Page 8 of Sugar Plum Serenade

He continued. “I have employees who can handle the place if I need a night off, especially on a weeknight. I’m always there weekends, though, that’s when the place is busiest.” He looked at her in a disturbingly direct way. “We have live bands several nights a week. Music brings in the crowds. Some come to listen, others to dance the night away. You were a ballerina, so why don’t you dance?”

She was saved from answering when a waiter appeared to take away her salad plate and deposit shrimp and grits before her. The bowl was massive! She’d never finish it all. Tuck’s steak, baked potato, and green beans were placed before him. He didn’t even look at the plate; he waited for her to answer.

Fine. Why not? “I thought maybe Mike told you that, too. I had an accident. My hip was messed up big-time, and that was that.”

“Car?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

She looked him in the eye. Sometimes blunt was the way to go. “I was dancing the Sugar Plum pas de deux at the annual production of The Nutcracker. My partner, who was also my fiancé at the time, dropped me mid-lift. I landed badly.”

He winced, then shook it off. “So, who killed him for you?”

The question made her smile. “Sadly, no one.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, though on occasion I can tell you when rain’s coming, like an eighty-year-old with bad knees.”

“If it doesn’t hurt, why don’t you dance? Not ballet, maybe, I can see that, but… for fun.”

He was relentless! Olive sighed and wagged her fork in his direction. “Eat before your food gets cold. That’s what I’m going to do.” She dug into her shrimp and grits and almost moaned in pleasure, it was so good.

Tuck ate his own meal, dropping the interrogation. Olive’s mind continued to spin. His questions stirred up thoughts best left buried. Stefan. The injury. Why didn’t she dance anymore? Saying it aloud did make the ban sound silly. She loved music, and it was only natural to move, to embrace music fully, to let it flow through her.

The answer was simple enough. She didn’t dance because she was always afraid someone would drop her again.

Tuck walked her home, which made sense since they were neighbors. It was a pleasant night, for December. Chilly, but not cold. Their street was quiet, peaceful, so unlike her own neighborhood. Tonight she even liked the Christmas tree lights that twinkled in other neighbors’ windows.

She was only a little annoyed that he’d slipped his credit card to the waiter while she’d been distracted. It was a nice gesture. She’d return the favor at some point while she was in town.

Her new friend didn’t turn and wave when they reached his house; he stayed beside her, escorting her all the way home. He even walked up the steps to the front door and stood there while she fished the key out of her purse and unlocked the door. Then she turned to face him, intending to offer a simple thanks.

“If this was a date, I’d kiss you good night,” he said.

Her stomach fluttered. She did not have time for butterflies! “Good thing it wasn’t a date, then.”

He didn’t move in, but he didn’t turn away, either. “Is it though? Is it a good thing?”

“Friends, right?” she whispered.

“I already have plenty of friends.”

That simple statement made Olive hold her breath for a long second. He wanted more. So did she, though she was reluctant to admit it even to herself. She could lean in and up and kiss him, but she waited too long.

“Good night, Olive,” he said as he turned and walked away.

The moment was gone before she even realized it was a moment.

Tuck glancedat Olive’s house as he cranked up his truck and headed out. She’d already be at the boutique. He’d stop by Dawn’s Radiance this afternoon and pick up the scarves he’d bought, maybe ask her to dinner again. Before that he had work to do at The Magnolia. Running a bar was more than playing bartender when he felt like it. It was ordering, remodeling, paperwork, maintenance, organizing entertainment, managing his handful of employees, cleaning when the housekeeping crew didn’t do a good job of it. There was always something.

He liked Olive; he’d thought about her all night. There might’ve even been a dream that had faded as he’d come fully awake. She was different from the other women he’d dated in the past few years. Even though she’d insisted last night wasn’t a date, it had sure felt like one.

In the past three or four years he’d met a few women in The Magnolia and had started relationships that didn’t go anywhere. He’d bet his last dollar Olive had never set foot in a bar like his. She was quiet most of the time, almost reserved. It was unlikely she’d ask him out to dinner, or for anything else. Olive Carson wasn’t one to make the first move. She was a stubborn “I can do it myself” person, through and through.

She wouldn’t be here long. When Christmas was over, she’d be gone. Obsessing about her was stupid. He should know better. It was a waste of time to think about a kiss, a dance, and to be honest a whole lot more.