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

something to do, some hustle to partake in to make sure the little security we had left stayed intact.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I called to Dad as I zipped up my jacket. “I don’t think I’ll be gone long, but you never know.”

“Hopefully, you’ll get a lot of orders.”

He’d taken to saying that almost every time I left the house. I wondered if he considered it a sort of good-luck chant.

“People are still ordering in, even though things are more open now. They like the convenience of it, and some of the other contractors don’t like to work on Sunday mornings. They say it’s not worth their time.”

“Any chance to make a buck is worth your time.”

“Exactly.”

I slung my tote bag over my shoulder. It was French, and made of a soft, buttery leather that complemented the gold hardware detailing. I remembered buying it in NYC right after American Dance Company announced me as a principal—it had been a reward for all the hard work I’d put in to make it that far. At the time, I’d barely noticed the $400 price tag, but now it seemed like such a stupid indulgence, a relic of a careless and carefree life that I’d never lead again.

“I’ll text you if I get held up,” I told Dad before I slipped out the back door.

I logged on to the app moments later, but my suspicions were correct. In three hours, I only made four deliveries, and all of them for orders that amounted to less than twenty dollars. It ended up mainly being a mindless morning spent roaming the streets around the outskirts of Cincinnati while listening to the weekly pop-chart countdown on the radio.

And then a text hit my phone around noon.

The incoming message caused the FoodSwap app to crash, and I ripped the phone off its charger to see what had happened.

A message from Nancy Smith awaited me.

I couldn’t open it fast enough. Nancy Smith was one of the best-known dancers in the region, and she ran a large dance studio in Cincinnati’s Hyde Park. She started it after retiring from the Cincinnati Ballet, and the students who came out of her studio often went on to some of the country’s most elite programs. I would have loved to attend her school during my childhood and teenager years, but we couldn’t afford the tuition.

How did I wind up on her radar? 

I didn’t have any clue.

Kendra, I’m looking to expand the hip-hop and modern dance programs at my studio in the coming weeks now that people are reopening, and I was hoping to discuss the idea with you. I came across your contact information in your résumé, and I wondered if you’d be kind enough to send along the rest of your credentials, as well as more about your time in New York. Best—Nancy Smith

Excitement and anticipation pulsed through me when I finished the message. Here it was—the chance I’d been waiting for these last few months, an opportunity that looked more like the sunrise after a long, dark night.

Could Nancy Smith and her dance studio be my way out and allow me to continue doing what I loved—while making money and building a viable future? Please, God.

After a few minutes of steeling myself, I opened the reply box and typed out a few words.

Conversation started. Couldn’t have asked for a better one.

SIXSETH

This was the closest thing to a date I’d had in months. Years, even.

Running my nightclub hadn’t given me much time for a personal life, not when my professional one was built on making sure other people enjoyed their off time with abandon. I did it well, but the nights left me exhausted with little motivation for doing anything with anyone else.

And the pandemic struck.

After closing the club, I crawled into bed for two weeks and barely come out, only doing the minimum needed to keep living. I slept for what felt like days, and while it was nice, I soon realized the depression and grief I felt over the closure of my business wasn’t healthy. I needed to get out and see people where I could, even if the lockdown and quarantine restrictions made that awkward.

Thank God for Kyle and his booming pizzeria business. He gave me the reason.

And maybe now I have another one . . .

“I’d like the Dunkel,” I told the bartender behind the counter at Sam’s Deli. It felt good and refreshing to sit on a barstool and order a drink after months of restrictions. Ohio was opening slowly, but it was opening, and people grew braver every day. “The one on tap.”

“Coming right up,” the man replied. “Should I open up a tab, or is someone joining you this evening?”

“I have a reservation for a table, and I’m waiting for someone.” That felt good to say. Another inch toward normal.

“Just tell me when you’re ready to be seated, and I can add this to your check.”

“Perfect.”

He moved away, and I focused on the newscast playing on the television hanging above a few shelves of liquor. A few more minutes, and she’ll be here. I remembered how Kendra looked the last time I saw her before the pandemic—glitter across her cheeks, a sparkly leotard and feathered headband setting off her red lips and pearly teeth. I wanted that woman back, the one who always kept my attention whenever she was inside my club.

Kendra walked into Sam’s Deli seconds after the bartender handed me the drink. She caught my gaze when she arrived at the hostess station, and with a quick nod to that woman, she crossed the room to my side. A smile pulled at her eyes. “Hi there.”

“Hi. So glad you could join me.”

Her flushed cheeks and slightly open mouth told me something was on her mind.

“Everything okay?” I added.

“Yes.” She grinned. “It’s great. For the first time in a long time, it really is.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Let’s sit at our table first.” She unbuttoned