Driftwood Lane (13 page)

“Don’t think so,” Jake said. “Off you go, all of you.” Jake shooed the grumbling children from the room, and Meridith felt like kissing him.

She cleared her throat.

“Take off your shoes,” Jake said after the kids disappeared up the stairs.

Meridith eyed her leather loafers. For some reason, she was reluctant to part with them. Not to mention she needed every inch of height.

“You’re still wearing yours.”

“I’m not planning on trampling your feet.”

She removed her shoes and set them by the wall, taking her time. “You want something to drink? I made coffee. Or there’s always tea or soda if you prefer.”

He tucked the corner of his lip. “No, thanks. You want to come closer? I can’t teach you from over there.”

She inched closer. “I’m really bad.”

“So you said.” He gestured to the blue box. “We’ll start with a basic box step. Ballroom dancing is counted off like this: one-two-three, one-two-three. Max said he knows how to lead, so I’ll teach you to follow.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Stand right here.” He placed her on the upper right corner of the box. “The first count, step back with your right foot. Good.”

“Shouldn’t we start the music?”

“Don’t think you’re ready for that. Bring your left foot back with your other foot, then sweep it to the other corner.”

Meridith tried that. So far so good. She went back to the beginning position and did the entire step. “One-two-three. I did it.”

“That’s just the one and two count. The third step your feet are together on the bottom left corner of the box.” He demonstrated slowly from where he stood. “One-two-three.”

“Oh, I see.” She mimicked the move with painstakingly slow movements.

“That’s it.”

Though the steps were right, she was sure she resembled an elephant in high heels. At least he wasn’t laughing. Yet.

He showed her the next three counts, up and around the front left corner of the box and back to start. “So it takes two counts of three to complete the box. Why don’t you try it?”

“Okay.” She went to the start position and proceeded slowly.

“One. Two. Three.” And then she was stuck.

“Left foot forward.”

“One. Two. Three.”

“There you go. That’s all there is to it.”

She gave a wry grin. “Except ten times faster and in sync with a dance partner.”

“Exactly. Do it again.”

“Tyrant.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” She went through the steps slowly again. Then again and again until she could perform them at normal speed. Even though the steps were right, her movements felt awkward, more like she was on an espionage mission than a dance floor.

She stopped midstep, huffing. “Something’s wrong . . .” Her voice came out in a whine. She knew she’d be no good at this. What if she embarrassed Max in front of his friends?

“Let’s talk posture.” He placed his hand in the small of her back. “Straighten your spine.”

She arched her back, more to escape his touch than anything.

“Good. Shoulders back. Maintain this posture while you do the steps.”

She tried the steps again, concentrating on her posture. It took all her focus to do both. She completed the box and started another one.

“Good posture not only makes the dancer look better, but is essential for communication between the—”

Her steps faltered. “Shush!” She glared at him, and was rewarded with a smirk. “I can’t think with you yammering.”

He motioned her on.

Back straight. Shoulders back. One. Two. Three. One. Two.

Daggonit.

“Try again.”

Meridith took the starting position and did a slow turn around the box.

“Good. Again.”

She completed three more box steps, going a little faster each time.

“Posture,” Jake said.

By the time she’d made a few more turns, she was beginning to feel like she might have a chance. She turned a satisfied smile at Jake.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

She practiced the move a few more times, then he turned on the music and counted it off for her. The song was mercifully slow, and she was able to move at the right tempo.

Ten minutes later Jake stopped the music. “You’re ready for a partner.”

It took no more than those words for her heart to go off like a jackhammer. “I’m not sure about that.”

“We’re on a time crunch here, and you need to practice with Max too.”

“Where did you learn to dance? No offense, but you don’t seem like the ballroom type.”

“You stalling, or you really want to know?”

He’d see right through a lie. “Both.”

He appraised her, then seemed satisfied with her answer. “Had a foster mom who was a dance instructor. She thought a boy should know how to dance.”

She wondered what had become of his real parents, but he didn’t offer and she wasn’t asking.

“Haven’t had much use for it till now, though. More of a Texas two-step kind of guy.”

“Two-step? And you’re teaching me a dance with three steps?”

“Fewer steps doesn’t make it easier. All right, enough stalling.”

His approach launched a nervous ripple through her. He stopped a breath away. She stared at the V of his open polo.

“The height difference will be a challenge. It’ll be easier with Max. But for now, you don’t want to stand toe to toe.” He moved to her right until his foot was between hers.

“Put your hand here.”

His upper arm was solid beneath her palm. The heat emanating off him made her own temperature kick up a notch.

“Thumb to the front, fingers to the back. Give me your other hand.”

He curled his hand around hers, and her heart stuttered. Her eyes focused on his leather corded necklace that disappeared under his collar.

“Right, like that.” He settled his hand on her back.

She got a whiff of his woodsy cologne and wondered how long she could hold her breath.

“This is the basic position. It’s important to maintain your space.

No noodle arms, got it?”

“Got it.” She stiffened her arms, all the better to keep him at a distance.

“Let’s go through the basic box step slow. I’ll count it off.”

She drew in a breath and blew it out slowly through her mouth.

“Five. Six. Seven. Eight. One-two-three. One—that was my foot.”

“I
know
that was your foot.” She pulled her arms away and rubbed the back of her neck with her cold hand. She couldn’t think when he was so close. Didn’t like the way he made her feel, all agitated and nervous and awkward. Why was she doing this to herself?

“Let’s try again.”

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“You’ll get it.” He took her in his arms.

Meridith took another calming breath.
Focus
.

He counted them off and took them slowly through the box step. This time she made it around without treading on him.

“You got it. Again.” They repeated the box step a dozen more times, faltering a few times when she stepped on his foot or knocked him with her knee.

“Again,”
he said over and over each time she misstepped.

When they were almost up to tempo, Meridith started feeling more confident. She could do this. One-two-three, one-two-three.

She
was
doing this.

“Straighten up, Quasimodo.”

Did he have to be so rude? She shot him a glare. If it was posture he wanted, it was posture he’d get. She pulled herself up to her full five foot three.

In her concentration on posture, her steps suffered, and she trod on his foot.

He stopped. “Too much give in your arms. When they’re loose, I can’t lead you. You can’t feel where you need to go. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. Communication between partners is through subtle movements. I’m waiting.”

She sighed hard but closed her eyes. Suddenly all the periphery details now took center stage. The feel of his fingers on her back, his thumb aligned under her arm. The roughness of his palm against hers. The manly smell of him.

“Maintain resistance.”

No problem there.

“Your arms are like spaghetti, Meri.”

“
Meridith
.
”
She stiffened her arms. Her mouth felt as dry as sand. She didn’t like that he could see her and she couldn’t see him.

“Better. Let’s go through the box step again with your eyes closed. Feel me guiding you with my arms.” He counted them off, and they started around the box slowly.

Her feet knew what to do by now, and he was right. She could feel him guiding her if she kept her arms rigid. They went around and around the square. She never stepped on his feet, though she felt the slight brush of his thigh against hers.

He gradually picked up the tempo, then held it once they reached a reasonable pace. Her movements were starting to feel almost fluid, if not exactly graceful. She could do this. Max was going to be so happy. Those boys wouldn’t have any reason to make fun of him when they saw him onstage tonight. She could hardly wait to see his face when—

Meridith didn’t know what happened. One moment she was glorying in her achievement, the next their feet were in a tangle, and she was falling backward.

Eighteen

Jake caught Meridith as she stumbled backward, tightening his arms around her. He pulled her toward him instinctively, breaking her fall.

She clutched his hand, his shoulder, helpless against gravity.

He drew her upright and realized she was nestled against his chest. Then he realized something else.

He liked it.

His right arm had curled around her impossibly small waist. His other hand trapped hers against his heart. He wondered if she could feel its heavy thumps. If she knew it was more than her sudden stumble that caused it.

Her moss green eyes widened. Her lips parted as if she were surprised to find herself pressed against him. He could feel her breaths coming and going, feel the warm puffs of air against his neck.

Have mercy, he wanted to kiss her. Lay one on her and let the pieces fall where they may.

Sudden strains of music broke the silence. Meridith blinked, then dropped her arms and jerked away like he’d electrocuted her.

“My phone,” she mumbled, racing for her purse on the check-in desk.

Jake’s empty arms complained. He turned and made a production of looking for a song on the iPod.

Behind him, Meridith answered the phone. “Hi, Stephen.”

He reveled in the breathless sound of her voice even as he cursed a man he didn’t know.

“Oh, nothing, I—was just helping Max with a—a project. Dancing, actually. I’m going to be in a talent show with him tonight. It was kind of a last-minute thing, but I think . . . Yes, I said dancing . . .”

Jake flipped through the tunes, unseeing. She probably wished they were done, but he still had to teach her to travel, and she and Max had to practice together.

“Actually, I’m doing pretty well.”

He grinned to himself, remembering the near fall she’d just had. Then he remembered what came afterward, and the grin slipped away.

“I am. Listen, I have to go. Klutzes like me take time to teach.”

Jake placed the iPod back in the dock and turned.

“No, I’m not mad.” She’d lowered her voice to a near whisper. “All right. Bye.”

She closed her phone, then took an eternity tucking it into her purse. When she turned, her face was the bland mask usually reserved for customers. “Now. Where were we?”

Jake dribbled the ball toward Wyatt. Score was thirteen to six, and he was on the winning end. Somehow that wasn’t as gratifying as he’d expected.

The afternoon sun glared off the white concrete pad outside Wyatt’s house, and when Jake sucked in a breath, the smell of freshly cut grass filled his lungs. Little early in the season to mow, but who was he to question?

He gave his watch a quick glance. He had fifteen minutes before he had to shower. He wasn’t missing Max’s moment for anything, even if it did mean hiding at the back of the auditorium.

He had time to put up at least four or five more shots.

“So let me get this straight.” Wyatt hunched down, lowering his center of gravity as Jake approached. “This Meridith chick has custody of your niece and nephews.”

“Yep.”

“And you want custody.”

Jake faked a left and spun, then drove the ball in for a clean layup. “Yep. Fourteen.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wyatt ran his forearm across his forehead, making his curly bangs stand out at an odd angle. He caught the ball and took it out. “And she’s engaged.”

“Yep.”

“She possibly has bipolar disorder.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you ended up in an embrace today when you were teaching her to dance.”

“Did I stutter?”

Wyatt drove the ball in, but Jake headed him off, using his height to his advantage, and forced Wyatt to back off.

“Just saying.” Wyatt dribbled the ball to the other side.

Jake followed his every move, eager for a chance to pounce. He swiped at the ball, but Wyatt swapped hands.

“You’re supposed to let a guy win on his own court, didn’t anyone tell you?”

“I pay rent.”

“Barely.”

“What do you expect for that dinky little garage apart—”

Wyatt took advantage of his distraction to drive the ball around him and put it up.
Swish
. Wyatt took a lap, feigning the sound of a roaring audience.

“Get a grip, dude, you’re losing bad.”

“Depends how you look at it.”

“Only so many ways to look at a fourteen-seven score.”

Wyatt shrugged, palming the ball in both hands. “Way I figure, I have a beautiful wife inside, and you’re playing footsie with your engaged, possibly mentally ill adversary.” He chucked the ball at Jake, grinning. “You do the math.”

Nineteen

There weren’t enough calming breaths in the world to settle Meridith’s attack of nerves. She and Max took their spot behind the curtain and waited for the trumpet duet to end.

“I’m scared.” Max’s hand was cold and clammy.

“Relax. You’re a great dancer, and you look very handsome.” They’d practiced the dance over and over until Meridith was sure she was going to dance in her sleep tonight. If she made it through this.