Mrs. Kerns sighed impatiently. “Very funny, young man. You will not be wearing a snake. I believe you meant a featheredboa. Make sure your pants aren’t too tight, or they’ll split when you’re swinging Bellini around.”
“Got it.” He glanced at me. “I do not want my tight pants to split while I’m swinging Bellini around.”
I laughed. “That would make my night glorious. Unforgettable.”
Mrs. Kerns threw her hands in the air. “Are you two ready for another rehearsal, or do you want to stand around and giggle giggle giggle, exactly as you did in high school?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we both said, back to being quite serious.
No smiling! No giggling! We did not like getting in trouble with Mrs. Kerns!
“Ready?” she snapped. No nonsense, get in line, pay attention,be serious!
We weren’t ready. Our bodies ached from our hours of being wrangled and mangled here three days ago. But we didn’t have a choice.
Mrs. Kerns said in her staccato voice, “Prepare your form… Arms up… Oh for heaven’s sake, Logan! You are not a waterbuffalo, so don’t dance like it. Bellini, move, move your body! With grace, not clumsiness. Point. Your. Toes!”
That night, after another body-wrenching dance lesson, Logan and I left the torture studio and drove toward downtown so I could pick up my truck at the bar. I had gotten to the bar at eleven that morning. I had more work to do tonight at home with the bar’s books, and the thought of that was dispiriting. I definitely needed more Christmas spirit, not more accounting.
The houses in Kalulell were ready to go for Christmas. Almost every single one was decorated with lights, Santa Clauses, Rudolph, and more reindeer. Some of the displays were over the top, and Logan pulled over so we could enjoy the decor. We had a “choose your top three” vote to determine which houses were the most Christmassy.
“Want to see my office so you can see where the stage and the catwalk will be for the show?”
“Sure. Yes. My mom told me all about it, as she’s been there before, as you obviously know, and I know the building you’re in and how big it is—it’s huge—but I should have seen the inside before now. With running the bar and Mom and, well, dance lessons that make me feel like I’ve been hung upside down for a week, I’ve been a little busy.”
“And up until recently, you’ve been busy avoiding me.” His smile was so handsome, the lines fanning out from his eyes, the shadows from the streetlights flashing over the hard planes of his cheeks.
“Yes. That took up a lot of time, too. Avoiding you clearly didn’t work, despite my best efforts.”
“Glad you’re not avoiding me now?”
“Maybe.”
“Ah, maybe. But I’ve been trying to be charming.”
“Oh, you’re charming, and I curse you for it.”
“Curse me? That sounds dangerous. Are you part witch now? I’ll try not to be so charming.”
“Thank you. No more charm from you.” This was one of our problems. We always talked like this. Joking. Bantering. Chatting about nothing and serious talks about everything.
We parked right in front of his building. I appreciated that it was well over a hundred years old and had such history. It was solid, well cared for, the original architecture intact. The bakery and bookstore on the first floor were perfect.
We headed toward the doors. I was impressed by the sign, Hamilton Architecture. “Who do you rent the building from?”
“I own the building.”
“The whole building?”
“Yes. When I rented the second floor when I first came back to Kalulell, I put up a wall, added a bathroom, and lived in half of it. I wanted to make sure there was enough work for me here. Then, when we got more clients, and I had employees, I took down the wall and rented the third floor. A year later I bought the building from Clarence Bellingham. I rent the lower floor to the bookstore and the bakery.”
We climbed the steps, and he unlocked the door to the second floor.
“Wow! Oh, my goodness!” I walked around his office. “Wow!” I said again.
It was modern, open, all desks and tables in the center. He had remodeled it—he was an architect and builder after all—but it had done nothing to diminish the original splendor of the old building. The old posts, dinged and chipped, still held up the next floor. The wood floors had been sanded and shined up, but they were still the original hundred-year-old-plus wood floors. The windows, during the day, would flood the room with light. Antiques here and there and bookshelves holding old books gave it a homey feel. Leather couches facing each other over a coffeetable and comfy chairs in a circle created solid, but friendly, working spaces.
“It’s incredible, Logan.”
