Grateful in Watch Hill : A Small Town Romance, Sara Celi [good beach reads .TXT] 📗

“Thanks. Nancy. That is high praise, and I’m humbled you think that.”

I remembered how excited I’d been to have a three-minute solo in the middle of that show, and how I’d taken that as a signal I was being looked at seriously by the directors and administrative staff. The offer to become a featured principal dancer came a few weeks after the New Works closed, having sold out every one of its performances. That had been the moment—the opportunity I had waited for years to materialize.

But that was then.

“It was a fun show,” I added, now face-to-face with another opportunity I desperately wanted. “Great memories.”

“I want you to develop something like that for our company here. I’d like you to direct it.”

I recoiled. I might have expected something like that, but hearing it come out of Nancy’s mouth was far different than thinking it in my head. “Really?”

She nodded. “Let’s have a seat, Kendra, so that we can discuss this further.”

The woman who held my future in her hand led me to a small table and two chairs in the far corner of the practice space. She offered me the seat facing the open space, then took the chair on the opposite. I wanted to scream with excitement. Nancy Smith was offering me a dream job. This is incredible.

“Would you like something to drink? I can have the staff bring us something.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, even though my throat grew drier by the second. I didn’t want anything to distract me from the conversation we were about to have. “Just thinking about the idea of having a modern dance team as part of the company here.”

“I think we can do it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the open space. “I’ve thought about doing this for years, but I put it off because our investors and board wanted to focus on classical ballet.” Nancy leaned across the table and gave me a conspiratorial smile. “But now that things have changed, I was able to get what I wanted.”

“And if I was to sign on to do this, how would it work?”

Her grin grew wider. “I was hoping that you’d ask that.”

Over the next half hour or so, she launched her pitch. This would be a full-time position, with benefits, and pay about fifty thousand dollars a year. There would be a chance for bonuses if enrollment in the modern dance academy grew past a certain metric, and extra incentives for success at competitions. Nancy expected the company to perform at least one showcase a year, with “room for more” if the public desired it.

“I feel like I’ve put together a generous offer,” she said at the end. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I feel that someone like you at the helm is exactly what we need to start off this program.”

I stared at her for a few seconds, my thoughts spinning as I processed what Nancy had just outlined. Here it was, finally, a break in all the sadness, and it felt even better than I’d imagined it would. Fifty thousand wasn’t going to make me rich by any means, but the steady salary and accompanying benefits would go far in making it feel like I wasn’t sinking into an abyss. I can probably get my dad on my health insurance too. And pay off a bunch of bills . . . Plus, I’d be doing what I loved. Dance would be part of my life. Not in the way that I envisioned, no, but still in some way.

That was a blessing. Dad is going to be so excited about this.

“I know we’ll need to work out some details,” I managed. “But I like what I’m hearing. This sounds like a fantastic opportunity.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept the job?”

I nodded. “With pleasure.”

“Excellent.” She slapped the table and laughed once. “Perfect indeed. This is great news, and I feel like we should get out the champagne.”

“Maybe so.” I took a deep breath and my shoulders relaxed a bit more. I walked into Nancy’s studio one way, but I would walk out another. Everything had changed. Everything. “That might be nice.”

She studied me. “I knew Seth Sampson was onto something when he called. He always has good intuition.”

“Excuse me?” I cocked my head at the sound of Seth’s name. Those were two of the last words I’d expected to come out of her mouth. What in the world does Seth Sampson have to do with any of this? “What did you say?”

EIGHTSETH

“How was the rest of your weekend?” I asked Kyle when I arrived at Watch Hill Pizza on Tuesday afternoon. After a few days away, he looked refreshed and well-rested for the first time since I’d started helping with the place. He was in the kitchen making a large pizza for one of the lunch orders. I hadn’t planned to work that day until the dinner rush, but he’d called me about a half hour before and begged me to come in early.

“Great? Yours?”

“It was nice.” I bit back my glee. “Simple.”

“Sometimes that’s the best kind.”

I left my jacket on the row of hooks in the office and tied a fresh apron around my waist. “Let me take care of those,” I said as I approached the sink near the prep station. I ran my hands under the faucet and scrubbed my fingers with the industrial grade soap on the ledge. “Then you can take care of the front.”

“Thanks, man.” Kyle finished placing pepperoni slices atop the sauce that covered the dough. “Did you see Tyler staining the wood outside? We’re almost done.”

“The patio looks fantastic. I think a lot of people will come to the opening.”

“I hope so. You should be proud; we got it done because of you.”

I held up my drying hands in mock protest. “I’m just the ideas guy.”

“Everyone needs somebody like that.”

I crossed the kitchen and took the pizza pan handle. “Does this one