“Well, the rental agreement is in my name, but you have it through the end of June.”
“You rented me a dance studio?” My voice cracks, and my eyes start to water.
“You were stressed. I wanted to make it easier for you,” he says gently.
Tears spill over and track down my cheeks.
Flip frowns and brushes them away. “Is it too much, Talls?”
“No. I mean, yes, but…” I shake my head and bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “No one has ever done anything this nice for me.” Flowers and stuffed animals and chocolate are one thing, but an entire dance studio? “This is really expensive.”
“I make a lot of money, and I still shop at the no-name grocery stores, so it’s well within my budget. More importantly, I want to take care of you.”
“Thank you.” I throw my arms around his neck. “This is just…thank you.” I’m already planning out a schedule. My troupe will have loads of time to practice together and on our own and some of the other groups that are struggling could use this space, too.
“You’re welcome.” He winds his arms around my waist, and hugs me tightly. “Get used to being spoiled because I plan to do it a lot.”
“Charles and Arya will be so relieved.” I lean back, fingers slipping through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for this.”
“I have an idea.” His eyebrow quirks, along with the corner of his mouth.
I mirror his expression. “It’s probably not the same as mine.”
He laughs and kisses the end of my nose. “Dance for me.”
“Definitely not the same idea as mine,” I joke.
“Just for me.” He fingers an errant curl, his smile making my stomach twist in the most delicious way.
“Just you,” I breathe.
His eyes darken. “Mm. Yes, please.”
“Only if there’s a cherry on top.” I do the wave with my eyebrows.
His grin turns devilish. “You’re a problem, you know that?”
“But I’m a cute problem.” I love that I don’t have to guard myself with him. I can make jokes, and we can flirt and have fun, and I don’t have to worry about his motives.
I spin out of his arms, already filtering through potential songs and routines. I know just the one; it’s basically mine and Mac’s theme song.
I turn on the rest of the lights, looking over the entire space for the first time. The floors are beautiful, bleached wood, the walls mirrored, and there’s even a warm-up barre that spans two walls.
Flip turns on the sound system while I shed my coat and sweater and dig my dance shoes out of my bag. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, then grab a folding chair from the corner and set it in the middle of the room.
Flip holds up his phone. “What’s the chair for, kitten?”
“So I can entertain you.” I pat the seat.
He snaps a photo and tucks it back in his pocket, regarding me with curiosity as he drops into the chair. I hand him the remote. “I’ll tell you when.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
I move into position on the opposite side of the room and call over my shoulder, “You can hit play.”
The music starts, and Flip shakes his head as the song fills the room.
“Really, Talls?”
