Page 16 of Lucky Dance Date
“Catch up,” Scott laughed. “We’re holding your fundraiser at Dom’s uncle’s barn.”
“Wait, what?”
“Not the equipment barn,” he clarified. “The one they use for weddings and other events.”
I took a deep breath as things started to make sense. “Ok, so let me make sure I’ve got everything right. I’m holding the fundraiser, which we haven’t even settled on, at Dom’s uncle’s event barn?”
“Now you’re getting it,” Sean said. “And that’s not even the best part.”
“What’s the best part?”
Scott smiled at me. “They’re letting you use it for free. Robert, Dom’s uncle, loves Madison, and when she told him that you might not be able to teach classes anymore he asked if there was anything he could do. I mentioned that we were trying to come up with some sort of fundraiser, and he offered the barn. There’s just one catch.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s on St. Patrick’s Day. That’s the only date before the end of March that isn’t already booked.”
“Will anybody even attend?” I asked. “Everybody will be at bars drinking green beer.”
“Naw,” Sean laughed, patting his stomach. “Plenty of people can’t drink, or aren’t interested, but want to do something fun. Advertise it as an alcohol-free event, and you’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Scott laughed. “He wants something fun to do while pregnant.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “What are you and Lowell, rabbits?”
Scott snort-laughed. “That’s what I said. Heck, Abby’s over a year now and I’m still not ready for another.”
“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” I stated. “And you better not let it get around or I’ll catch hell.”
Sean frowned. “Are your parents still assholes?”
“You know it. Hell, there’s a reason I haven’t mentioned a word of all this to them. They’d go spreading rumors again, but this time that I was leaving dance instruction. It would completely kill any chance of this working.”
“So we shouldn’t go around calling this the Sean Abernathy Dance Studio fundraiser?” Scott asked.
I cringed. The name felt wrong. “Oh hell no.”
Sean reached over and toyed with my hair.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Thinking.”
“And you need to mess with my hair to do it?”
“What do you plan to call it?” Sean asked, ignoring my question.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Clover.”
“Hmm?”
“Clover Dance Studio,” he clarified. “We’re holding the fundraiser on Saint Patrick’s Day, and you have red hair.”
“But my heritage is Scottish, not Irish.”
