Page 44 of Positively, Penelope

“Pixie?” Her bottom lip dropped, but a very pixie-like twinkle lit her eyes. “I’m just a good baker.” Her smile tipped. “And I’ve found that older people really appreciate someone who cares about listening to them. I love good stories and he likes to tell them, so it’s a perfect match.” She shrugged and returned to her papers. “He seems to like my enthusiasm too.”

Matt had no doubt Grandfather enjoyed her attention. She was one of those people who listened with her whole face, as if you were the only person in the room. It reminded him so much of his grandmother. Likely for Grandfather too. “It’s that enthusiasm, or lack thereof, which brought me here, in fact.”

She tilted her head and her ponytail swished behind her. “What do you mean?”

“Your enthusiasm appeared to be lacking this morning.”

“My enthusiasm?” Her nose wrinkled with her frown. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, you...” He cleared his throat, and for some reason he couldn’t identify, his face became warm. “You weren’t singing this morning, and I... I thought something might be wrong.”

Her brow wrinkled to match her nose. “I wasn’t singing?”

“Every morning you come into the office singing.” He examined one of the nearby boxes. “And, well, this morning you didn’t, and since you were away this weekend, I wanted to ensure everything went all right.”

His attention rose back to hers, and she studied him with that direct focus she tended to have.

“Well, I have been distracted with theater things.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And I’m a little tired from my weekend, but it was a lovely time.”

“But?”

Her entire expression softened in some kind of strange way that he felt in his stomach. Not necessarily a bad feeling, but, well, he wasn’t certain.

“Idohave theater stuff on my mind.” She sighed. “And the other thing is just a ridiculous distraction.”

“I came all the way to this stage to find out, so you might as well tell me.”

She brought both her hands up to her forehead and then lowered her hands enough to peek over at him as if she were a sheepish little girl. “Tap dancing.”

He laughed. “What?”

“I met with some community theater folks on Friday and a large group of them started doing a dance together.” She sighed. “Tap dancing. They performed this wonderful routine they’d all learned together from somewhere and tried to teach me, but I just can’t tap.”

“You can’t tap?”

“No. Well, not the right way.” She rested her chin on her knees. “My tap teacher wasn’t the best in the world. English wasn’t her first language, so when she’d get frustrated, she’d yell in Serbian, which didn’t help me understand at all.”

His brows rose.

“I took French in school,” she answered, as if that explained things. “Anyway, for some reason, tapping never came easily for me and I took the class twice.” She held up two fingers. “Twice. Something never felt right. I can do simple routines, but never those really cool fast moves. There’s a hitch in my step when I try. I just don’t understand.”

“Let’s see it.”

Her head popped up. “See what?”

“Your tapping.”

“You want to see my tapping?” she repeated, her nose scrunched into her frown, which almost caused his grin to resurface.

His brain seemed to ask the same question. What was he doing? And yet he responded, “How will I know whether I can help you if I don’t see what you’re doing wrong?”

She stared at him for what seemed like twenty seconds, blinking a few times.

He’d committed to the lunacy at this point and decided to go all in. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“I... I... ,” she started and then frowned. “I’m not sure where to start.”

He drew in a deep breath to clear his head and gestured to the stage. “What about something basic? A shuffle ball-heel?”

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