Page 114 of Fire in You

I’d just finished scanning the news headlines, not prepared for anything that required critical thinking skills until I finished my first work cup of coffee.

Seeing that it was an outside call from the Academy in Philly, I figured it was either my dad or Brock.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hon.” It was Dad. “I got you on speaker. Brock’s here.”

“Miss me?” That was Brock.

I rolled my eyes as my cheeks turned pink. This whole relationship thing all open in front of my parents made me want to giggle like I was thirteen. “Not particularly,” I responded, grinning.

“Ouch,” he replied, laughing. “We’re going to have to see about that when I get home.”

My eyes widened. Did he just suggest what I think he suggested in front of my dad? I wanted to crawl under the desk, but I was also locked in place, because I could almost feel his hands around my wrists, pinning me in place as he . . .

Goodness.

I placed my forehead in my hand and cleared my throat, deciding to ignore him. “So, what’s going on?”

“We thought we’d call you with some news,” my father said.

I immediately straightened, my gaze swinging around my empty office and settling on the tiny three-foot Christmas tree I’d brought in that morning. I’d picked it up last night at Target. It was pre-lit and I’d splurged on another timer, hooking it up so it stayed on while I was in the office.

The only news I was waiting on was about converting space into a dance studio.

“Good news?” I asked, hopeful.

Brock chuckled. “If it were bad news, do you think I’d be in the office?”

Hope gave way to excitement. “You’re going to approve the plan?”

“I’m going to approve the plan,” Dad replied.

I jumped from my chair and danced in a small circle as I silently screamed into the handset. “Thank you,” I managed to say calmly. “You will not regret this choice.”

“You’re dancing, aren’t you?” Brock asked wryly.

Continuing to hobble around my chair, I said, “No. I am not.”

“On one condition,” Dad spoke up again. “Your friends need to sign a contract where they agree to not move their dance company for at least eight years. It’s a lot of money we’ll be investing in this. We don’t want to spend it and then have them bail on us.”

“Completely understandable.” I sat down, brimming full of excitement. “I’m sure they will be agreeable to this.”

“Get in touch with them today,” Dad said. “If they agree, I’ll get the contract written up next week and we’ll get this squared away before Christmas.”

“Will do.” I squeezed the phone until I was sure it creaked. “Seriously, Dad. Thank you for believing in this.”

“It’s not this road I believe in. It’s you,” he said. “And it’s Brock. I believe in both of you.”

A knot sealed off my throat as unexpected raw emotion swamped me. My office blurred. Hearing him say that? God, I’d been waiting . . . waited for so long. I managed to say something that sounded kind of professional, and then it was Brock talking into my ear.

“You’re off speaker,” he said, and a moment passed. “You feeling good right now? Doing okay?”

“I’m feeling great,” I admitted in a hushed, raspy voice, and then, because of everything we’d shared in the last couple of weeks and how wonderful I was feeling, I said, “I’d be feeling perfect if you were here.”

There was a stretch of silence. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.”

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