She heaved a sigh, struggling to hold on to her patience while gathering her last whisper of strength to meet his eyes deliberately. “I’m late for cheer practice. Please let go, I need the money.”
Grace pulled her car around to the back of the club, her mind calculating where Josh might be. If he’d left town directly from Safe Haven, he could be waiting on his flight home to Philadelphia. Pushing him away had been heart wrenching, but she had priorities, and he’d chosen not to be among them. She’d just have to find a way to get over it. Eventually, she would. Her mother’s Alzheimer’s had forced Grace to face a lot of tough times and heartbreaking choices.
She stopped beside the back door, which had been propped open. Drywall leaned against the building, and tools were lined up along the wall.
“Oh jeez,” she muttered, glancing around the lot for a work van. “What’s broken now?”
She only hoped the cost to fix whatever it was wouldn’t interfere with the planned storeroom renovation. Dean had already put her studio on hold once, waiting for his lousy brother-in-law to get his shit together and do the job. Grace had finally convinced him to move forward with a different contractor, but their bids had come in on the high side. Any extra expense or dip in revenue would delay the project again. And she needed that space—one she would lease from Dean to start her own dance school.
Dread snaked down her spine as she pulled the groceries and giant Costco lasagna out of the trunk.She stepped through the back door and scanned the massive dressing room, already buzzing with a dozen dancers pulling out costumes, applying makeup, and styling their hair.
“Hi, ladies,” Grace called, her greeting echoed from the others as she set the food down at the other end of the only table, where one of Jasmine’s four-year-old twins was sitting, coloring. A mix of African-American and Hispanic, the twins were the most beautiful creatures Grace had ever met. They were also as sweet as sugar and as gregarious as their father. “Hi, Dillon. Where’s your mom?”
He looked up with those huge, innocent brown eyes, twirling a blue crayon between his fingers. “Don’t know.”
Grace nodded at his drawing. “What’s that?”
“Transformer. Santa’s gonna bring me one for Christmas.”
“Cool,” she said. “Where’s your brother?”
“Helping the builder man.”
Grace looked left, toward the storeroom she already considered her dance studio. The double doors were open, and more tools and power cords lay at the threshold. The rattle of a tape measure caught Grace’s ear, and she frowned. What the hell could be broken in there?
“Does anyone know where Jasmine is?” Grace asked the room at large. Jasmine was the dancer with the longest history at Allure, and often acted as the house mom when no house mom was around.
“Right here.” She came around the corner from the club’s main stage. She was the most stunning black woman Grace had ever met, with one of those killer, Amazonian bodies—tall, muscular, and built. She’d pulled her long black braids off her face and wore workout tights and a tank. “Rocco will be here in ten minutes to pick up the boys.”
“They’re never a problem. I’m worried about whatever’s going on back there, though. Please tell me it’s not something major like air-conditioning, heating, or plumbing.”
“Nothing broken back there, honey.” Dillon and Dalton’s mother came up beside Grace, and used one perfectly manicured dark hand to lift the aluminum. “What’d you bring us?”
“Lasagna.”
“Nice,” she sang out, then lowered her voice and turned away from her son. “But not near as nice as the eye candy in the back.” She hooked a thumb toward the storeroom, then shook out her hand like it was hot. “Whoo-wee. If I’d known that’s who we’d have hanging around here building the studio, I’d have traded days to work all week.”
Grace frowned. “Studio?” She glanced that direction again but only heard heavy footsteps and the movement of equipment. No voices. Her mind darted back to the large-bellied contractors who’d been chatting Dean up the night before. “Did Dean approve the bid?” She put a hand to her chest. “Be still my heart.”
Jasmine got a devious look in her eye and grinned. “I don’t think he’s using the same contractors, ’cause the dude back there ain’t forty, ain’t balding, and his belly has more ridges than a Trojan Ultra Ribbed. And if he’s here when the rest of the girls come in tonight, you’re gonna have a hard time getting anyone out on stage. You might even have a couple of cat fights over who gets to give him the VIP treatment as a bonus.” She put air quotes around the last word, then tapped Dillon’s shoulder and brought her voice up to a normal level. “Sweet pea, go get your brother. Daddy’s gonna be here in a few minutes to take you home.”
Dillon set the crayon down and slid off the chair.
“I’ll come with you, Dillon,” Grace said, patting his soft head of dark curls, still frowning at Jasmine. “I’d better check out this builder man.”
“I don’t advise stepping into that room without reflective glasses.” She put up her
hands and raised her brows. “Just sayin’. Not my fault if your eyeballs fry.”
“Jaime, Kaitlin, and Hillary,” Grace called, following Dillon as the boy skipped across the dressing room and disappeared through the open double doors, “head out to the stage and start stretching. I’ll be right there.”
From this angle, Grace could only see one wall of the storeroom, its bare studs now covered with gypsum board. Trepidation crawled through her chest. She was going to be so pissed if Dean had gone for the cheapest labor he could find to—
“Whoa!” The familiar male voice carried from inside the large room, one that made Grace’s feet stop midstep. Made her heart flip and squeeze. “What’s this? There’s two of you?”
The twins giggled.
“Good Lord, what a handful,” Josh said. “Your poor mother. No, little dude, don’t touch that. Here, I’ll show you how this works.”