Hooked 3 (Hooked #3)(4)

I nodded expressively. “Well, I’m looking for a space right now. For my dance studio. We were bought out by a corporate developer.”

The woman’s dark eyes widened. Her lips slimmed dangerously into a grim smile. “Those bastards,” she murmured. “They got you too? It’s not for that bookstore down the street, is it?”

I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s fine. I just—obviously—need a new place to be. Maybe even a better place.”

“Well.” The woman turned her eyes to the sky. “This place gets plenty of light. You’d need it—when? During the day?”

“Morning and day time, yeah,” I said. “Sometimes around dinner time, but only about twice or three times a week.” My brain was going over the usual schedule, trying to remember life before the whirlwind of Drew.

The woman nodded. She stood up, revealing that her short frame only brought her five feet into the air. She breathed with an air of determination. “Why don’t we go up and look at it, yeah?” she said. “Bring your beers.”

I grabbed my slippery glass, and Mel did as well. We sauntered up the back steps as they revolved in a tight circle. Finally, my head spinning, we burst into the bright light of the empty room.

I tapped my shoe against the wooden floor, standing up against the wall. “Wow,” I murmured, shaking my head. The room was longer than I had expected when I had been in the pub. The wooden boards swept long and clean across the room, and the windows were strong, zealous. They pointed toward the east, yielding much more sunlight during the morning and the afternoon than in the evening—which was essential, I knew.

“What do you think? Pretty grand, right?” the woman asked.

I nodded, peering around the corner. “And there’s something—“

“An office, over there. And a bathroom. What is it you do?”

“Dance instructor,” I answered, nodding my head. Of course; we had hardly been introduced. I had simply followed her on a mad dash to this beautiful place. I didn’t know anything; I didn’t even know the rent. “My name is Molly, by the way.”

“Oh,” the woman murmured, her mouth forming into a tight OH. “You’re Molly Says Dance, yes?” She grinned. “I’m Carol, by the way.”

I nodded. “Pleased to meet you. How did you know about my dance studio?”

“I make it a point to know what’s going on in this neighborhood. You weren’t competition, no. But a few of my regulars have daughters who attend your studio. They speak rather highly of you. And your prices.” She peered around the empty room, her eyes tracing each nook and cranny of the old place. “You’ll probably have to raise your prices a bit to have a studio here. I don’t know what they charged you at the old place, and I don’t know how you got away with it for so long. Here—because so many of your customers are my regulars, and this will cause them to drink more, eat more, everything more—I’ll give you a good deal.”


I tapped my foot, tipping my head to the right. “What kind of deal?”

Carol stated the number plainly, with a sense of near-sass. She wasn’t doing this on purpose, no. Rather, she was exerting her power. She owned the business below; she owned the property. She couldn’t afford to simply give the place away.

But even so, I felt my heart dip into my stomach once more. Granted, this had been the best deal I’d heard since I’d begun canvasing. And I needed to start somewhere. My head started spinning as I thought of the intricacies of a loan. Was a loan something people did? Was it something I could do?

“I’ll have to take a look at my finances,” I replied, looking at her brightly, confidently. I could make this work, if I wanted to. I could. “I’ll let you know very shortly.”

Carol brought her hand forward to shake mine. Her grip was so strong, so forceful. “Please let me know as soon as you can. We both have businesses to run, after all.” Just then her phone began to vibrate, leaving her to turn away from us and push her hand into her pocket. “Yes. Yes. Go,” she announced into the phone, telling the other person to begin the spiel, in this limited timeframe of go-go-go.

I felt rushed. I turned toward Mel, my beer half-empty in my hand. I grinned at her, shrugging my shoulders half-heartedly. I mouthed the words to her as we walked back toward the winding staircase. “We have a dance studio. We have a dance studio.” I allowed the energy to build in my stomach; I allowed myself to fuel up with this sense of earnest excitement. I inhaled, exhaled brightly and then burst into the stunning October world outside the door, a smell of beer on my breath and a feeling of hope in my heart.



CHAPTER THREE

After we left The Goat, Mel told me she had to leave to get her baby from the babysitter. I nodded, understanding. “Baby Jack takes precedence,” I teased her, bringing her close in a hug. I wanted to tell her I was so sorry for blaming her—if only in my head—for the whole debacle with Drew and the studio. But I knew it didn’t matter.

She clapped her hands lightly onto my face, grinning ear-to-ear. “It’s beautiful, Molly,” she murmured. “You’ll find a way to make it yours.”

“Ours,” I corrected her. But she merely shrugged and turned her body toward the subway. She scurried forward, arching her back like a gazelle—like the dancer she truly was. I watched as she disappeared onto the train; I listened to the tracks as it took her far across the city, back to her beautiful baby.