But did that mean that she needed to give him a pass for the things he said? She wasn’t sure.
“I appreciate you sharing that with me.”
Jennifer stood up again. “And I appreciate you opening up your home to me. No matter how bad that experience was, I need to keep moving forward. That means that I need to keep getting stronger.” Looking even more assured, she lifted her chin. “Moving out of Dylan’s place is the right thing to do.”
“We’re really glad you’re here,” Shannon said, crossing the room to give her a quick hug. “Let us know if you need help getting settled, okay? I’ve got to go get ready for a class.”
* * *
Looking at her watch, she hurried down the stairs. She had a brand-new client arriving in fifteen minutes. It was another private lesson, this one last-minute. The man had contacted her via email, asking if she could teach him how to swing dance. After she’d given him the standard information about classes and fees, he’d asked for her first available slot.
Though they’d only exchanged a couple of emails, his notes were polite and formal, and she imagined him to be in his sixties or seventies. Honestly, after all the tension she’d been feeling with Dylan, she was looking forward to an easy class with someone her grandfather’s age.
She also didn’t want him to be disappointed with his decision to contact her. Luckily, she was already in her dress and two-inch heels. She scurried into her studio, turned on lights in there and in the front entryway, and opened up her new file, now neatly filled with blank contracts and forms.
As soon as she wrote down Mr. Emerson DiAngelo’s name and the date on the form, she turned on her stereo system and double-checked the swing dances she had marked on her Ballroom Beats program.
She’d just sat down at her little desk—with five minutes to spare—when the front door opened.
Shannon stood up, happy to greet her little old gentleman, and came face-to-face with someone completely different.
She was looking at a young guy in faded jeans and a dark gray T-shirt with some kind of snowboard emblem on it. He had short dark hair, a couple of tattoos on his arms, and the best pair of cheek bones she’d ever seen.
She stood up. “Hi. May I help you?”
“I hope so,” he replied in a deep voice that wasn’t displeasing. “I’m looking for Shannon Murphy.”
“That’s me.”
He walked toward her with an outstretched hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Emerson DiAngelo.”
“Good to meet you, too,” she said as his hand covered hers. When he smiled at her, she smiled back.
But inside? Her stomach was churning. Honestly, how come no one was who she expected them to be?
CHAPTER 31
“Yes, I dance in my car.
Yes, I can see you staring at me.
No, I don’t care.”
“I really appreciate you fitting me in,” Emerson said after they’d filled out his paperwork and he’d smiled when he’d shared that he was in “real good” health and didn’t have any physical problems preventing him from learning to swing dance.
Shannon had blushed like a thirteen-year-old with a first crush—or at least a gal who hadn’t given hours and hours of dancing lessons to relative strangers.
Now they were standing in the middle of the studio and holding hands while she was attempting to get him to listen to the beat of the music.
Emerson might have been a gorgeous twenty-seven-year-old man, but a dancer he was not.
When he stumbled for the fourth or fifth time, he laughed. “Am I helpless?”
“Of course not. We’ll get this.”
“I hope so. What am I going to say to my grandma if I can’t dance at her wedding?”
And . . . that was yet another part of his dreaminess factor. Emerson might look like he was heading out to surf or join a biker club or something, but he was as kind as can be and loved his family. Especially his Grandma Marie, who was about to get married after spending ten years in widowhood.
Looking up into his eyes, she said, “I promise that you’ll be dancing.”
“You sound confident.”
“I am. I’m good at what I do, you know,” she said lightly.
“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he replied, looking at her in an appreciative way. “You look like a princess.”
After encouraging him to lead her around the room in his lurching gait, she grinned. “Emerson, you just made this girl’s day. Not too many people compare a hick like me to royalty.”
“Hick, huh? Where are you from?”
“Spartan, West Virginia.”
Worry filled his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’d be surprised if you had. Yes, that’s it. Now I’m going to show you how to twirl me.”
Looking doubtful, he watched her, holding her right hand lightly like she showed him.
“Ready?”
“Yep. Well, not really, but I’m game.”
“There you go.” She started counting, as she turned and grabbed hold of his hand again.
“Shannon—damn.”
“First time for everything. Come on. Let’s do it again.” She counted slowly and did a respectable turn, twirling enough so that the hem of her dress floated around her knees.
He smiled slowly. “We did it.”
“We did. Good job.” Releasing his hands, she said, “And that concludes our first class.”
“It’s already been an hour?” When she nodded, he said, “Boy, fastest hour of my day.”
“It was fun.” Walking to her calendar, she said, “What do you think? Did I scare you off, or are you up for another class?”
“I’m up for another one.” After he paid her and they marked their next session on her calendar, he paused. “Hey, not to be a creeper, but are you seeing anyone?”
Dylan flashed into her head . . . and so did the way he’d yelled at her. “Not really.”
“Does ‘not really’ mean that you’d consider going out with me?” While she blinked, he said, ‘Don’t say no. I promise, just dinner. Or lunch, if you’d rather.”
“Well . . .”
“I’m taking dance lessons, and I love my grandma. I’m a good guy.” His eyes sparkled.
She supposed he probably was. Then, there was the fact that he was nice and respectful, had shown up on time, and had even asked about her. He was also handsome. Very handsome. “Okay?”