Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

Weekends at Lewis Dancesport Academy were hectic, to say the least, and lasted from Thursday night until Sunday afternoon, particularly in the weeks leading up to a competition. The studio buzzed with anticipation, the constant hum of music, the tapping and gliding of footsteps.

Anita loved it. Usually.

Less so when she had a partner who featured very prominently in some seriously hot and heavy dreams with two weeks before Keystone. What on earth had possessed her to host a master class on Saturday night?

For most of the day on Saturday, she hoped Hanna and Markus would cancel. Maybe there was a collapse of the Lincoln Tunnel or something. And also no, because that would be an epic tragedy and may have been a movie Patrick had forced her to watch in high school.

“I forgot how busy things get around here on the weekends.” Patrick helped her sweep the floor after the last student on Saturday afternoon. Anita tightened her ponytail, fixing it more firmly to the nape of her neck. She had an hour before the professionals were due to arrive, and still she needed to run out to pick up the catering for dinner and set up a drinks table. Nonalcoholic, of course, during the class, then wine and beer for afterward.

She could definitely use a glass now.

“But it brings in good business,” Anita replied, mentally checking things off her list. “I have to stay relevant somehow.”

“There is always improving your social media presence. You could upload dance tutorials, photos, create your own hashtags.” Patrick arched an eyebrow at her. “Not to harp, but I was looking at your metrics and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything you just said is literal gibberish.” Anita busied herself with straightening the corners of the silver-and-gold tablecloth.

“Well, let me help.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “I have time. We’ve worked out most of our dance routines, except for the rumba.”

The rumba. Dance of love. Anita strangled down the wave of lust that tore through her at the thought. She would postpone that chorea as long as possible. “Don’t you have to write? Deadlines and such?” She flailed her hand in the air with a vague demonstration of “such.”

He shrugged. “I finished some this morning after we practiced, and I’ll have time tomorrow.”

“Oh, I have a lesson scheduled with Nigel in Center City tomorrow night.” She pulled plastic wineglasses out of her decorations box and set them neatly on the drinks table. “Can you come with me? It will be good to get his opinion.”

“Absolutely.” Patrick flattened the tablecloth over the refreshment table. “Now seriously, what else do you need done tonight? I’m completely at your disposal.”

Help? He couldn’t mean it. Anita smiled warmly, feeling the tension even in her eyebrows lessen just the slightest fraction. She hadn’t had actual, meaningful help in ages. Mikhail had often told her party planning was “not my forte.”

Tool.

“Do you mind running out to pick up the catering? I have a few more things to set up here before Hanna and Markus arrive.”

“No problem.” He picked up his phone and car keys and headed quickly out the door.

Anita watched him go, slightly ashamed at how thrilled she was that he was helping.

Of course, she could have asked Ricardo or Toni, but they were so often busy with other things, particularly on the weekends. Her mother was supportive, but on weekends, she and Dr. Goodman were usually out on one of their circumscribed activities.

Besides, it was better to do a thing yourself to make sure it was done properly.

Once in a while, though, help was wonderful. It almost made her feel like she was on vacation. Not that she had taken one of those in eons.

Anita finished setting up the refreshment table and turned to get a few more chairs and another flat of bottled water from the storage closet.

Thump bump skreeeeeek.

She turned sharply. The sound at the door. How? It was practically the middle of the day. Okay, more early evening, but still far from the witching hour. Her hands balled into fists, she quickly approached the door and flung it open.

Nothing. No one was there, just a few pedestrians on the other side of the street window shopping in the late afternoon on Main Street.

Anita rolled her eyes. Workaholism was driving her insane. Either that or she needed to call an exterminator. Ew.

Knock knock.

This time, though, it was coming from the small practice room on the other side of the check-in desk. They did not use it often, mostly for overflow or for private lessons while there was a group class in the main studio. Anita had been wondering if she should try to rent it out for yoga.

No one would be in there.

Okay, she had to check it out. It was her responsibility, her duty.

Please don’t be rats please don’t be rats please don’t—

Anita gasped.

STAY AWAY

Someone had scrawled the words in what looked like dark-red lipstick across the mirror in large, jagged strokes. It was so angry, so pointless.

Tears rose to her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

But her body did not obey.

“Stay away from what?”

There was no answer in the silent studio, just the occasional beep and hum of a passing car out on the street, and the rush of March wind rattling the windowpanes.

Anita wrapped her arms around her knees and sobbed.

****

Patrick returned fifteen minutes later with the catering only to find Anita, blanched white, scrubbing furiously at the mirror in the practice room. “Anita?”

She spun around and brandished the glass-cleaning bottle at him. She must have recognized him, though, because her bravado almost instantly deflated, and she crumpled onto the floor.

He rushed toward her.

“What the fuck happened?” He had never seen her like this. Never. Never once had the goddess fallen apart in front of him. Please don’t let her be sick. Then, which was almost worse and made him want to vomit and scream and hurl blunt objects—please don’t let it be me. Don’t let her rethink this partnership. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” Her sides heaved. He knelt beside her, a hand on her shoulder. If only he could suck the pain away. “I’m sorry, someone wrote ‘stay away’ all over this mirror, and I freaked out. It’s stupid, I’m sorry.” She sniffed, not looking at him.

“Don’t be sorry.” He glanced at the mirror. She had almost finished cleaning it. He could see a few streaks of red, but the words had been erased. “That sounds horrifying. Who would have done that? Did they break into the studio?”

She shrugged, the gesture so helpless that it made him want…he didn’t know. Something. A white horse, maybe. Or a large cup of coffee. “Hey, Anita,” he said softly. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming and red-rimmed. How could he resist? He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s all right. I’m here now.” Her skin was so soft, so warm, wet from her tears but brimming with life underneath it.

He needed to stop, to shove it back down like he always did. This was not the time, no matter how badly he wanted her. He always wanted her, had always wanted her.

Anita sniffed, nodding. “Thank you. Really.” She met his eyes briefly and tried to smile. “I feel like I’m being silly. Maybe this wasn’t even meant for me.”

“Well, Ricardo is a bit of a cad.” Patrick tried to smile. Of course, it had been for her. But why? The worst thing she had ever done was date assholes. That did not mean she deserved to be threatened.

No one deserved that.

A niggling memory of his recent social media messages stalled him, but Anita’s laugh, an unintended bark that rang in his ears like chiming Christmas bells, shook it away.

He needed to focus on her. Not that that was difficult. “Or maybe they meant stay away from the cheap liquor? Come on, I’ll get the studio ready for the master class. Why don’t you take some time for yourself?”

Anita paused. “You don’t have to do that, Patrick. This is my studio—it’s my responsibility. You don’t work here anymore.” The soft way she said the last phrase broke his heart a little.

“I know.” He couldn’t tell her how he regretted leaving almost every single moment. He took a deep breath and held her hand in his. It was so warm. Every time he touched her, it felt new and exhilarating. Which was awful at this exact moment because she was so upset, but still. She needed him. He could do this. “I’m still your friend. And I’m here. Let me help.”

“Okay,” she agreed. Several quiet moments passed. If only she would just meet his gaze. “I’ll just run up and take a quick shower. Hanna and Markus will be here in about half an hour.”

“Perfect,” he replied. He swallowed down the unrequited love. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be all right.”

****

Anita walked down from her apartment, hair freshly washed and blown dry, in a backless black dress with long sleeves and a skirt that hit just below her knees. She hopped down the staircase, pulling on her four-inch black stilettos.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Patrick leaned against the banister, gaze on the studio floor, where Hanna and Markus were preparing for the master class. Warmth flooded through her. He had waited. Just like prom, only she had stupidly never gone to prom with him.

He turned toward her, and his eyes widened. Was it appreciation? A flush rose to her cheeks. God, she was acting like a damn teenager. Get a grip. Just because he was so kind and thoughtful and helpful when she actually needed it.

“You look incredible,” he breathed.

Oh. She blushed, unable to stem the rise of color. His blue eyes sparkled, twin sapphires guiding her home. “I haven’t put my hair up yet.”

“Don’t.” He reached out a hand and lightly touched the end of her locks, blown into soft waves. It really was criminal how handsome he was. “You’re perfect.”