Page 14 of In Step

We cleaned the kitchen and the conversation switched to mundane themes: the mussel farm, the mothers, and the spring recital. When we were done, the two lovebirds headed for bed, and I made for my room and the blissful sanity of my earbuds.

Stripping down to my briefs, I lay in the dark and stared at a field of stars pinned to a cloudless sky with Glen Miller crooning “American Patrol”in my ears. All the while, I tried and failed to ignore the soft glow from the bedsit window and any thoughts I had about what Kane might be doing up there... in his bed.

The idea of the quiet, beautiful man beating on someone? I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. I presumed myself a pretty good judge of character, and I wouldn’t have guessed that about Kane in a million years. Not to mention, if that hadn’t been interest in the man’s eyes, I’d eat my fucking hat. Still, I’d been wrong before, and he’d sure as shit jackrabbited it out of there when I flirted with him, so who knew?

And yeah, I was going to have to apologise for that too, dammit.

* * *

At some point in the night, I must’ve put my earbuds on the table and crawled under the duvet because I wasn’t a complete popsicle when I woke, even though the chill off the window had sprouted goosebumps on my skin.

I groaned and dragged myself up on one elbow to peer out the window, but I couldn’t see a thing through the condensation. I reached for my old T-shirt and cleared the glass enough to reveal the driveway striped with sun and awash in the thin light of morning.

Huh.I listened, and sure enough, the house was quiet.

How the hell I’d slept through Leroy and Fox leaving at six was a miracle—those boys weren’t quiet—but the frosty daylight spilling into the room and the 7:15 flash on my phone screen assured me I had. And on a Saturday as well. Note to self. There is nothing romantic about working on the deep blue. The hours sucked.

I scooted to the edge of the bed for a better look and noticed a black cat sitting on the windowsill of the bedsit, staring down at me. I smiled and gave the moggy a wave. So, the man liked cats. Not gonna say the thought didn’t make something in my chest go a little squidgy. I loved animals, but my lifestyle didn’t. Enjoying other people’s cats was as close as I got.

I dragged my gaze from the bedsit to the sky and smiled happily. The day was shaping up to be a beauty. A glacial-blue sky, streaked with the fading apricot and buttercup tints of sunrise, presided over grass tips pale with frost, and the twin pots of lavender on the front step remained motionless in the still air.

I huffed out a breath and shuddered. It was also fucking cold. I wrapped the duvet around my body, opened the door to the hall, and waddled down to grab the hall’s heat pump remote from the dresser outside Leroy and Fox’s room. A contribution to the power bill was a small price to pay to keep my balls from freezing, and I secretly hoped Judah had the studio heaters set on timer, otherwise warm-up was going to be a bitch.

I crawled back into bed, accompanied by Prue who immediately prowled to the window to look up at the other cat, tail swishing. It occurred to me that this might be an everyday thing between them once their humans were gone for the day, and I made a mental note to tell the others. It might even be a good icebreaker in my apology to Kane.

An hour later, I was rugged up in a coat, scarf, and gloves, and on my way down the hill to Judah’s studio, bright sun on my face, the flat skin of Painted Bay reflecting the hills above, and the air so crisp I could snap it in my fingers.

The studio door opened to the happy strains of Romeo and Juliet and a welcoming rush of warm air that brought a smile to my face. Heaters. Thank God. Judah greeted me in bright orange dance tights that hid nothing and gave me a hug, his lithe body not quite as hard muscled as when I’d worked with him in Boston, but still mighty fine. I took a minute to appreciate the fact, making my approval obvious with a low whistle.

“You’ve still got it.” I eyed him up and down.

He laughed and threw a towel at my face. “Pervert.”

“Hey, professional opinion only.” I chucked the towel back. “You were in loose yoga pants the other day, so I couldn’t get the full picture. Just saying.”

He fired me a smug grin. “Yeah, I’ll let you explain that to Morgan.”

“Nope, don’t think so. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

We took our time warming up, my muscles still rigid from the chilly walk down the hill. But once our bodies were supple, we danced until noon, stop and start, testing different pieces of music using canes and an old wheelchair we’d been loaned so we could finesse the choreography for the kids. We argued over tastes in coffee, differing visions for the recital, men, favourite dancers, anything and everything, laughing and settling into working together as easily as we always had, right up until I noticed a drop in Judah’s precision footwork.

I didn’t need any more pointers. I knew Judah’s body, his dance, and his ability like the back of my hand. A perfectionist and incredibly talented, Judah didn’t make mistakes after just a few hours of light work unless something was up. The slight misplacement of feet and the loss of height and power in his moves told me all I needed to know, and I shut him down. He blustered in protest, wiping the sweat from his face, but I had Morgan to answer to.

I stabbed a finger his way. “Zip it, sweetheart. We’ve achieved a lot for the morning. Besides, it’s lunchtime. We’ve got the basic choreography for one piece, and we can’t do any more until we try it with the kids.”

He tried to hide it, but I caught the relief in Judah’s pretty eyes, and I knew I’d made the right call.

“I’ve had some thoughts about the other pieces,” I said. “I was thinking last night about something with tap. We could incorporate the canes into the rhythm, maybe even using them on the wheelchairs? And what about Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You.’ Might get some audience participation with that.”

Judah’s eyes lit up. “That’s an awesome suggestion. See, that’s why I need you. I would never think of that shit. I’ll listen to some pieces this afternoon and pick a couple of possibilities.”

“Great. I’ve got another idea as well, but only if you’re interested?”

“I’m all ears.” Judah eased himself down onto one of the benches that lined the walls.

“Okay, well, this might seem like a lot of work,” I began, “but it could boost your business long term. What if we expand the recital to include a community dance afterward? We’d have a mix of music and dance styles—like country hall dances used to be back in the day. Then you could offer some refresher classes to anyone interested, and you’d have a platform to maybe continue a version of those after, possibly even into local schools. You could cover ballroom, hip-hop, swing, rock and roll, contemporary. I know you have the basics of all of those—at least enough to satisfy what would be expected. I helped a friend do a similar thing in the UK.”

Judah hung his towel around his neck and gaped, but I could hear the cogs of his brain turning. “I... I never thought of doing that kind of thing.” He bit his lip and thought for a second. “I’ve been focused on the therapy and rehab side, but yeah, that’s actually a great idea, as long as I could be flexible around my Meniere’s. But just community classes, nothing too formal cos I’m not nearly as skilled as you. My ballroom is pretty basic. My hip-hop and contemporary is better.”

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