Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“I just found out about it.”
“That’s amazing!” Excitement overshadowed my disappointment that he’d be gone all day.
Over the last nine months, demand for a custom Austin Buckley table had exploded—he had more orders than he could possibly fulfill. His tables were in shops and galleries in five different cities, including Chicago and Detroit, and this summer he was moving from the garage into a real workshop, one that had a showroom up front.
He’d have done that already, but he’d been busy last fall rehabbing Miss Edna’s School of Dance into Sutton Dance Academy. The building, just outside of town, had actually been in pretty good shape, but had needed new floors and barres, a new sound system, and a lobby remodel.
I’d started teaching classes in October, enrollment had grown steadily all year, and my summer workshops were jam-packed—I actually had waitlists. I’d hired a college student to help me out over the next couple months, and I was planning to hire one more full-time instructor in the fall.
“I’m so proud of you,” I said, my eyes misting over. “You work so hard.”
“I’m proud of you too.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “And I’m sorry I won’t be around today to celebrate us. But you’ll be right here when I get home, right?”
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
I’d moved in last fall before it got cold enough that Austin would have had to heat the garage. We’d been discussing it for a couple weeks—it seemed silly to go through all that trouble when I was spending nights in his room anyway. And even though I tried my best to sneak out at the crack of dawn so the kids wouldn’t see me, they’d totally caught me in the hallway like three times. We were trying to think of the best way to approach it with the kids when they sat us down one night and announced they thought I should move in. They even helped bring over all my stuff.
Sometimes they asked if we were going to get married, and we always said the same thing—maybe, when the time is right. But we’d been too busy getting our new businesses up and running to really give it serious thought.
When it happened, it happened. What I had now was everything I’d ever wanted.
Love. Family. Home.
I was right where I belonged.
“Owen! Adelaide! Let’s go!” I shouted up the stairs just before nine. “The teacher can’t be late!”
“Coming!” Adelaide came rushing down the steps dressed in her dance clothes, holding up a few hairpins. “Can you help me with my bun?”
“Yes. Where’s your brother?” I asked, taking the pins from her hand and sliding them into her hair.
“In the bathroom. Ouch—that one hurts.”
I readjusted the hairpin. “Shake your head. Everything secure?”
She shook her head and jumped up and down. “Yes.”
“Good. Grab your dance bag and get in the car.” I called up the stairs one last time to tell Owen to get a move on, then wrote Austin a quick text.
I miss you already. Drive safely and let me know when you get there, okay?
I added the red kiss mark emoji like I always did and hit send.
“I’m ready,” Owen said as he came down the stairs. He jumped from about the fifth one.
“Nice,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Good plié on the landing.”
Both kids had a lot of talent—Adelaide was progressing beautifully in jazz and ballet, and Owen was fantastic at hip hop and tap. I loved that I was their first dance teacher.
“Where’s Dad again today?” Adelaide asked once we were on our way to the studio.
“Delivering furniture.”
I heard giggling in the backseat and checked on them in the rearview. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” said Owen. “I, uh, made a funny face.”
But the look they exchanged had me wondering if they were up to something.
Later that afternoon, I was cooking dinner when the doorbell rang. I heard the twins’ feet clatter down the stairs and then giggling.
“Kids? Who’s at the door?” I set my spatula down on the spoon rest and turned off the heat under the pot.
“It’s a delivery man!” Adelaide shouted. “He needs you to sign something.”
I smiled. Maybe he’d sent anniversary flowers? Austin was good at surprising me and he loved doing it—small things like bringing me coffee or fudge during the day, thoughtful things like shoveling the snow at the studio or salting the parking lot, sweet things like roses for no reason, dirty things like a hot text message in the middle of the day, and big things like an October weekend in New York City so I could pick up the box of items I’d saved from my mother and see Morgan and her family.
I tried to be just as thoughtful—bringing him lunch while he was working, checking in on his dad, massaging his sore muscles (although that usually led to other things), and when I saw him getting too wound up, reminding him to take a break every once in a while. Go easier on himself.