Page 1 of Say It Again

Chapter One

THE DANCE floor at the St. Louis School of Dance didn’t care if Daniel Greene didn’t have his life together. It didn’t pass judgment if he showed up late to teach class, dressed in another guy’s clothes from the night before, smelling of self-loathing and just a hint of wine slushy. Very Eau de Walk of Shame.

These old hardwoods beneath his feet didn’t care, because they were his home. No, they were homier than home. They were the homiest. And not even because his actual home was also littered with dust and hair, with the occasional fascinated onlooker peering in through the front window. (Well, but in all fairness, Marvin wasn’t an onlooker so much as he was the landlord, and a generally clingy man. It was the whole Where’s the rent? business. Like, every. Single. Month.)

Twenty long years he’d been dancing, which meant twenty long years he’d been in love. Now, at twenty-five, it was the only thing that kept his quivering Jell-O mold of a nervous system quelled, and it worked just like a miracle tonic for all life’s pesky lemons.

Except for when it didn’t. Like right now.

Olivia, his best friend, fellow dance instructor, and the peskiest lemon of all, whined as she mooched all up in his space. She mooched so hard that he couldn’t crest a delicate arm up to the ceiling all gracefully or properly pirouette without whacking her. “Daniel, you can’t say no. You can’t.”

“I can’t? Let me try.” The hardwoods creaked as he corkscrewed in a spin to the floor, where he sat with his toes pointed and torso folded in half, snug against his thighs. He smiled, eyes serenely closed. “No.”

“You’re not thinking about the consequences.” Olivia plopped to the floor beside him. “If you don’t help me tonight, I’ll be forced to tell the rich people they won’t have a bartender for their rich party. Do you want that on your conscience? A bunch of sober rich people? They’ll bore each other to death talking about cryptocurrency.”

Olivia’s side “business” of bartending and serving private parties was the definition of amateur. Other than harassing the dance studio’s instructors, she hadn’t gone to any lengths to hire employees for her LLC, After the Pumpkin. An homage to Cinderella, it was supposed to mean something like “after midnight.” But all it did was spawn a lot of confusion that ended with Daniel cornered and answering questions like After what pumpkin? And What happens after it?

It was too late to change it now. The promotional stress balls had been ordered. Why had she designed them to resemble a clock set to a random two thirty instead of, say, pumpkins? Because Olivia was a mess.

“Do you remember what happened last time I helped you?” he asked with a stern eyebrow raised. “What happened to my dignity?”

“Oh my God, you have to let that go. It was an honest mistake!”

“My life has never been the same.”

“People confuse other people with their Louisianan aunt from the back all the time. You have to admit you have a delicate frame, and you were wearing a sun hat. Plus, that guy was really high.”

“My life,” he said, toying with his necklace as he gazed into the distance, “has never been the same.”

“Look at me, Daniel.” She leaned forward. “See me.”

He couldn’t help but smirk as he scanned her face. The havoc of it all—the outline of yesterday’s winged eyeliner; a gemstone nose ring that had lost the gemstone; black, chin-length hair that looked as if it’d been chopped with those tiny construction paper scissors (because it had been). She was indisputably lovable.

“I know you could use the money,” she said, gently tapping his chest. “Because you have none.”

His smile died. Her lovableness was suddenly up for dispute.

“You’re too cute to be so broke. We both are.”

He groaned as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It wasn’t like he could deny how broke he was. Or how cute.

He hailed from humble-ish beginnings, far from able to use “summer” as a verb. It turned out his dad was right, and he couldn’t make any money as a dance instructor, but he was willing to admit he cared about making money like he was willing to “summer” on the surface of the sun. “We are really broke.”

“Really broke.”

“And so cute.”

“So fucking cute.”

“You don’t have anyone else?” He bounced a little. “I thought you finally hired someone. Audrey Something-or-Another?”

“Audrey? You want me to bring that aggressive ostrich to a party? Indoors?”

“Why’d you hire her if she’s that bad?”

“I didn’t know she’d be shattering a plate every four minutes. You know who’s never dropped a plate both times he’s helped me?” She smiled, all lopsided, as she pointed a finger. “This guy.”

Well, had he known that was all it took….

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