Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(105)

Tomás slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it over the barre. Then he pocketed his cufflinks and deftly rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt as he moved next to Maria. The opening strains of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” filled the studio once more.

“Here we go, everyone! Five, six, seven, eight.” Yazmine clapped as she counted out the beats.

Beside him, Maria counted aloud as well, the same way they’d practiced at home. He tried following along, but with his thoughts lingering on the intriguing instructor, he fumbled the opening steps.

“Ay, Papá, the other way.” Maria nudged him with her elbow when he nearly collided with the dad next to them.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled.

Great. It probably looked like he’d never practiced at home at all. Maybe Ms. Yazmine hadn’t noticed.

He peeked up at her to check.

Her lips quirked with the hint of a teasing smirk he should have found annoying rather than enticing, she exaggerated her steps for him to catch on.

Before long, Tomás understood why Maria was so enamored with her teacher. Why Maria brimmed with excitement when she spoke of her dance class.

Yazmine Fernandez was great at what she did, full of a vibrant, intoxicating energy. Whether calling out the next move with encouragement, or waving her left hand at a dad reaching out to twist his daughter toward him with the wrong arm, she showed absolutely no sign of impatience. Her pride and delight in her job were palpable forces.

He could relate to that.

In spite of the negative tone of their earlier conversation, her charisma and charm beckoned him like a front porch light welcoming a weary traveler too long on the road. Too long on his own.

His mind lost in the idea of Yazmine waiting at home for him, Tomás bumped into Maria, knocking her off balance.

“Oof ! Not that foot, Papá.”

“?Perdón! Sorry, I got it.” Damn, between his minimal practice and his mind’s unwelcome meanderings, he was doing a spot-on impersonation of someone with two left feet.

Halfway through the dance his frustration level rose again when he and Maria were forced to stand off to the side because he didn’t know the rest of the steps.

“You’ll learn it, Papá,” Maria assured him. “We’ll keep practicing together.”

Together.

The word spread warmth through him as if he’d taken a sip of prime Mexican tequila. It had been Maria and him, the two of them together, since the day Kristine had chosen an overseas promotion over their marriage and child. It hadn’t been easy, but he would figure things out. Even if it meant learning ballet to make Maria happy.

The strains of the song drew to a close and the rest of the dancers applauded everyone’s efforts.

“That’s it for this week.” Yazmine glided over to pause the music.

Sighs of relief along with a muttered, “Thank goodness” rippled through the crowd of fathers.

“You’re all doing a great job.” Sincerity colored Yazmine’s words, shone in the reassuring expression she shared with her students. “Remember to practice over the Thanksgiving holiday next week. We’ll see you the following Wednesday. Same time, same place, same go-get-’em attitudes from everyone. Right?”

Across the room she sent Tomás a telling glance. Message received. No more absences. No tardiness.

She didn’t think too highly of him. While normally he’d shrug that off as none of his concern, for some inexplicable reason it really bugged him.

He should smooth things over—for Maria’s sake. Ms. Yazmine was her favorite dance teacher after all.

While everyone else headed for the coatrack by the school’s front door, Yazmine stayed near the desk, thumbing through her iPod display screen. She didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave. Perfect.

“Hey, m’ija,” Tomás told Maria, “grab your coat and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Curls bouncing, Maria danced out of the studio.

Relief at seeing her acting more like her old self tempered his unease over the potentially uncomfortable conversation in store for him.

Yazmine gathered her belongings as he approached her, steeling himself to play nicely with the sexy taskmaster. She glanced up, her brow furrowing when she saw him. “Is there something you needed?”

Loaded question.

Somehow in the course of half a dance lesson this woman had his mind considering ideas he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

“We didn’t really start off on the right foot tonight. I wanted to apolo—”

“No, don’t.” She held up a hand, her mouth set in a firm, no-arguing-with-me line.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the one who should apologize. It’s not—” She broke off, rubbing a hand across the worry lines marking her forehead, then smoothing it over her already slick bun before releasing a heavy sigh. “I’ve had a lot going on today. I probably came on a little too strong with you earlier.”

Sincere words, but spoken with a mouth quirked in the opposite direction of a smile. The kind of apology his mamá would have made him try again.

For some bizarre reason Yazmine’s half-baked apology charmed him. Made him want to change the negative vibe arcing between them, without looking too closely at why he felt compelled to do so.