Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(61)

I’d been worried that he’d already moved on.

When I’d called him two weeks ago, it had been from this very spot.

The walls in the studio hadn’t been painted their cream yet. The Sheetrock had just been taped and textured. The floors had been draped in plastic and splattered with drywall compound. My office had been a mess of supplies and things waiting to get put away.

When I’d called Dakota, I’d been close to panic. I’d been so sure this would be a failure I’d nearly had a breakdown.

But just one hello from him and it had all gone away.

I’d stood there, staring at my mess, and had known I could see it through.

“It’s free?” Dakota asked after he finished reading the flyer.

“Yes, it’s free. Kids from low-income families don’t have to pay. We ask those who can afford lessons to simply make donations when they are able.”

I wanted all kids to get to have dance lessons. Somehow, my lessons had been the thing to stick with me. They’d been the quiet passion I’d kept for all these years. I didn’t want to deny that to any child in the city just because they couldn’t afford one of the pricey studios nearby.

“So you’re running a business and a charity?”

I shrugged. “Well, not me. At first, I was going to try and do it all myself, but then I had a couple of meetings with Aubrey and, well, I saw some shortcomings. If I really wanted this place to be a success, I needed help from people who are better at the business side. So I hired an operations manager who is going to run the day-to-day. And there are teachers who will teach the actual dance classes.”

I knew my limitations well enough to know that, while I found the business strategy interesting, it wasn’t my forte. If we were going to grow, I needed help. I was the creator and artistic director. I would play a key role in fundraising. But my staff would take on the rest. That way, I could keep my freedom and wouldn’t have to commit to being here every day.

“So far we have about a hundred kids signed up,” I told him. “That’s enough to fill most of the evening classes. But I’m hoping we’ll get more. The manager and I were talking about reaching out to inner-city children’s programs and having kids bussed here, since their parents might not be able to afford transportation.”

Dakota nodded and pointed to the glass separating the parent observation area and the actual dance room. “Can we go in?”

“Sure.” I led him past the reception counter and down a hallway, pointing to the various doors as we walked. “Locker rooms are on the right, one for boys and one for girls. Next is my manager’s office. And mine is at the end of the hallway.”

I took a left through the open, double doors into the dance studio. It was dim, only lit up by the sunshine streaming through the front windows. But it was wide and open. Along the back wall ran a bar for the ballet classes.

“This is something.” Dakota walked deeper into the space, taking it all in as he lapped the room. “Why’d you decide to do it for free?”

“It’s not like I need the money,” I teased. “But mostly because I didn’t want to risk turning my passion into something negative.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad worked all the time when I was growing up. He still does. He never made it to one of my dance recitals because there was always a conflict, a meeting or an event. My grandfather worked just as hard as Dad does, right up until he died. My sister is worse than both of them. So I guess I’ve always seen work as this bad thing. Up until you.”

“Me?”

I nodded. “You showed me that even working in an old bar in Montana can be fun. That there is joy to be found in a job. I’ve never had one. So for my first real job, I want to make sure it’s something that won’t ever ruin my passion. The best way I could think of doing that was to make sure it never became about the money.”

Dakota nodded but didn’t say anything as he continued to walk the room in a slow circle, inspecting every inch. My anxiety grew tenfold with each of his steps.

“Do—” I swallowed hard, dreading his answer. “Do you think that’s stupid?”

“No.” He stopped walking and leveled me with his gaze. “It’s brilliant.”

The urge to cry hit hard, and I choked on the lump in my throat. I so wanted to share this opening with Dakota. He had been such an inspiration to me. But more than I wanted him here, I wanted him to think my idea was special.

Because I thought everything about him was remarkable.

I blinked away the tears prickling the corners of my eyes. My chin fell, hiding my watery gaze as Dakota’s footsteps came closer.

His boots stopped close to my toes as his hand came to my cheek, cupping it and turning my face up to his.

“I’m such a crier.” I sniffled. “I’m pitiful.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

Just like that, we were out of my studio and back in Lark Cove, where he’d said the same thing to me over a pile of peanut shells. Back to the place where I’d fallen for him.

A tear dripped down my cheek without permission, but he caught it with his thumb. “I’m proud of you. So damn proud.”

“Stop,” I pleaded. “You’ll just make me cry more.”