Connor went still. “She’s dancing again?”
Okay, so he definitely wasn’t completely in the land of the living. Other people were still managing his life for him, and that was fine. But it meant that when it came to the studio, he didn’t know yet what was best—not for the community or the students or for Julianna’s memory.
“She’s dancing,” Charlotte said. “With me.”
His face fell. “I didn’t know.”
She waited a moment before speaking. “Don’t sign the papers.”
“Charlotte—”
“Wait until after the recital,” she said. “Come see how it goes, and if you still feel like you need to sell to this other buyer and turn her studio into something she would hate, so be it.”
He paused at the door and smirked at her. “This is an interesting sales tactic.”
She smiled. “I promise I will win you over. Please, Connor, let me at least try.”
“I don’t go back on my word,” he said, pushing the door open.
She followed him outside. “I know, but you do have the right to change your mind.” She grabbed his arm. “I know it might seem easier to just get this off your plate, but think about Amelia.”
He frowned. “What about her?”
“Don’t you want her dancing for someone who knew and loved her mother? That studio will radiate Jules if you sell it to me. If you sell it to someone who didn’t know her, she just disappears.”
His eyes flashed something terrible. “She already disappeared, Charlotte.”
Her heart sputtered, her adrenaline coming to a complete halt. “No, I mean—”
“I’m late,” he said. “I have to go.”
And he left. Just like that. And Charlotte’s new dream drove off with him.
35
Charlotte’s days in Harbor Pointe unfolded with warmth and purpose. She’d found a way to fill her time quite nicely, and she’d settled into a new summer rhythm that made her heart thrum with happiness.
Her mornings started with a run by the lake. Coincidentally, she often ran by Cole’s place at precisely the same time he was leaving for practice. She sometimes wondered (hoped) he waited until he saw her before exiting his house.
She worked with the football team and with Hildy and Steve. She checked in on the dance students. She met with the volunteers working on the recital. She ate breakfast daily with her new friends and repeatedly denied having a crush on Cole, a subject that seemed to come up frequently.
But it was getting harder and harder to deny that the part of her day she looked forward to most involved teaching the strong, handsome, unassuming football coach to waltz.
As discussed, she’d scheduled extra rehearsals with Cole, knowing that Amelia would pick up the steps much more quickly. Maybe she’d been overzealous in scheduling their rehearsals every other day, but she wanted the dance to be good. For Amelia. And maybe she’d been hypnotized by the way Cole looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
They’d been dancing together for two weeks now, and while normally that would lend itself to more comfort, Charlotte still found herself uneasy in his presence.
Cole made her nervous. Deliciously, excitedly nervous.
She arrived at the studio for that day’s rehearsal and went inside just as Cole’s truck stopped in the street. He skillfully maneuvered into a parking spot, turned off the engine, and got out. He made that look easy. Her still beat-up Jetta did not.
From just inside the door, she watched his every move, aware that she was holding her breath. Her insides turned a cartwheel as he met her eyes from the other side of the glass door.
Well, shoot. Her friends were right. She had a crush on Cole.
He pulled the door open and stepped inside, stopping on the opposite side of the counter, a hint of a smile on his face.
“Hey,” he said.
She felt that smile all the way to her toes. She liked that he’d reserved it for her.
“Hey.”
She led him to the back studio, the same way she had several times before. “I think we can put the finishing touches on the dance tonight.”
“I practiced.” He smiled. “I think I’m going to impress you.”
“Is that right?” she asked. “I’m hard to impress.”
“Believe me, I know.”
Without another word, she turned on the song she’d chosen—“Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. She turned around and found his eyes on her, and her pulse quickened. He watched as she moved toward him, then stepped in her place in front of him. His hand found her waist, and he pulled her closer, close enough that she drew in that familiar scent that hung faintly on her clothes after every rehearsal.
Cole wasn’t a dancer, not the kind she was used to, but he was an excellent partner and took direction well. As they began to move, she realized that for the first time since they’d started working together, he was leading without her telling him to. His confidence seemed to be soaring.
They reached the end of what they knew and she stepped out of his embrace, the music still playing. “You have been practicing.”
Shyness came over him, something that happened when he was complimented or recognized. His humility stunned her almost as much as his kindness. Her first impression of Cole Turner couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Why the change?”
“I have Asher West to thank,” he said.
“The quarterback.”
“Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been trying to get him to play confidently for over a year, and today, in practice it dawned on me that everything I’ve been telling him about stepping up and being a leader, it’s what I needed to do here.”
“So you’re a dancer now.” She smirked.
His eyes widened. “Not even close. But hopefully my performance won’t be humiliating.”
She shook her head. “You’re full of surprises, Coach.”
His face turned serious for a moment, the way it sometimes did, in an unreadable expression she’d yet to crack. It was almost as if he had more to say, but every time they found themselves here, one of them pivoted.
“Let’s go on, shall we?” She moved to the center of the floor, but he stood his ground, still watching her, eyes concentrating on her.
“Charlotte, has anyone ever kissed you?”
The words caught her so off-guard she couldn’t find her voice.
He stood, unmoving, only a few feet away. “You said you’ve never dated anyone. I guess I just wondered.”
Her face flushed. Why was she embarrassed to admit the truth? Because it made her feel unlovable? Or because it made her feel naïve? Or both?
“That’s really personal,” she said, mostly because she wasn’t ready to admit this to him or anyone else.
“Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it perfectly disheveled.
She found his eyes. “We should keep going.”
“Right,” he said.
She did her best to pull it together and teach him the end of the dance, but the only thing she could think about was what his lips might taste like and about a million different ways she could’ve answered his question.