Page 5 of I Wanna Dance

“Leah.”

Isabella shared a glance with a giddy Sofia. “What’s she like?”

I shrugged. “She was as bad a dancer as me and, like me, didn’t seem to care that she was.”

“Was she cute?” Sofia’s eyebrows arched, her tone almost sing-song.

I sighed, shaking my head as I buttered another piece of cornbread. “You know, at my age, we don’t think women are cute?”

“Then, was she sexy?” Sofia chuckled.

I groaned. “Can we not do this?”

“Come on, Papi,” she teased. “We’re just asking.”

“She was…is nice.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my kids knew me well.

“Nice, huh?” Isabella smirked.

I pointed my fork at her. “Enough.”

But Sofia wasn’t letting it go. “You haven’t even looked at another woman since Mama, and now you’re saying someone’snice? This is progress.”

“It’snothingbut a dance class,” I pointed out.

They both laughed, and I let them. Arguing with my daughters was like facing off with the ocean—pointless and guaranteed to leave you drenched.

After we finished our meal, I paid the bill.

I loved that my daughters enjoyed spending time with their old and boring father. We met for lunch on Sundays—and since we were all busy, we didn’t cook but met in restaurants. Camille was the chef in our home.

I was also lucky that they were both close by in Atlanta.

Sofia, who was twenty, was studying electrical engineering at Georgia Tech like her mother. Isabella, three years her senior, had just started her first job as a high-school teacher after graduating with a master’s degree in education from the University of Atlanta.

I was proud of both my girls. Sofia had already expressed interest in joining the IT firm I led as CEO, a company specializing in developing software and providing consultancy for hospitals’ electronic medical record (EMR) systems. It was fulfilling work, and I couldn’t deny feeling a surge of pride at the thought of Sofia following in my footsteps.

Camille and I met through work years ago. We were both engineers, fresh-faced and eager, hired around the same time at Oracle in the San Francisco Bay Area. While I eventually shifted into administration, Camille went into research and development, climbing the ranks to become the Vice President of R&D at a prominent IT firm in Atlanta. She was brilliant,driven, and endlessly inspiring—a force to be reckoned with in the tech world.

Our friends used to call us a high-power tech couple. We were not. We were two nerds who fell in love and built a life and family.

As we stepped onto Howell Mill Road, the late afternoon sun was mild, so the air was warm but not oppressive—a rare gift for spring in Atlanta. Cars whizzed by, and a couple walked past us, holding hands and laughing about something.

“I’m not dating him,” Sofia protested when her sister asked her about a boy called Phoenix.

“That’s not what it sounded like when I saw you with him.” Isabella winked at me.

“A boyfriend? Is he from a good family? Does he make a decent living? Does he have a criminal record?” I joined in to tease Sofia.

“Ha! Ha!” Sofia muttered and almost ran into someone. Into…Leah.

“So sorry,” Sofia was immediately contrite.

“It’s fine,” Leah said and then glanced at me, her eyes widening with surprise. She wore a pair of denim shorts that showed off her long, tanned legs and a loose white blouse. She had a tote bag on her shoulder and sunglasses perched on her nose. She was close enough that I could smell her perfume.

“Leah.” I leaned down and gave her a quick, perfunctory hug. I mean, we were dancing together, so it seemed appropriate.

“Marco, what a surprise.” It sounded like she thought it was a good one.

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