Page 2 of Dancing for His Omega

“Thank you for waiving the deposit. I really appreciate it.”

Granger clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s no problem. Oliver Creek is expanding, and I want to help. I’d never live in another place after being here.”

Speaking of here. “There doesn’t happen to be a dance studio nearby, is there?”

My landlord ticked his head sideways. “You know. There used to be. I would pass and see kids dancing through the windows sometimes.”

Maybe there was another way I could do what I loved?

“It closed down a few years ago. Someone should reopen it, considering all the new kids around here. It would be a good thing.”

Granger left, and I plopped down on the sofa. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, or I rented it at least. No one could takethis away from me or decide to swipe the tablecloth out from under me.

Chapter Two

Micah

Oliver Creek was everything the friend who suggested I move here promised and more. Just a few years back, it had been one of those towns where the young people were all moving away, and the businesses on Main Street and elsewhere were being shuttered. But a few creative and talented restauranteurs had started a renaissance that I was privileged to be a part of. One of those first places was a peanut-butter-sandwich venue of all things. With an owner whose mate was horribly allergic to peanuts.

Somehow they made it work. In fact, everyone I knew here in Oliver Creek had an extraordinary mating story that made me regret the fact that Fate had shown no signs of blessing me with someone to be my own.

And that was fine, really. My dream had always been to own a chocolate shop where I could use my love of the craft to create extraordinary treats. And not to blow my own horn, but I’d been featured on a national magazine cover a couple of months before and even invited to compete on television in one of those game shows on a cooking network. Unfortunately, I had to turn that offer down because I couldn’t afford to shut down the shop for the length of time that would take. I did agree to judge occasionally, an honor my friends in the chocolatiers guild insisted must be accepted.

I wrapped my apron around my waist and tied it securely, ready for an afternoon of making some new recipes inspired by an event I attended recently. Chocolate-covered rose petals and other edible flowers had me wondering whether I could do whole bouquets and if my customers would like them. I also had a pared-down version in mind that would be more convenientfor the visitors to town who would have a hard time traveling with a big bouquet of delicate bittersweet blooms.

In fact, that would be a good name for them…I made a note on the giant dry-erase board I kept in the kitchen just for ideas. When tempering chocolate, I couldn’t stop to make extensive notes or do research, but I could write a word or two and avoid forgetting these flashes of brilliance altogether. Sometimes they didn’t pan out at all, but I hated the idea of missing out on something that could be a big seller or just a delicious one. Something that could have won me a prize in a chocolate series, if I’d been willing to take one on.

As if the network overheard me thinking about them, the phone rang and, of course, it was the producer who had recruited me for the judging gig.

“Micah, it’s Sidara, how are you?”

I pulled up a stool and sat down. Unless a customer came in, I’d be on the phone for a while. I had the impression that people in the TV world would be rushing through things like calls, but Sidara always seemed to have time to catch up. Because of that, we knew far more about each other than a strictly business relationship should involve.

But, the day she walked up to my booth at ChocolateArama, she’d decided we were best friends. And who was I to argue with someone who liked me? I mean, obvious I had argued, since I had refused to be in a competition, but so far as the friendship?

That, I was good with.

“I’m fine, Sidara, just busy. You?” I always hoped that saying I was busy would make the call a reasonable length. Not that that had worked so far. Maybe I could convince her that our friendship was text level.

“Oh, you know. Same. I wanted to get with you because the network has a new series that’s right up your alley. It begins inabout a month. You in? We can hang out while you’re in town, maybe go to some restaurants.”

“Um, I’d love to see you, of course, b—”

“Excellent. I will message you all the details, and we’ll get your accommodations set. I’d invite you to stay with me”—see? Besties—“but my place is being remodeled, and I’m not even staying there.”

“Sidara, it’s just that…”

“I know it’s short notice, but it’s just eight days to film the series, and then you’re free and the pay isn’t bad. So, I’ll see you then?”

She always disconnected without saying goodbye, maybe part of the impossible-to-argue-with aspect of her persona.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I could make a lot of chocolate ahead and leave my part-time counter person in charge. Possibly even close early those days, putting a cute sign on the door that said something likeSee you on the network! Back after filming.Or something better, but that was the general idea.

So, I would be on TV. A glance at my figure showed I looked less like a TV host and more like a chocolate fanboy, but could be worse.

So much worse.

Chapter Three

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