Page 16 of Someone to Tempt
“I need to know you’re committed and not just looking for an opportunity to beat your father. The foundation means the world to me. The staff and the people we serve are family, Jake. Family matters.”
My life has been devoted to honoring Mike’s dream of writing books, but it’s become even bigger than either of us could have imagined. Family matters most, but I’ve let the past overshadow everything.
I pull into the parking lot and turn off the truck’s engine. The breeze whips a few bright yellow leaves across the windshield, and I feel like I’m swirling the same way, unsure of my path and where I’ll land.
I could so easily reveal my identity as NYT bestseller Spencer Charles, but that feels like selling out on my brother. I wrote that first book as a way to finally deal with my grief from losing him, and I never intended to take credit for a career that should have been his if he’d lived.
My grandpa, like everyone else, thinks I’ve spent the better part of ten years partying and surfing and squandering my life. If a dance class is going to help him think I can commit to something, what the hell will it hurt? Probably a lot less than receiving kudos for success that doesn’t truly feel like it belongs to me.
“Do you know why I signed up for this dancing class?”
“An excuse to wear tight pants and get a spray tan like the reality show dancers?”
“I did it for a woman.”
An answer I hadn’t expected. “What woman?”
“Gloria Johnson.”
“Former U.S. Senator Johnson?”
“The very one. She’s a force to be reckoned with. I haven’t met a woman with her character since…since your grandmother passed away fifteen years ago.”
“Good for you, Gramps. It’s about time you climbed back on that horse.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about climbing or horses. It’s about putting yourself out there and sticking with something. I started dancing because of Gloria, but I’ve stayed with it for me. The connection and collaboration invigorate me, just like running the foundation did for so many years. I want to share that with you. Dance is more than just moving better—it teaches you how to live better.”
“Deep thoughts with Gilbert Byrne,” I mutter.
“I also get my hands on Gloria twice a week,” he adds with a mischievous laugh.
“My corneas are burning at the mental image.” I mock shudder, then meet his gaze. “Why not just ask her out?”
“She said no,” he answers simply. “But I’m not giving up. I’m?—”
“Sticking,” I say with an eye roll. “Fine. I’ll partner up with your new gal. I’m sticking, too, Grandpa. And I’m going to prove it to you in whatever way works.”
If a few weeks of dancing with one of Skylark’s fleet-footed geriatrics gets me closer to my goal, then it’ll be worth it. If I can prove to both my grandfather and the people around here that I’m not the same person some of them remember from that wild and regrettable summer after my brother died, even better.
Grandpa squeezes my shoulder as we enter the studio’s lobby. “You won’t regret this, kid.”
Several couples are gathered inside a large studio. Framed photos of dancers line the far wall, while the one closest to us is mirrored floor to ceiling.
A woman who looks to be in her late thirties, wearing a fitted top and flowing skirt, steps out of a small office to greet us. “Hello, Gilbert. And you must be Jake.”
“Yup.” I hold out my hand to shake hers. “Based on your impeccable posture, I’m guessing you’re Charlotte, my new dance instructor.”
She carries herself with poise and grace, her dark hair tied back in a low bun. Her features are striking but approachable, and her dark red lips curve into a smile as she takes my hand. “Call me Char. I recognize the devilish twinkle in your eyes. Just like your grandfather.”
“This one’s trouble,” Grandpa confirms, and my stomach tightens. I’ve always been the troublesome brother.
Char must sense that the joke falls flat with me because she squeezes my hand a little tighter. “We’re happy to have you join us. Come in and meet everyone. What size shoe do you wear, Jake?”
“Thirteen,” I answer, eliciting a throaty laugh.
“I like big feet in a man,” she says, linking her arm with mine. Maybe this dance class is going to get spicier than I anticipated.
She leads me into the studio with Grandpa following. The floors are the same light wood as the lobby area, and a wide bank of windows lets in the morning light.
