered her quickly, too quickly. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. I live in Richmond now. I —”

  “Rye!” She cut him off, touched by how flustered he’d become. “I know that. I understand.”

  “It’s just that in the past… There was someone who…” He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving his chestnut curls in disarray. “I’m making a total mess out of this.”

  She caught his hands and pulled them close to her chest. “No,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You’re not. I’m not expecting you to drop everything and move back here to Eden Falls. I’d be crazy to ask that, when I’m only here for a while myself. Friday night was amazing—and I hope we’ll spend more time together before I go back to New York. But I’m not expecting you to walk in here with an engagement ring and the keys to your family’s Eden Falls house.”

  Right then, for just that moment, when her smile got a little crooked and she squeezed his fingers between her own, he would have left Richmond. He would have dropped Harmon Contracting, abandoned all his hopes and dreams.

  But then he heard Brandon shift equipment out in the studio. It was like his cousin was trying to remind him of his business, of his future, of all the reasons he’d fought to get out of Eden Falls.

  Rye was an independent businessman now. And Kat wasn’t part of his past. She wasn’t Marissa Turner. She was a woman who had found her way clear of Eden Falls years before. That was part of what made her so damned alluring.

  He slipped his fingers free from her gentle grip, but he stepped even closer. His palm cupped the back of her neck, and he leaned down to steal a quick kiss. She was more hesitant than he’d expected, though, almost as if she were afraid of the spark that might ignite between them.

  Well, spark be damned. His free hand settled on the small of her back, tugging her closer, so that he could feel the whole long line of her body. He traced her closed lips with his tongue, and his blood leaped high when she yielded to him. Before he could follow through, though, before he could think about easing up the rumpled cloth of her blouse, there was another clatter from the outer room.

  “That’s Brandon,” he breathed, settling his forehead on Kat’s shoulder and drawing a steadying breath. “He’s ready to install the floorboards.”

  Kat’s own breath hitched as she took a step back. What was she thinking, anyway? She wasn’t exactly the type of girl to revel in a little afternoon delight—not with countless business details left to take care of.

  “Great,” she said, trying not to sound too rueful. Then, she repeated the word, broadcasting it for Brandon’s hearing. “Great! Let me show you this website that I found. I can use it to design stationery for the studio—letterhead and flyers and business cards.”

  He edged around the desk, coming to stand behind her as she pulled her chair closer to the computer. She sat like a classical statue, straight and tall. Her hands flew over her computer keyboard, smoothly competent as she called up something on the screen. He didn’t care about any stupid website. He was just pleased for the excuse to be standing so close to her.

  “Look at this,” she enthused. “They have hundreds of templates—you can choose one that’s right for you. Here, I’ll show you. Let’s make a flyer for Harmon Contracting. Didn’t you say that you needed to do that?”

  She looked at him expectantly, and he nodded, eager to see her smile. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “They have themes, like Medicine and Legal.” She let the computer mouse hover over those choices for a moment to illustrate the possibilities, and then she swept it toward the top of the screen. “But we probably want Carpentry.”

  She clicked once, and the screen was filled with the image of a creamy white page. Silvery scrolls curled around the edges, folding into twined hearts in the corners. Ornate writing spelled out the formal words of an invitation: Mr. and Mrs. Robert Smith request the pleasure of your presence at the wedding of their daughter…

  “Oops!” Kat slammed her palm down on the mouse, as if it were a living creature that might actually scurry away. “I clicked on Celebrations by mistake.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He grinned at her obvious discomfort. She was acting like that one false click was a much bigger deal than it was. From her level of embarrassment, it was almost like she’d unveiled some deep dark secret, as if he had walked in on her while she was showering.

  He felt the first stirring of his body responding to that delightful image, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Business, Harmon, he remonstrated with himself. This was a business website that she was showing him.

  By the time he had schooled his mind back to professionalism, she had brought up a different page. Hearts had been replaced with tiny images of a hammer and saw in one corner, a toolbox in another. Bold lettering stated John Smith Handyman Services, with a moc
k address at 123 Main Street.

  “See?” Kat said, and she was studying the computer screen just a little too intensely, staring at the page as if it might turn into a bird and take flight. “I can click here, and we can change the name.” He watched as her fingers picked out “Harmon Contracting.” “We can add your Richmond address. There’s room for an email address, a landline, and your cell phone. You can keep the dark brown, or you can make it any other color. Navy, maybe. Or maroon.”

  “What if I want the silver, from the other screen?”

  He couldn’t say what made him ask the question. It wasn’t fair, really. He just wanted to see emotion skip across her features, flash across her platinum eyes. She darted a glance toward the office door, toward the studio where Brandon served as unwitting chaperone.

  Kat cleared her throat, consciously deciding not to take the bait. Instead, she dashed her fingers across the keyboard, pulling up the draft files she had created for her own business, for the dance studio. Toe shoes filled the corners, and the lettering was a professional burgundy. Morehouse Dance Academy. The street address. Eden Falls, Virginia.

  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 br
aved 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?”