Page 3 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

I kept constant vigil over the dancers in the mirror as we cycled through our usual sets of warm-ups.

“You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine” by Lou Rawls started, and I shifted the class into longer combinations.

A few sets in, Mr. Hammond swayed precariously behind me, but I clenched my fists and kept on, resisting the urge to move closer to him.

I’d quickly learned which students liked to be fussed over and which clung to their independence like the sole life raft in a storm.

Mr. Hammond was the latter.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, I waved my hand toward the barre that lined the back wall in casual suggestion. The older man narrowed his eyes at me in response.

I narrowed mine right back.

“Come on, Melvin,” Mrs. Hammond called over the music, intervening for me. She did a series of little shuffle-heel combinations over to her husband in her old-school heeled Mary-Jane-style tap shoes, then took his hands as she kept dancing the combination I’d set.

Mrs. Hammond was a former competition ballroom dancer, and at seventy-five, she’d caught onto the moves fast even if she needed a lot of reminders. Mr. Hammond had already signed her up for the next six weeks of classes—ballroom, coincidentally—that would start this summer .

The music was too loud for me to hear what she told him, but whatever it was had Mr. Hammond’s eyes softening. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and escorted her to the front corner of the room, where everyone’s water bottles were.

I ached as I watched them for a few seconds longer.

Having moved to Live Oak just a few weeks ago, Mrs. Hammond was Zinnia House’s newest resident.

Focusing back on the rest of the class, I gestured for them to line up along the wall by the room’s corner so we could begin some across-the-floor exercises.

Something I wouldn’t have dared if Miss Trish were here.

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Hammond were back on the floor, “Lay All Your Love on Me” by ABBA came on, and a few tappers groaned out loud.

“No whining in tap class!” I scolded before launching into a refresher on last week’s most complicated combination, adding another eight beats to it.

The results were… mixed, but we made it to the end of class without incident, and Mrs. Hammond gave me a warm smile as she left with her husband.

Once I was changed back into regular clothes and my Chucks, I wandered back to the front desk.

“Yes, Thursday morning at nine will be perfect,” Jillie said into the receiver, smiling at me when I leaned on her desk. “Mm-hmm. Yes. Absolutely. We look forward to seeing you then.”

She returned the phone to its cradle and stood up from her ergonomic chair, handing a stack of papers over to me. “Hey there, could you take these to the classroom? I accidentally took them from the machine when I made my own copies.”

I grabbed them, but instead of releasing them to me, she tugged. “Arizona Thames emailed asking about the community greenhouse idea of hers.”

Gil’s wife, who most people called “Ari.” From the little I’d gleaned from conversation with Gil and even more from their nephew, Liem, they’d retired here last summer after years of running some sort of biscuit place in Mississippi.

She’d left me a brief voicemail last week when I’d missed yet another call from her, saying that she wanted to connect, but I’d been busy with Dad and just hadn’t had the mental space to engage with anyone.

“Okay…,” I said, the papers dropping heavily to my side when she finally released them.

“You said you maybe wanted some more work here? Outside of the dance classes and admin work?”

I nodded cautiously even as a single bubble of hope filled inside my chest.

“Good. Then I think you should meet with Ari. I’ll let her explain to you better, but when she asked about hiring someone to help, I mentioned you. I have a feeling you’d be an asset to her.”

An asset .

At twenty-six years old, with my first dream in utter shambles… that was more than I dared to hope for, no matter what the work turned out to be.

I felt bad for not calling her back yet.

“Thanks, Jillie, I’ll do that.”

She smiled at me with so much warmth in her eyes that all I could manage was a small nod before I turned away and went directly to the classroom with the stack of papers in hand.

“Ire!” a sweet voice called as soon as I stepped inside.

My head snapped up, and just like every time I saw this guy, I had to wonder how his personality fit into such a wrapping.

Liem’s dark hair was shaved to the scalp on one side and long on the other, hanging down past his collarbone.

He had tattoos similar to mine on his arm as well as some flowers inked across his fingers and very obvious nipple piercings.

The light that poured in from the high windows of the classroom was nothing compared to the pure light that seemed to stream out of him.

My lips twitched with the idea of a smile as he approached. “Liem,” I said, plopping the papers into his hands.

Looking past him, I nodded at Miss Lenny, glad she’d made it back into town safely. She was looking extra tanned too. Moving my gaze back to my feet, I succumbed to the battle that I always lost when I saw her in person and briefly pictured her bare boobs.

I didn’t even fight it, letting the boobs have their moment in the metaphorical sun just as I’m sure they’d had the last week when she was vacationing at the mysterious resort she and her boy toy frequented.

A gruff voice sounded from the front of the room, and my gaze roamed to Gil, who was giving directions in that no-nonsense way of his.

He nodded at me when our eyes met, and I nodded back.

Was it weird that my closest friend here was a retired, bald dude who was more likely to grunt than make small talk?

Maybe. But it was what it was.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and took a picture of the class before heading out and leaving them to their crafting.

After grabbing some supplies from the hallway closet, I went back into the studio to clean up. I got the gaffer tape refreshed in spots that were peeling, the barre sanitized, and was almost done with the massive job of cleaning the mirrors when the lights suddenly went out.

Frowning, I walked across the floor on socked feet, having taken off my shoes so I wouldn’t scuff the floor, and popped my head out into the hallway. Gil turned at the intersection and started in my direction with something tucked under his arm and his tool belt dangling from his fingers.

He jerked his head toward the end of the hallway. “Put your shoes on, kid, and I’ll show you the breaker box.”

I retreated back inside and did as he instructed.

“We’re not even pretending to call the maintenance company this time, then?” I asked when I came to a stop by his side a minute later, my shoes on.

He turned his light-blue stare from the panel to me. “We’re here and we’re capable. That’s enough.”

My skin warmed at the passive praise, and I tucked those words away in my memory as firmly as I could, willing them to stay.

“Now,” he said, thrusting his tool belt at me. “This is yours. After we fixed that leaking shower last week, I figure you need one. I have several, and this is my least favorite, so don’t make a fuss.”

I eyed the worn belt and prepared to do exactly that.

“Just take it,” he grumbled.

I reached for it hesitantly, and he pushed the heavy belt, filled with the tools I knew the names of now, into my hands. There was no way this wasn’t his go-to tool belt.

I was about to point that out, but at his stern look of warning, I swallowed it. “Thank you.”

He grunted. “Now. Open the panel and let’s talk about the best way to not electrocute ourselves.”

I put the belt around my waist, adjusting the strap to fit snug against my hips, then got to work .

Gil quizzed me on parts of the breaker box and especially about safety when working with it, his short corrections doing wonders for distracting me from his generous gift.

The first time Gil had shown me how to fix something was still a vivid memory, but I’d never expected it to turn into this sort of…

apprenticeship. There was no job waiting at the end of it for me, so that wasn’t the right word, and it wasn’t even his job.

He was just volunteering his expertise. But it was fulfilling, learning how to fix things, and it gave me a sliver of control I desperately needed.

I’d even used what Gil taught me to do some small repairs when house-sitting for Miss Lenny, which had thrilled her to no end.

Once the power was back on, Gil scooped up the picture frame—the one from the class he’d just taught—from where he’d set it on the floor and handed it to me.

“Here.”

This time, I took his gift without protest.

Embarrassingly, the longer I stared at the frame in my hands, the more intense the buzzing in my nose became until I was afraid I’d have to flee the scene.

“Kid, if you cry, I’m going to take it back,” Gil warned.

I laughed under my breath, then looked up at the older man. “I would never.”