Page 129 of Igniting Sparks
“She wants to understand your vision behind the space.”
I groan into the phone and rub a hand over my brow. “I don’t know jack about the dance world, Kiki. That’s why I hired you.”
But instead of sympathizing, Kiki laughs. “Look, I know she’s the perfect tenant, so just come down here and have a chat. Trust me, you want to meet with her.”
“Wait, she’s therenow?”
“Yep, so you better hurry. Talk later.” Kiki clicks off the call, and I’m left staring at my phone.
“Shit.” I jog over to Sarah’s car and knock on her window.
She shoots me a wary glance. “Let me guess. Change of plans?”
“Temporary detour. I have a piece of real estate that I’m trying to rent, and the potential tenant needs to speak with me.”
“Sounds important.”
“It’s a dance studio.”
“Didn’t peg you for a dancer.” She arches a brow, lips twitching with amusement.
“Trust me, I’m not.” I rest my hand on the roof of her car and wobble my head, unsure how much to divulge.What does it matter, right?“I renovated the space for someone, but she relocated to Los Angeles, so now I need to rent it out.”
Sarah’s eyes widen at my disclosure. “You built someone a dance studio? That’s incredibly romantic.”
I avert my gaze, feeling a bit foolish about the entire venture. “I guess it was.”
“No guessing about it. That’s romantic, Braden. She missed out with you.”
“She had other opportunities.”
Sarah grips her steering wheel, considering my words. “Mind if I tag along? I’d love to see the place. I took a few years of dance as a kid. Happy days.”
“Actually, that might work, because if she has dance-related questions, I will not have the answer.”
“Fair enough. I’ll follow you there.”
We drive to the studio, which sits only three doors down from Black Lotus. It’s a prime piece of real estate right on Main Street and I know it will make an excellent dance school.
I just wish my favorite dancer was here to see it.
“Wow.” Sarah steps out of her car, admiring the front entrance. “This is beautiful. Look at the door handles.”
“Ballet slippers,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I had them custom made for her—I mean, for here.”
Can I say anything else wrong, brain, or will you give me a damn break?
We stroll inside and I give Sarah the ten-cent tour, showing her the office, the costume room and the barre room before leading her to the main studio.
But there’s no sign of the purported tenant.
Weird.
I pull open the door and glance back at Sarah. “I guess she’s in here. Unless she left already.”
But the moment I step inside, I freeze.
She’s here.
