Page 86 of For a Goode Time Call…
I swallowed. “Bax.”
He closed the notebook. “You could do it. I’d like it, personally, if you did it. One class a week to start. You create it—it’d be your baby. We could do a thing where people can take just the classes by themselves for one fee, per class or a group of classes, or get a discount if they join the gym to use the weight equipment and get one free training session per month with me, along with access to your classes, and we’d split those fees down the middle.”
I shifted on my chair. “I feel like the injured dancer who takes up teaching is such a cliché, though.”
He blew a raspberry. “Yeah, and? You love to dance. You’re out of the professional world, the competitive world. This lets you dance.” An arched eyebrow. “Plus, you’re hella fit. You clearly enjoy fitness, being active, being strong. Get certified as a personal trainer, put your shingle out next to mine.”
I dragged my hair out of the ponytail, finger-combed it, rebound it. “I’ve been doing a lot of yoga with my mom since I moved here,” I said, letting myself conjecture out loud. “I’m really good at yoga, and I love it. I’ve been thinking of getting licensed to teach that.”
He nodded. “Do it.” A wave. “Do the yoga cert, the trainer cert, and while you’re getting those, start up the dance class and, as you build a clientele, add more services.”
I felt a little giddy. “I would love to teach yoga.” I couldn’t help grinning, letting excitement bubble over. “When I lived in Paris, at least once a week I had someone at the gym mistake me for a personal trainer and ask me for advice, and I remember thinking, if I ever stop dancing, I should be a personal trainer.”
He nodded. “You’ll kill at it.”
I eyed the gym space. “Where would the classes go, though? All your floor space is dedicated.”
He grinned and opened the folder that he had been working on. “The warehouse next to this one is about half this size, but they’re separated by only about twenty feet. That warehouse is for sale for wicked cheap. I put in an offer, super lowball, and they took it. It’s, like, a steal. Legit. Anyway. I had a contractor take a look, and he said I—we—could connect the two super easy. Wall off the empty space between each building at either end, roof it over, insulate everything, put in doors, connect the electrical and shit, and bam, I’ve got two connected warehouses, with a new twenty-by-one-hundred-foot space between them. More lockers. Changing rooms. Some chairs, a TV. Then the new warehouse becomes class space. It could be designed with flexible instruction spaces that could even be rented out to independent teachers, you know like, tap or ballet, meditation, whatever.”
My mind was buzzing, and I felt an excitement I hadn’t felt since the last time I stepped on stage.
“You know, when I was dancing I made good money. Saved most of it, as my ex-fiancé and I lived in an apartment his parents owned, so I had super low living expenses. Meaning, I’ve got a good bit saved, since I’ve been living with Mom and she won’t let me help with money. Plus, there was an insurance settlement payout, which wasn’t anything to sneeze at.”
He just looked at me, waiting for me to continue.
“So,” I continued. “What if we go in fifty-fifty on the new space and reno costs?”
He held an open but neutral expression on his face. “So you’re all in? No backing out, no second thoughts, don’t need time to consider? This is what you want? Foryou? No bullshit. Youknow—youknowyou want this.”
I nodded, unable to hide my excitement. I wanted this. I now had a future here, in Ketchikan. This was where I had Mom, where I had my new friendship and soon-to-be partnership with Baxter. This is where Ink lived.
This was home, and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. In the last few minutes, here in Bax’s office, my life had changed and had taken on new meaning. Suddenly I could see the future, and it looked exciting.
“I want this, Bax. I want to teach dance and yoga and become a personal trainer. It all makes so much sense, and I can’t thank you enough.”
He broke into a boyishly excited grin. Stuck out his hand, and we shook. “Partners?”
“Partners.” I laughed. “Don’t you, you know, need to consult Eva?”
He pointed behind me—I twisted to see Eva, standing in the doorway looking as if she’d been there a long time. “Duh.”
Eva came in, bent over, and gave me an upside-down and from behind hug. “Congratulations, Cass.”
I wiggled, too excited to hold still. “Oh, Eva. I’m so excited. I gotta go tell Mom.”
Eva held my hand, kept me from bolting off. “I’m taking you for a girls’ night out to celebrate.”
I hugged her. “Oh, that would be awesome.”
“And not just me—the whole pack.”
I cackled. “Pack?”
“We girls of the Badd clan.” She grinned. “You haven’t lived till you’ve been out with all of us. It’s wild.”
I blinked. “How many of you—us—are there? And do I even count? Ink isn’t a Badd.”
“Ink is an honorary Badd,” Bax said. “And you’re my business partner, and your mom is shacked up with Uncle Lucas. You’re one of us in at least four different ways.”
