Like the dance studio suggestion; what the heck was that? Was he seriously trying to help me or just trying to ease his guilt because when his bookkeeper comes back, I’ll be out of a job?
And the way he touched my hand in his truck...
“You okay, hon?” my dad asks, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, why?” I plaster on a smile.
“You’re back there sighing and muttering to yourself.” I can’t see his mouth, but I know he’s grinning when his eyes meet mine a second time.
“Yeah, just got a lot on my mind. Sorry, didn’t realize I was doing that.”
“Anything you want to discuss?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Actually, yes.” I change my mind, deciding that my parents are the exact people I should ask about this because I trust them to be honest and not just tell me what I want to hear. “What would you think about the possibility of me opening a dance studio in Wren Cove?”
“A dance studio?” My mother turns her head to look at me.
“Yeah. Like I could rent out a space in town. Open a studio. Teach dance lessons maybe.”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea.” A smile lights up her face. “I hadn’t even considered something like that.”
“It was actually Penn’s idea,” I admit, wishing I had been the one to come up with it.
“Really?” My mom’s smile widens further. “I didn’t realize you two were talking again.”
“I work for him, Mom,” I needlessly remind her.
“I know. Of course I know that. I just meant... last time we spoke, things weren’t going so well between the two of you.”
“We’ve decided to try and be friends,” I say, the statement almost bitter on my tongue, though I wouldn’t have any idea why.
Lies.
After the dream last night... The memory... My mind and body are at odds today.
“Well, I think that is very good news,” my father chimes in.
“So the dance studio; you don’t think it’s a stupid idea?”
“Not even a little. I think you could find real joy in teaching others something you yourself have loved so much over the years.” My mom reaches into the back seat to pat my leg in that reassuring way of hers.
“But how would I even do that?”
“I could put in a few phone calls. Lillian owns a few buildings. Maybe she has a space available. If not, I’m sure your father could speak to Jack Arlington. He owns a few as well. Or there’s always Franny and Alan.”
“But what about money? The start-up costs. The cost of rent and supplies. It’s not like I’m exactly rolling in the dough.”
“That’s what a small business loan is for.”
“Not sure I have the credit for that,” I admit, trying to hide my embarrassment over the fact that I ran up more than a few credit cards in my attempt to keep my head above water in New York. Pretty sure I’ll be paying those bad boys off for many years to come.
“We’ll co-sign,” my mom offers. “Besides, you know one of my closest friends runs the national bank on Front Street. I’m sure she can help us out.”
“I’d hate to put Jules out like that.”
“Nonsense. You’re like a second daughter to Jules. She’d be so happy to help.”
“So you really think this is plausible?” I say, honestly a little surprised by not only how supportive they’re being but also by how simple they make it all sound.
