Page 30 of Dancing in Lake Mistletoe

He nods and turns to leave, but stops short. Glancing back at me.

“Josie has dance on Thursday. I usually just hang out and walk around the lake until class is over,” he starts.

“Yeah?”

“If you’re not busy and your ankle is better, I could show you the decorations we hung this week.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay. We’ll pick you up around six.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Dutch

Josie stands patiently, watching me in the mirror. She’s dressed in a little leotard and tights, her tiny ballet slippers dangling from her fingers as she waits. Her hair is silky and soft, slipping easily through my fingers as I try to twist and secure it.

“All right, hold still, kiddo,” I murmur, squinting as I wrap the band around her hair. With careful fingers, I tuck in the loose strands and reach for a few bobby pins set out on the bathroom counter.

“There,” I say, stepping back.

The bun is a bit lopsided with a few wisps escaping here and there, but she turns around with a proud grin, lifting her chin.I watch her beam and feel a small tug at my heart as she twirls away, ready for class.

I’m getting the hang of it,I think proudly to myself.

She stuffs her slippers into her bag, and I toss it over my shoulder before helping her tug on her coat and boots.

We got our first snow of the season last night and woke up to a blanket of fresh white powder on the ground, so I carefully lead her down the porch steps to my truck.

“We’re going to stop by the Gingerbread Inn first,” I tell her as she fastens her seat belt.

“We are?”

“Yes. I asked Mindi if she wanted to go with me to take you to class tonight. Is that okay?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes! Is she going to get cheeseburgers with us too?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

“I bet she will. She probably likes cheeseburgers as much as we do.”

When we pull up to the inn, Mindi is waiting at the back door. She’s dressed in jeans, a red long-sleeved shirt, and a camel-colored coat. Her hair is peeking out from a white cable-knit hat, and she has a matching scarf wrapped around her neck.

She darts to the truck, and I pay close attention to her right foot. It seems stable in her brown ankle boots.

I unlock the door, and Josie undoes her seat belt and slides closer to me to give Mindi room to sit.

“Hi, guys,” she says as she settles in.

The drive is filled with Josie telling Mindi all about her day at school and her afternoon of building a snowman with my dad. When we reach the dance studio, I walk Josie in while Mindi waits for me in the lobby.

I find her standing at the glass case, looking over the vast collection of trophies.

“I remember these days,” she says wistfully.

“I bet. You probably danced your fair share of recitals.”

“Too many to count,” she agrees. “So, where to now?”

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