Page 370 of The Winslow Brothers

“Are you sure it’s not midnight tonight?”

Rachel rolls her pretty eyes. “Nope.”

“One a.m., then?”

“No.”

“Five a.m.?”

“Nice try,” she says, trying to act annoyed but her smile showing her truth. “Anyway, I’ll be busy then.”

“Pulling a shift at the bakery?’

“Nope.” A little sigh leaves her lips. “My sister is forcing me to go to some early morning dance class thing.”

“Rachel Rose dances?”

“Sometimes.” She stands on her tippy-toes and presses a barely there kiss to the corner of my mouth. “But I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

Yeah. I definitely did. All of this started with a dance nearly two months ago, and since then, she’s been a stellar participant in the horizontal tango.

“Only twenty-four hours to go,Professor,” she taunts with a little giggle as she heads for the door.

Yeah.I can’t fucking wait.

Friday, March 1st

Rachel

The subway lights flicker, and I stare down at my favorite white Adidas with gold stripes before looking up at Lydia, who sits across the aisle with her head resting on Lou’s shoulder.

“Tell me again why I had to wake up at five in the morning?”

“The class starts at six, Rae,” Lydia says, acting like that’s a real explanation. “Plus, exercise is healthy.”

“But whythisearly?” I counter. “Isn’t it possible to exercise at a more reasonable hour?”

“Because it’s a great way to start your day.”

“It’s also the easiest time for us to sneak away from the bakery and let Maude run the ship,” Lou adds, and I nod.

“Well, that makes way more sense than the whole bit about starting your day out right,” I respond with a tired smile. “Because from where I stand, this is a terrible damn way to start the day.”

Lydia snorts. “You’re the worst in the morning.”

“Yes. I am,” I agree without shame. “Which is why you should have never attempted to drag me along to a dance class before the sun rises.”

Lou grins, and Lydia sighs.

“Bitch and moan all you want, but when we’re done, you’re going to feel like a new woman.”

I open my mouth to refute that ridiculous statement, likely with a colorful word or two or seven, but the feel of my phone vibrating in my purse grabs my attention and saves my sister from a verbal battle. With uncoordinated, five-in-the-morning hands, I pull it out of my purse, nearly dropping it to the dirty subway floor in the process.

When I finally have it secure, I open up my text inbox, where a new message sits unopened from the man I think about way more than I should. After receiving several sad-face picture messages at midnight telling me it was a bad decision to go against our ancestors’ definition of time when determining the “being good” deadline from him, I never expected Ty would be up this early.

Ty: How are we this morning, Dancing Queen?

Me: She’s tired. And grouchy. And not yet queen of any dance moves. And wondering why the hell you’re awake right now.

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