Buch lesen: «Enchanting Melody»

Enchanting Melody
Robyn Amos

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I would like to thank my critique partners, Judy Fitzwater, Pat Gagne, Ann Kline and Karen Smith, who have been by my side since the very beginning. Special thanks to my silent critique partner and husband, John Pope. I’d also like to thank my pre-wedding dance instructors, Clifford Kopf, Anne Arundel Community College, and Deborah Joy Malkin, First Dance Impressions.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Melody Rush tossed her waist-length ponytail over her shoulder as she squinted at the drawing board.

“That’s not quite what I’m looking for, Bass,” she told her friend, a hulking goth with bloodred streaks in his black hair. “Can you arch your back a little more?”

“If I arch it any more, I’m going to fall on my head. I’m defying gravity as it is,” he moaned. Arms outstretched, head thrown back, Bass struggled to contort his spine as though reeling from a powerful blow.

Melody tried to sketch faster, realizing she was wearing out her model—which is why she didn’t typically rely on them to develop her comic-book characters. “I’m sorry, dude, but this was your idea, remember?”

For years, Bass had been begging to be the inspiration for a character in one of her graphic novels. Finally, Delilah, her flashy African-American heroine—supermodel by day, electrically-charged crime fighter by night—had beaten up all the local villains and was in need of a fresh archenemy.

“I remember,” he paused to groan. “But, I thought I’d at least get in a few good licks. So far, in all these poses Delilah is kicking my—”

“Bass, I’ve already told you, the Ambassador’s power is primarily cerebral. After this colossal butt-kicking he concocts a mind-control spell to take over the world.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can’t I hit her just once?”

Melody shot him a look, pointedly ignoring the question. “Okay, you can relax. I think I’ve got what I need.” Her pencil flew over the sketch pad in rapid strokes that finally ended in a flourish.

The chains looped through his wide-leg jeans rattled as he straightened. “You ever notice that Delilah’s enemies are always men?” he asked, cracking his neck. “If you’re not careful, your fans will start to think you’re a man-hater.”

“Hah, I’m far from a man-hater,” she said, waving him off.

“I don’t know, you’re much nicer now that we’re not dating. But, I still think you’re using Delilah to express your pent-up aggression toward men.” Bass was forced to take a hasty step back as Melody surged to her feet.

“I do not have pent-up aggression.” Sticking one hand on her hip, she waved the index finger of her other hand in the air. “First, I’ve always been nice—you just didn’t know how to stand up to me. Second, Delilah is not an extension of me. In fact, she’s my polar opposite.”

“Opposite?” Bass snorted. “Come on, she has the same brown skin tone as you, the same unbelievably long hair, and she’s tall and curvy, just like you.”

She answered the lascivious arching of his brow with a hard glare. “Physical similarities mean nothing. Delilah’s a girly-girl. I’m a tomboy. She wears Prada suits and Jimmy Choo shoes. I wear cargo pants and army boots. I’m sick of people trying to draw a connection between Delilah and me. She’s completely fabricated.”

Except, maybe, for her hair. It was Melody’s only true vanity. She’d given Delilah her trademark waist-length hair because she was so proud of it. Though she most often kept it in a braid or ponytail streaming down her back, she was meticulous when it came to grooming it.

“Fine, don’t blame me just because you’re bound by the dark chains of denial.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting back down at her desk. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

He took a step toward her. “Never mind. Can I see how I turned out?”

“Not yet,” she said, covering the drawing. “I need to play with it a bit more.”

“Fine, but, for all my effort, you’ve got to give me something.” Bass, topping six feet with the build of a heavyweight wrestler, rubbed his hands together like an eager little boy. “How about giving the Ambassador X-ray vision? I’m dying to see what Delilah wears under that catsuit.”

Melody started to quip that he wouldn’t be able to handle it, but was interrupted by the telephone. She crossed the room and glanced at the caller ID—it was her sister.

As much as she loved her younger sibling, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss fabric samples or cake flavors for Stephanie’s upcoming wedding.

After the fourth ring, she answered the line. “What’s up, Steph?”

“Get ready to buzz me in, I’m a block away from your apartment, and I’ve got a present for you.”

Melody sighed, hanging up the phone. These days that could mean a lot of things, and none of them good.

“My sister’s on her way up here, Bass. You may want to hit the road.” Her sister and her best friend detested each other.

Bass rolled his eyes and grabbed his skate-board. “I’m outta here. Have fun drinking tea with the diva.”

The doorbell rang and Mel buzzed her sister through the security doors in the lobby. Moments later, Stephanie breezed into the apartment, filling it with expensive perfume. Casual only by design, she wore denim capri pants with a short denim jacket as a top. She’d completed her outfit with high-heeled sandals and pearls.

Stephanie Rush had retired from runway modeling to plan her New York wedding full-time. If it weren’t for the fact that they lived on opposite sides of the city, Melody would’ve had to tolerate these pop-ins once a day.

As it was, they came at least once a week—every time Stephanie changed her wedding theme, colors or guest list.

“Hey, girl.” Stephanie leaned in to kiss Melody on the cheek before sitting next to the large portfolio she’d propped against the couch. “I just passed Flounder in the lobby.”

“Bass.”

“Right, I knew it was a fish. How is it that a thirty-year-old man still rides a skateboard?”

“Don’t knock it.” Melody had learned to ignore her sister’s none-too-subtle digs at her friends. “Skateboards are fuel-efficient, environmentally-friendly and good exercise.”

“Whatever. Guess what? I have a surprise for you,” Stephanie said in a singsong voice.

Mel braced herself. “Okay?”

Stephanie reached into her Louis Vuitton bag and handed Melody a white envelope. Mel took it and pulled out what looked like a gift certificate.

“This coupon entitles you to six ballroom-dancing lessons from the Moonlight Dance Studio.”

Mel looked from her sister to the coupon then back to her sister. “What fresh hell is this?”

“Now hear me out, Mel. When you agreed to be maid of honor in my wedding you knew there would be certain expectations.”

Melody stuck her hand on her hip. “Yes, wearing an ugly dress, throwing you a couple of parties and buying you a ridiculously-expensive gift. Those are the duties I’ve agreed to fulfill.”

“A Keenan Okofi original is hardly ugly,” Stephanie said with a huff.

Mel rolled her eyes, knowing better than to insult the designs of her sister’s husband-to-be. He was swiftly becoming one of the hottest new names in fashion, or so Stephanie claimed.

“I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. I don’t see where dance lessons fit into this whole deal.”

“Mel, it’s a formal candlelight wedding with a twelve-piece orchestra. There will be a lot of dancing, including the bridal party dance.”

“I don’t need lessons to rock and sway around the floor a few times with Keenan’s sixteen-year-old brother.”

“I’ll have you know that Samir goes to boarding school in London where ballroom dance is a part of the daily curriculum.”

“Poor kid,” she scoffed.

“Mel, there will be a lot of important people there. Don’t you want to make a good impression?”

Melody felt an icy tingle of suspicion at those words. They were all too familiar. “Did Mother put you up to this?”

Stephanie winced, dropping her gaze to the floor.

There wasn’t any use in denying it, Melody thought. Their mother had never given up trying to mold her eldest daughter into the perfect image of African-American high society—no matter how futile the effort.

Stephanie reached out to squeeze Melody’s arm. “Okay, she might have made the suggestion, but you know I never would have gone along with it if it hadn’t been a good one. Our wedding guests aren’t just important to me, but to Keenan’s career as well. Some of them may ask you to dance, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, this is about my comfort? Because if it is…” She pointed to her red Converse All-Stars.

“Melody, please. It’s just five lessons. They’ll teach you three different styles of dance. Just enough to get you through the wedding reception. Say you’ll do it…please, please, please?”

Melody sighed. She was the black sheep in her family of New York socialites—and she was proud of it. Left to her own devices, she would have loved to send a message to her mother: her eclectic lifestyle wasn’t a phase, her friends weren’t going to morph into well-placed celebrities, and she was never going to marry rich.

But, for a change, this wasn’t between just Melody and her mother. She was close to her sisters—both Stephanie and their youngest sibling, Vicky. And she’d already promised to do whatever chores were necessary to make Stephanie’s dream wedding a success. Apparently that included clopping around the dance floor like a horse in ballet slippers.

“You’re lucky I love you, Steph, because I wouldn’t risk this kind of humiliation for just anyone.”

“Thank you, big sis,” Stephanie screeched, crushing her in a tight hug. “Now wait until you see Keenan’s latest designs for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I’ve changed my mind about the black-and-white ball gowns. We’re thinking of going with these authentic African robes in red and gold….”

Will Coleman glanced at his watch. It was time to start class and there was still one student on the roster who hadn’t arrived. Someone always bailed at the last minute.

Rubbing his hands together, he moved to the center of the studio floor. “Good evening, everyone. This is Beginners Ballroom Dance, and I’m your instructor, Will. In this class you’ll learn the fox-trot, swing and waltz. Are you ready to get started?”

The class mumbled a faint response. “Okay, I’d like everyone to line up across from their partners. Followers on the right, leaders on the left.”

Will turned around to close the curtain that sectioned off the large dance floor, and a movement in the doorway caught his eye. A young woman was trying to sneak away.

“Excuse me for one second,” he said to the class and walked over to poke his head into the hallway.

“Miss? Miss, are you looking for Beginners Ballroom Dance?”

The woman turned slowly, clearly embarrassed. For a second Will thought he might have made a mistake. This woman didn’t look anything like his typical dance students.

She was dressed in tan cargo pants, low black boots and a scanty black tank top that revealed a tattoo of a Chinese character on the small of her back.

“Um, I didn’t realize I needed a partner, so…” She shrugged and took a step backward, clutching the end of her long braid in her fist.

He motioned her forward. “You don’t need a partner. Come on in.”

She hovered in place, clearly unsure what to do. Will reached out and took her by the wrist, gently pulling her into the room. She came willingly at first, but began to resist when she saw the lineup of the class.

“Everyone’s paired up already,” she whispered to him.

Will smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about that. We do a lot of rotating, but you can start out as my partner.”

A look of pure horror contorted her face, and he laughed out loud. “Trust me,” he said, leading her over to where the other ladies were already lined up. “This will be completely painless.”

Will was intrigued with his new student, but all eyes were on him, waiting patiently for instruction, so he couldn’t indulge his fascination with her.

“Today we’re going to learn the fox-trot. This is one of the most common patterns associated with ballroom dancing. It’s the one that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made famous. The rhythm for the fox-trot is slow, slow, side step. Slow, slow, side step.”

He demonstrated the steps first for the men and then for the women. “Okay, now has everyone got that?”

Across the room, he could already see that his pretty new student was having trouble. She was struggling to shift her weight and not trip on the side step.

“Let me emphasize for the ladies that you’ll be stepping back with your right foot. So it’s right, left, side step. Good, now let’s partner up and give it a try.”

He motioned for his reluctant partner to join him in the center of the room. “What’s your name?”

“Mel…uh, short for Melody,” she answered softly.

“Okay, class, Melody is going to help me demonstrate proper frame. Square up with your partner like this.” Will explained the basics of frames and maintaining proper resistance between partners.

Normally, he could recite this spiel in his sleep, but today he was struggling to concentrate. There were too many variables splitting his attention. First, he had to keep his eye on the rest of the class to be sure they were keeping up. Next, he had to help his timid partner who was fighting him every step of the way. And finally, he was trying to keep his hands from sliding off her tiny top to her bare skin.

“Not so much resistance, Melody,” he said to her, then louder to the class, “Followers should be pushing against the leader’s shoulder lightly. Keep in mind we’re dancing, not wrestling.”

Melody wrinkled her nose. “Why do you keep calling us followers?”

At this proximity, Will was tempted to whisper his answer directly into her ear. Instead, he forced himself to remain in instructor mode. “Did you hear that, class? Melody would like to know why I keep referring to the ladies as followers. Anyone want to answer that question?”

A stocky young man with swarthy Italian features piped up, “Because the men are always in charge.” A few of the women in the class groaned.

“That’s right, on the dance floor, the men are always the leaders. It’s the woman’s job to receive signals from the man and follow through. Now let’s try the step together.”

Will continued to try and lead the class while dancing with Melody, but it was becoming obvious that she wasn’t picking up the movements as quickly as the rest of the class. “Whoa, Melody, you don’t move until I move.”

She released an exasperated breath. “Then why bother teaching me the step at all if I’m not allowed to do it? I can be your little puppet, and you can move my legs for me.”

Startled by her outburst, Will reminded himself that first-time dancers became frustrated easily. He tried to soothe her by speaking softly. “Learning to follow isn’t easy. It’s a skill, just like leading. You’ll pick it up eventually.”

A rumble of voices caught Will’s attention, and he realized that he’d gotten so caught up in helping Melody that he’d neglected the rest of the class. He’d failed to stagger the couples at the start of the lesson, and now they’d danced themselves into a crowded jumble in one corner of the room.

“I’m sorry, class, this is my fault. Let me have three couples on the right side of the room and four on the left.” Will left Melody to practice a few steps on her own as he made his rounds to the other couples. Then he led Melody to the center of the room once again.

“How are you doing? Think you’ve got it now?” He pulled her into position before she could respond. “Good, now let’s try the patterns all together. Slow, slow, side step…slow, slow—don’t step back so far, Melody, you’re going to—”

Will tried to catch her, but it was too late. Melody’s rubber-soled boots stopped short, but her body kept going and she slipped through his grasp. With a pathetic thud, she landed on her backside at his feet.

“Thank you, class. That will be all for today.”

Chapter 2

The dance instructor offered a hand to help Melody to her feet, but she pushed him away and dragged herself up. “I’ve got it.”

She spun around, making a beeline for the exit. Stephanie had wasted her money. Walking on hot coals carrying an anvil was time well spent compared to this.

“Hold on! Melody, wait.” Will caught up with her and halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Did you injure yourself?”

When she didn’t immediately turn, he held her shoulder firmly and spun her around. The bold, masculine move surprised her, and his touch shot through her like an electrical jolt. Heat rushed to her cheeks so quickly, they tingled. Melody jerked out of his grasp, annoyed at Will for having the nerve to reduce her to mush—and at herself for complying.

This wasn’t right. She didn’t get all gooey inside every time an attractive man looked her way. On the contrary, she was the one to turn men into jiggling mounds of jelly. They found her intimidating—as well they should.

She lifted her chin. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Please accept my apology. That spill you just took was entirely my fault.”

“Damn, you’re smooth,” she whispered.

“What?”

Dear Lord, had she really just said that out loud? Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse…“I mean, how could my clumsiness be your fault? It’s obvious that I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense, it’s my job to maintain the frame. I got distracted and let it go slack. That’s why you fell.”

Melody opened and closed her mouth. Was this guy for real? Nobody had that much class.

She’d grown up surrounded by the wealthy upper crust, and they were some of the most entitled, unapologetic types she’d known. But this guy was nothing like them—despite the fact that everything about him screamed money, from his diamond-studded watch to his designer slacks and silk crew-neck shirt.

Maybe he hadn’t been born wealthy. That would explain it. On his hands, as well-manicured as they were, she’d felt a few masculine ridges that hinted at physical labor.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t her type at all. Way too clean-cut. She was so over neatly-cropped hair and a clean shave. But when he smiled, his straight white teeth made a striking contrast against his deep brown skin. And his chocolate-brown eyes were filled with kindness. Her heart jumped in her chest.

This was getting too weird. Time to cut and run. “Look, this isn’t working out, so I’m not going to waste any more of your time or mine.”

His brow wrinkled. “Don’t tell me you’re not coming back.”

She scoffed. “Oh, I’m telling you before you tell me.”

“You can’t give up. You just need to relax a little.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “No, I was awful.”

“It’s only natural that you’d feel tense standing before the entire class. Believe me, you’d do much better with no one watching. Come here.” Will held out his hand.

“Now?”

“Of course. I don’t have any more classes this evening. I want you to see that you can learn to dance.” He flicked the switch on the stereo remote, turning on the music. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, Melody moved into his arms. He was right, it was a lot different without anyone watching…but not in the way that he’d meant.

Suddenly she noticed the intoxicating scent of his cologne. She saw his biceps bulging underneath his shirt. And she was very aware of the proximity of their bodies.

She was so overwhelmed by all these new sensations that she forgot her anxiety over dancing. Mel let herself be swept across the floor in his arms.

“That’s it. See what a difference it makes when you relax and trust your partner?”

Melody looked down and lost her footing, throwing them out of sync. She swore under her breath.

“It’s okay, we’ll pick it back up. Slow, slow, side step. Just follow me.”

Melody tried to repeat the rhythm over and over in her head so as not to embarrass herself again. “I think I’m getting it.”

“That’s right. All you have to do is trust me. You don’t even have to know the moves ahead of time. Watch.” Will broke their frame and twirled her in a circle and turned her at an angle in several more complicated patterns.

Melody glided right along with him, wide-eyed that she was actually dancing. “I don’t believe I did all that,” she said when he resumed the basic pattern.

“Well, you did.” He stopped. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She felt her skin flushing. She felt like a high-school girl. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much like a girl of any sort. “It was okay,” she said, trying to hide her giddiness.

“And next week will be even better. Promise me you’ll come back?”

Melody looked up into those deep brown eyes and found herself saying the opposite of what she’d planned. “I promise.”

Will regulated his breathing as he increased his pace on the treadmill. He felt his body kick into the zone as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Would you be interested in joining the activity-planning committee?” A petite woman wearing a hot-pink sports bra and designer shorts stepped in front of his treadmill.

Will tried to hide his frustration as he slowed his pace. “Excuse me?” he asked, panting.

The woman leaned forward, propping one arm on the electronic panel, inadvertently skewing his workout settings. “I know you’re fairly new to Parkview Heights, and the best way to get to know your neighbors is to join the planning committee. I’m the chair, Abby Rutherford.” She held out her hand.

Will was forced to stop the treadmill and step off. After first wiping his palm on his shorts, he reluctantly shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Will.”

Bending over, hands on his knees, Will stared at the floor, trying to appear as though he were catching his breath. In reality he was reining in his temper.

“We meet the first Thursday of every month to plan the following month’s events. Can I sign you up for our next meeting in two weeks?”

Will started to answer but was interrupted when another woman sidled up beside Abby and gave her a one-armed hug. In her other arm, the woman carried a Chihuahua in a purple sweat-band and Spandex tank that matched her own. They exchanged greetings and parted with air kisses.

“Don’t forget The Apprentice viewing party in the club floor lounge next Monday,” Abby tossed over her shoulder as the woman headed for the juice bar.

“Sorry about that,” Abby said to Will. “As you can see, committee events are a big hit, and you’ll get to meet all your neighbors.” Her smile turned from friendly to flirtatious.

“Abby, I’d love to join your committee, but I’m afraid my work schedule is really hectic for the next few weeks.”

Will had only been a resident of the luxury apartment complex for three weeks, so he was interested in meeting new people, but not in the middle of a workout.

He’d been varying his exercise routine in the penthouse health club hoping to avoid his chatty neighbors. It was quickly becoming apparent that Parkview residents didn’t come to the gym to work out, they came to be seen.

On his first visit, he’d felt strangely under-dressed for the gym. He’d shown up in faded sweats and a paint-splattered T-shirt, while everyone else wore color-coordinated designer labels. He’d barely noticed anyone breaking a sweat. His own workout had progressed slowly because all the machines were tied up with men and women carrying on leisurely conversations while they kept up the vague appearance of exercising.

Cutting his losses, Will rode the elevator back down to his apartment. The thought of buying his own exercise equipment flashed in his mind for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time he dismissed it.

Despite his hard-won status as one of New York’s more successful stockbrokers, the lifestyle was still too new for him to abandon his working-class values. He just couldn’t waste money on expensive workout machines when his exorbitant rent covered a fully-equipped gym just three floors up. And since he belonged to a rare group of individuals who actually took full advantage of the state-of-the-art machines, the equipment was in excellent condition.

Will dragged his towel across the back of his neck as he entered his apartment. Getting accepted by the Parkview Housing Committee had been an arduous seven-week process involving background checks, prying interviews and several reference letters from well-placed individuals. Now that he was here, the hassle had been worth it. The exclusive residence represented a lifelong climb from Brooklyn factory work to Wall Street success.

Of course things were different here. Different from working two jobs to get by. Different from backbreaking manual labor, sleep-deprivation and night school. Different had been exactly what Will was looking for.

It was just going to take some getting used to, that’s all. But, in the meantime, he needed a dose of reality.

Will sat on the couch with his cordless phone and dialed his younger brother’s number. Tony answered right away.

“Will! Hey, man, what’s up? How’s Park Avenue life treating you? No wait, don’t tell me. I’m not in the mood to shoot myself.”

Tony always pretended that he wanted to switch places with Will, but he knew his brother better than that. Tony had always been quite content with the cards life had dealt him. Will had been the dissatisfied one.

By contrast, Tony had always worked at the plastics factory and had never pursued another career path. He’d started a family at eighteen and was happy with the small apartment he lived in with his wife and three sons. Will knew this because once he’d begun making money, he’d offered to move them into a big house, or upgrade their ten-year-old car, and all of these offers had been firmly refused. Christmases and birthdays were the only occasions Will was allowed to spend money on them, and even then, extravagant gifts were returned.

“Everything’s fine here.” Will heard cheering in the background. “What’s going on over there?”

“Oh, you know how we do. The boys are watching basketball. Frieda’s making hot wings.”

“I love Frieda’s wings,” Will said in an unmistakable plea for an invitation.

“Then come on over, man. You know you’re always welcome here.”

Will started to accept his brother’s offer, but Tony continued, “It’s funny, when you moved to the other side of the tracks, I was worried we wouldn’t see you much. But, you’ve been back in the ’hood almost every day. Basketball at the rec center, pizza night at Shucky’s Bar, you even showed up for dominoes at Little Harold’s two nights ago.”

Will laughed sheepishly. “What are you trying to say? Are you getting tired of me?”

“Nah, bro, nothing like that. I’m just wondering why you worked so hard to get out of the ’hood, just so you could come back and hang here every other night. What’s the matter? Park Avenue ain’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

“Of course it is,” Will answered quickly. “It’s great. Everything’s great. Really great.” Stop saying great, you idiot!

“Good. Don’t forget I’m an old married man. I have to live through you. You’re supposed to be dating some model chick and going to bougie parties where they serve snails and crap like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, all that’s on the agenda. I’ve just been…working a lot. I still teach dance two nights a week.”

“You can’t work all the time. What about dating? Meet any hot girls lately?”

“Hot girls?” A tattooed girl with combat boots and a waist-length braid flashed in his brain. “Oh yeah, they’re everywhere.”

“Ahhh, yeah! Talk to me.”

“Actually, that’s why I was calling. I wanted you and the kids to know you wouldn’t be seeing me as much in the next few weeks. Between work, the dance studio and my impending social life, my schedule’s starting to look pretty tight.”

“Glad to hear it, man. The boys will miss seeing you around, but we’d all rather you had a life. I was starting to wonder if you were afraid to live in that crystal palace you worked so hard to get into.”

Will felt heat wash down his neck as the truth of Tony’s words hit home. “Wow, you suddenly getting deep on me, bro?”

“Hey, I gotta make sure you’re all right. Park Avenue’s a different world. All your peeps are still in Brooklyn.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Everything is fine.”

“Cool. Then the only other explanation is that you still haven’t figured out how to work that talking stove of yours.”

Will laughed hard into the phone, then paused. “How did you know?”

“All right, man, jump in the car and get over here before Frieda’s wings get cold.”

Melody waited in the corner of the dance studio as other couples began to arrive. As the trendy men and women around her chatted amongst themselves or practiced last week’s lesson, Mel chided herself for coming back to class.

She didn’t fit in here. Normally, that was a good thing. But today Mel felt dopey for showing up to class fifteen minutes early. It was silly to have sweaty palms and a stomach doing somersaults. And she felt extra foolish for wearing her black pleated mini skirt to impress the teacher.

She glanced down at the chunky sports watch on her wrist as she eyed the door. Three minutes to go. Maybe she could still—

“Good evening, class.” Will Coleman walked into the room, eliminating all hope of a quick escape. “I’m glad to see some of you practicing.”