Chapter 6: Chapter Five

The next day, the sun broke crisp and clean, the idea of snow left somewhere back in February.

Patrick knew better. A born-and-bred Pennsylvania boy never trusted March.

He jogged down the streets of his small town, past evidence of Lewis’s gentrification, large two- and three-story Georgians and Cape Cods set back from the street and fronted with lawns that would be emerald-green in the summer. Especially after the last three months in the over-tangled bustle and smoky snow of New York, the country air restored him.

There, the high school where he had first seen Anita and first started dancing. There, the empty soccer fields where he had played nearly his entire childhood. His mother had always told him to get out of this town, that he was meant for something better.

She had never liked that he quit soccer, either. Sorry, Mom. Ballroom dance had helped him to see the world, and now ballroom dance had brought him back home.

Five miles into the run, he paused by Lewiston Creek. The creek was beautiful in the early morning March sunlight, the ice still breaking around the edges as the center ran brackish with dried twigs and leaves. When he was a boy, he and his friend Will Forbes would come down here to race boats made of bark and rubber bands. Simpler times.

Patrick stretched. His muscles ached and burned in a way that made him never want to stop moving. Endorphins. He should write a blog post singing their praises.

He was turning back toward the street when he noted a flash of blonde hair. Was that a Wildcats blue-and-white jacket? What were the odds? Okay, pretty good considering the geography, but still.

“Anita?” No answer, though a few yards from him twigs cracked, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot. “Anita? Is that you?”

Weird. She was supposed to be teaching an early lesson. They were not supposed to practice until later that morning.

Whatever. It couldn’t be her. This town was full of blonde Wildcats. If they didn’t want to talk to him, he should just ignore it.

Patrick fitted his earbuds back into his ears and turned his attention back to Todrick Hall.

****

The post-run hot shower shook his nagging sensation of being watched. This was Lewis, after all. Patrick just had not yet abandoned his New York wariness. Like sea legs, it would take a while to get back into the groove of leaving his small-town doors unlocked.

Coffee would help. Nothing like a local coffee shop to reset his perspective. Just a quick hit of caffeine and he would be good to go.

He pulled on black track pants and a dark-gray hoodie over his white T-shirt and slung his dance bag with his shoes, towel, water bottle, and shoe brush over his shoulder.

Downtown Lewis was not very large. Though his apartment was set back from the main street, it was less than a ten-minute walk to Amore, and the weather seemed promising that morning. The weather could turn at any moment into an icy, snowy beast, but so far, the sun had held, and Patrick could pick out tiny purple-and-white crocuses pushing up between a few of his neighbors’ white pickets.

He pushed open the door to Amore and sighed in relief. Things were in his favor this morning. Not a huge line today and Kevin was the barista. He’d get to the studio early and surprise Anita.

The bell over the door clanged again, bringing in a gust of brisk March air.

“Patrick!” a female voice exclaimed, breathy as Marilyn Monroe.

Something in his stomach turned unpleasantly. He turned and waved brusquely at Melanie Templeton and her wannabe. Be professional. He gritted his teeth. Do not make me late for Anita. “Good morning, Melanie. Kim. Beautiful day, right?”

Melanie had on a full face of makeup despite the early hour and was wearing designer flats and athletic pants under what had to be a $1,000 overcoat. Her friend Kim was wearing a version of the same outfit, but the coat and shoes were almost certainly knockoffs. Where in the world had these two met? Melanie had told him her entire life story unprompted one morning, so he knew she had moved to Lewis with her husband about a year ago. Kim must have entered the picture while Patrick was in New York. The woman certainly hung on Melanie’s every move. Poor kid.

Melanie grinned brightly at him, shifting her posture to accentuate her chest. “Didn’t figure you for an early riser, Patrick.” She had lowered her voice to more of a burr.

“Early bird and all that.” He checked the line again—only two more in front of him. Maybe Kevin could catch his eye, put his usual on his tab.

“Isn’t this the best coffee around?” Kim said. Her voice seemed slightly shrill next to her friend. There was something oddly familiar about her, but Patrick had known a lot of women like her in college and the Dancesport circuit.

“Well, Patrick knows all the best spots.” Melanie’s eyes traced his body, making him feel distinctly like a London broil. Patrick tried not to recoil. “PhillyProud, right? I’m a born and bred Philly girl, myself. Well, Ardmore. If you’d like, maybe I can show you some of my favorite childhood haunts, for the blog, of course.”

Uh-huh, hard nope. “Thanks, but I grew up around here, too. Oh, look, my coffee’s ready.” Thank God for Kevin. The man was a genius and scholar and should be praised on mountaintops. Patrick handed him his credit card in exchange for the two to-go cups. He turned back to the other women and nodded, pulling his face into a smile. “Ladies, have a great day.”

“You too,” Melanie practically purred. She stretched her left hand, with an enormous diamond poised on her ring finger, and stroked his arm. “We really should keep meeting like this.”

Kim scowled.

He was not getting into the middle of this. “I have to run.” He exited the coffee shop without inviting further conversation and hurried down the street to the studio.

****

Anita had not gotten her typical eight hours of sleep last night. She desperately wanted to blame Patrick, as part of the problem had been a rather explicit early morning dream from which she had woken up sweating through her sheets, but it could not all be his fault. There had been the weird letter shoved under her door, too. Maybe she should have kept it.

She could have erased the pencil marks and re-used the paper. Office supplies were not cheap.

Whatever the reason for her lack of sleep, it was a Pat Benatar kind of morning for sure. Anita stood in front of the studio mirror, stretching out her neck, her arms, her hips, her ankles, massaging away the fog of fatigue.

She heard Patrick singing in a falsetto and turned to watch him lip sync like a contestant on a fake game show. He had his eyes shut tight, a coffee cup as microphone held to his lips, and a ridiculous grin on his face. Classic Patrick. She fought the smile, but something about the lines of his face mirrored something from her dream last night and—

Suppress. Suppress. Red Alert.

“You’re not making fun of Pat Benatar, are you?” She crossed her arms over her chest and affected a wounded posture. Normal day, normal Patrick. No X-rated fantasies here. Nope.

“Nah.” He smiled. “I’ve done a mean cha-cha to ‘Invincible’ once or twice.”

“Is that for me?” She nodded to the coffee cups in his hands, and he handed one over to her. Their hands brushed, and oh my God, was she on fire? Get a grip, Anita. She affected a bland smile. “Thanks. I swear, I’m going to give up the coffee eventually.”

“You can’t give up all your bad habits.” Patrick perched on one of the chairs and pulled out his dance shoes. “Then you’ll be even more perfect, and you won’t let me be your friend anymore.”

“That’s not true. Who would remind me of my awkward teen years?” Sweet how he always remembered how she liked her coffee. She knew his order, too. Splash of almond milk, or an americano when available. One time at a competition in Vienna, they had ordered eight different types of coffee drinks and lined them up on the table. They had practically buzzed off the walls after that.

“You never had awkward teen years.” He tied his shoes in neat, taut bows. He really did have the best hands. “Hey, is there Zumba this morning?”

“Not on Wednesdays. Why?”

Anita had never seen a person literally turn green, but Patrick’s face had a definite hue. “I ran into Melanie Templeton and her friend Kim at Amore this morning.”

Patrick had always liked lanky blondes, though she had not expected Melanie’s patina to appeal. Anita rubbed at a pang in her chest. Maybe she was getting an ulcer. “Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s a bit much, Melanie. I thought she was married.”

Patrick had talked to Melanie? “I think so. Her husband does some sort of finance thing in Philadelphia. I understand he’s away a lot. Toni told me she saw Melanie and some other guy looking very cozy at a bar in Devon a few months ago.” Wow, she needed to tone it down. Anita never deigned to gossip or cattiness. Stupid weird letter thing. Still, she could not resist. Maybe if she could get a good night’s sleep— “Are you interested?”

“Hard pass.”

The tension in her shoulders eased. “Well, you haven’t really dated anyone in a while, right? After Gabriella, there was, what? Eva, Emma, Tatiana. You broke up with Tatiana a year ago, Patrick.” She fiddled with the dials on the stereo system. It did not matter who he was dating. Of course it didn’t. She needed to ask, that was all. As a friend.

He did not reply. She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. He was so close to her. When had that happened? Suede soles were quiet, but seriously, was he part angel?

“I’m doing just fine.” His gaze fixed on hers. An intoxicating heat rose deep within her at his proximity. Had she ever noticed before how beautiful his lips were? “Unless you want to talk about yourself, Anita.”

Shut it down, shut it down. She had to dance with him. She could not be fantasizing. “We’re wasting time gossiping,” she finally said. “Let’s start with cha-cha.”