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It’s not my heart that’s preoccupied with Duke York’s hot body. But that’s not a suitable response, so I hum noncommittally and change the subject. “When does your dialysis start?”
Lily allows the switched topic, and we discuss her treatments and what the doctors have said. When I leave, I promise to drive her to her first appointment tomorrow. She agrees.
“Oh,” I say, as I am heading for the door. “Would you mind if I borrow some of the kids’ books from storage? I’m trying to get a feeling for what Tabby enjoys reading.”
Lily smiles. “No one else is reading them right now.”
As I drive home, I consider what Lily said. Sure, the heart doesn’t always listen. But the head decides, and common sense says all there can be between Duke and me is a friendly working relationship.
Harry Styles’s “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” blares from the speakers in the kitchen. Next to me, Tabby stands on one of the dining room chairs, her hands covered in flour. For dinner tonight, I’m showing Tabby how to make homemade pasta. It also serves as a stealthy way to observe how she reads and works with numbers from the recipe. But we’re having so much fun, I don’t think she realizes I’m quizzing her.
I throw my head back and sing along. “Baaaa, ba ba…” The whole time, I wiggle my butt, stirring the meatballs, checking the pasta water, and dancing along at the same time. When I shimmy back to Tabby, she’s all skepticism. “What?”
“You know you’re not a good singer, right?” She says, her eyes narrowed.
I sputter a laugh. “I’m not?” Pressing a hand to my chest, I stare at her wide-eyed. “Seriously?” She shakes her head, and I crack up. I know I’m tone deaf. That’s never stopped me from singing. I figure that if the powers that be gave me this voice, they deserve to hear it.
“You can’t dance either, June,” she tells me matter of fact, squishing her hands into the pasta dough. “You are way offbeat.”
This is something else I am aware of. I love music, but dancing isn’t one of my skills. Like with sports and other physical activities, I’ve never had natural grace. Still, I love the way the beats feel in my body, so I move anyway.
She hops down off the chair, and I say nothing when she wipes her hands on her shirt. She started this conversation, and she’s talking to me willingly. I’m taking the win. “Let me show you a few things.”
Shaking my head, I hold up my hands. “Oh, hon, trust me. People have tried to teach me. I’m a hopeless case.”
“Daddy says you can do anything with enough practice.” That sounds exactly like something a professional athlete might say, even though my guess is he was born with at least some—if not a lot—of natural talent. “All you need is the right teacher.”
I resist the urge to grin at her. She sounds adorable parroting her father. “Maybe that’s it then. So… show me what you’ve got, kid.”
While the pasta dough rests, Tabby tries to explain a step-ball-change move to me. I do my best—truly I do—but though she’s light on her feet and unfailingly patient, I just can’t get it.
“Is this what you’re learning at dance class, Tabby Cat?” Duke’s voice surprises me, and I almost trip myself in the middle of another failed dance step attempt. I’m pleased when I stay upright. Duke leans against the door to the kitchen. He looks comfy, and I don’t know how long he’s witnessed my flailing. “You are an excellent teacher.”
His daughter sighs. “I’m not sure, Daddy. She’s still really terrible.”
I laugh, but then Duke’s eyes find mine. Once again, that unfamiliar flutter reaches through my stomach. He’s my boss, though, and I’m certain that stomach tingles are an unprofessional reaction to my employer.
Focus on friendship.
Nervously, I swipe the stray hair around my face behind my ears and laugh. “My terribleness has nothing to do with the teacher and everything to do with the student.”
He motions toward the speakers. “What are we listening to?”
“Harry Styles, Dad.” Tabby’s voice implies a duh at the end. The sushi restaurant song has ended, and now Styles is singing about watermelons. “June let me pick.”
“Did she?” He lifts his eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “I like Harry too.”
“Harry, is it?”
“We could be on a first-name basis. You don’t know. Harry and I could be friends.”
He barks out a laugh, and the effect on his face steals my breath. If Duke is appealing when he’s broody, he’s irresistible when he smiles.
“Maybe you should help her, Dad.” Tabby steps to the side and waves her father toward me. “You’re a good dancer. Maybe she just needs another teacher.”
My gaze darts to Duke. “Oh no. I don’t think so.” I sound panicked because I am. When Duke came into the kitchen, his face was neutral, almost like everything was normal. Like we’re friends. But nothing could derail that faster than having him put his hands on me.
