Page 21 of The Suitcase Swap

She gave him a determined nod. ‘I think you’re right, Manny. I would love to learn how to salsa.’

He took out his phone. ‘Give me your number. I’ll text you more details after I talk to him.’

She rattled off her number, thanking him again for the tip, and left him to get some rest.

A few minutes later, she got a message from an unknown number.It’s Manny. You’re all set. Javi says you can come alone, but it’s best if you can bring a partner with you.

Sophie bit her lip. A partner. If she were at home, she’d already be calling up Edie, but she wasn’t home, and Tom and Marisa had plans with friends tomorrow.

She knew exactly one other person in the entire state of New York . . . and hehadjust texted her. Before she overthought it, she messaged him.Carousel sounds delightful. I’ll check it out. What are you doing tomorrow? I have an in on a dance class, but I need a partner. Any chance I can talk you into it? I’m not above bribery. Drinks on me?

She set down the phone, refusing to stare at it until he responded, deciding to work instead. The phone vibrated a few seconds later, surprising her.Well, that was fast.

I’m a very mediocre dancer but would be happy to join you. My children have been threatening me to get out more, and I’m worried about my continued health if I don’t heed their warnings. So really, you’re doing me a favour.

Sophie pressed her fingers against her lips as if she could stamp the small smile on them more deeply upon her soul. Itwas unsettling, how happy a little text could make her. Her phone vibrated again.

Should I meet you there? What time?

Sophie’s sharp, surprised laugh echoed in her flat.He was a bit keen, wasn’t he?She thought about it for a second before texting him back,You’re staying in Manhattan, yes?

Yes.

She chewed on her lip as she tapped out her reply.Probably makes more sense to meet there. Dance lesson at six. Does that work? Five thirty if we want to get a drink first.

Dots appeared, vanished and reappeared.I’ll have to move things around a bit, but I don’t dare go into that dance lesson without a cocktail. Five thirty it is.

Sophie sent him the address for tomorrow, delight making her feel like she was full of champagne bubbles. Which suddenly, abruptly stopped when she realized that she had nothing she could wear salsa dancing. Marisa probably had something, but they weren’t the same size at all. She sent Marisa an SOS text.Help. Salsa dancing tomorrow. Need dress!

Marisa texted her back instantly.What? Yessssssss. Fun! I’ll come over as soon as we get home.

Mike got up early and worked through lunch in order to meet Sophie at the bar before the lesson. He had just enough time to take a quick shower, shave and ditch his laptop before catching a taxi to the address she’d sent him. It wasn’t a date. He needed to remember that. But the nerves were the same.

The bar reminded him of a dapper older gentleman past his prime – elegant, classy lines gone charmingly to seed, managing the delicate balance between sophistication and a hole in the wall. The bar top was scarred wood, lovingly polished, with stools and only a few scattered tables. Mike perched on a stool and ordered a cup of coffee from thebartender, wanting a punch of caffeine to compensate for the early wake-up before he started drinking.

The bartender, a wiry man more stylish than Mike had ever been in his entire life, grabbed the pot, his mouth set in a line. ‘You sure you want coffee?’

‘Yes?’ Mike wasn’t sure why his answer sounded like a question, except that he hadn’t been expecting the pushback on coffee.

‘It looks like you’re about ready to vibrate out of here as is,’ the bartender pointed out, grabbing a mug and filling it. ‘You’re jiggling your leg so hard I’m surprised the bar isn’t shaking.’

Mike paused, realizing he was correct. ‘How did you know?’

Bartender pointed at the ornate wall mirrors lining the wall behind Mike’s back.

‘Ah,’ Mike said. ‘So you’re not psychic.’

He shook his head. ‘Just a good bartender.’

Mike took the cup from him. ‘I’m fine, just nervous. I’m meeting someone.’

‘Ah,’ the bartender said knowingly. ‘Hot date. Got it.’

Mike sipped the coffee. He usually put cream in it, but he thought taking it black might be more bracing and he desperately needed some bracing. ‘It’s not a date. It’s a . . . I don’t know what it is.’

The bartender’s pierced eyebrow went up. ‘I see.’

Mike rubbed a hand over the back of his head and let out a breath. ‘Maybe I should just make excuses. This is a terrible idea.’

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