Shannon looked at her plate. “Sorry that our meals came out so much earlier.”
“Go ahead and eat.”
Five minutes later, his chicken sandwich and Jennifer’s soup and salad arrived. He’d just taken his first bite, when Traci grinned.
“Since we’re all here together, I might as well ask how the dance lessons are going.”
Jennifer popped her head up. She remained silent but her lips twitched as she glanced his way.
Shannon frowned at her sister. “We don’t need to discuss this now.”
“Why not?” Traci asked as she picked up a French fry. “You said you were really enjoying it.” She raised her eyebrows in such a fake look of surprise, Dylan realized that it was a good thing she’d gotten into police work and not theater.
Shannon picked up her glass of wine. “That doesn’t mean we need to put Dylan on the spot like this.” Turning to him, she said, “You don’t need to say a word.”
“I can take Traci’s ribbing, Shannon. Don’t worry.”
“See?” Traci asked.
Before Shannon could get more upset, Dylan started talking faster. “To answer your question, the classes are going real well. We worked on the rumba last class.”
“The rumba, huh?” Traci leaned back in her chair. “That sounds, um . . . intimate.”
“It wasn’t that intimate,” Dylan said.
Jennifer coughed.
“It’s a natural progression after one learns to waltz, Traci,” Shannon said.
“Good to know.”
Remembering how he’d held her when she’d been counting in his ear, Dylan glanced her way. “Shannon’s a great teacher. I’ve enjoyed the lessons. They’re a lot different than I thought they would be.”
“Huh,” Traci said.
“Is it always like that?” Jennifer asked. “Do you always find the lessons go smoothly?”
“Oh, no.” Shannon put a napkin to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Though this my first studio of my own, I’ve taught a lot of lessons. Each partner and student has his or her own pros and cons.”
“Sounds hard.”
“No, they’re a lot of fun. I love meeting new people and love making them feel more at ease on the dance floor. But that doesn’t mean we always have as good a time as Dylan and I do.”
Traci and Jennifer both looked his way, but he was prepared for the looks this time. Instead of reacting too strongly, he simply smiled.
The conversation moved on to other topics. But the damage had been done. He couldn’t seem to do anything but think about Shannon and reflect how she was right. There was something significant between them.
After they all paid and were walking to the door, he was pleased to see that Traci and Jennifer were conversing and Shannon was walking by his side.
“This was fun,” she said with a smile at him. “Thanks for inviting us to join you.”
“Thanks for joining us and especially for being so kind to my sister.”
“She’s nice. I’m glad we met.”
He turned to Jennifer. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Eyes shining, she smiled at Traci and Shannon. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, Jen. See ya, buddy,” Traci said.
“Be careful tomorrow,” Shannon said.
“I will. Thanks.” He guided Jennifer to their right where his Suburban was . . . and tried not to think about how if they’d been alone he probably would have kissed Shannon.
Right there on the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 10
“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s
about learning to dance in the rain.”
—Vivian Greene
Saturday
She was back. Sitting in her white Altima, Jennifer took her time checking messages on her phone, retouching her lipstick, and pulling on her favorite gloves spun with alpaca. All of that took ten minutes.
It was time.
Grabbing her purse, she opened the driver’s-side door and winced as a burst of snow grazed her face. The snow was a surprise. The forecasters had mentioned snow arriving after six o’clock that evening. Not at two.
Well, she assumed the meteorologists were human, too.
If there was a plus to this, it was that the cold and snow helped her stop making excuses. She hurried into the bookstore, closing the door securely right behind her.
“You came back.”
Turning, she saw Camille standing next to a cart near a cute sign that announced they were in the Mysterious section. “Yes, I guess I did.”
“I’m so glad. Right after you left, I told Jack that you were a woman who I wanted to know.”
Whoa. “Really?”
“Any woman who can put up with my son both throwing hot coffee on her leg and his dog being a general pest is a winner in my book.”
Camille was putting a really kind spin on what had actually happened. She smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I hope you will. I’m a tough cookie. Not too easy to please, you know.”
Somehow Jennifer couldn’t see that. No, instead she looked like a sweetheart. “Is Harvard around?” And yes, she was kind of also asking about Jack, though she wasn’t sure why.
Camille shook her head. “No, I’m sorry honey. Harvard is home with Jack. I bet you’re sorry to miss him. That puppy is a cutie, isn’t he?”
She nodded. She wondered if Camille was as complimentary about everything. She was kind of getting that impression.
“I came to look at the cookbooks.”
“I know! I remember.” Pointing to the stairs that were just to the right of them, Camille said, “You go right on up, honey. Have a good time.”
“Thanks.” She walked up the narrow stairs and then stopped with a gasp. She had to have stumbled upon cookbook Mecca. In a loft area that had a 1950s-style red laminate booth, shelves of gorgeous ceramic pie plates of every design and color, and a tree filled with copper cookie cutters. Next to it, in the corner, was a finely refurbished turquoise vintage stove, and a working Coca-Cola bottle dispenser, and a pair of metal chairs with shiny white cushions.
And interspersed among it all . . . was the mother lode of cookbooks.
They were everywhere. On shelves. In stacks. On the Formica table. Some were arranged by subject. Others, by author. Still others looked like they’d been simply set down and forgotten.