Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“From start to finish, probably two years,” Connor says, and Bee slowly shakes her head. “It’s a big resort, and it’s going to be top of the line in luxury.”
“Two years,” Billie whispers, then takes a breath.
Connor’s gaze finds hers and narrows. Billie shifts back and forth on her feet, bites her lip, and finally tears her gaze from his. There’s so much sexual chemistry you could cut it with a knife.
But Billie finally scowls, shakes her head, and turns to me. “Give me a job. What can I do?”
I quickly glance around. “You can make the salad.”
“Done.”
Connor looks like he wants to say something, but he firms his jaw and remains unusually quiet. Gods, this could be a tricky situation.
And I’m here for it.
I notice that the group in the kitchen nook is still chattering away and that dinner is just about ready, so I let it go. But I wish I knew what was happening between them.
“It only took a month for my feet to callous up a bit and my body to remember how to do this correctly.” I have Riley on his leash, and Mik and I are walking down the footpath, away from my studio and toward the coffee shop. We decided to end rehearsal early and take a walk in the sunshine.
Spring has exploded in Montana, and it’s the loveliest thing. It reminds me of Ireland, with the greenest trees, flowers spilling out of baskets, and air so fragrant, I can’t get enough of it.
“Hey, Skyla,” Jackie, the owner of The Sugar Studio, says with a wave as we walk past her.
“It’s a lovely day, Jackie,” I reply with a smile.
“You’ve become part of this community,” Mik says quietly.
“Aye, I have. And I love it, Mik.”
“But, malishka, you are wasting your talent here. Now that you’re back in shape and no longer rusty, you are as good as you were before. Maybe stronger. You should come back and dance with me.”
“I love you.” I take his hand and hold on tight. “And I will always love you, Mik, but my life is here now. I love these people and the mountains, and I enjoy my wee studio. Even you said yourself that my kids’ classes are fun.”
“They’re tolerable,” he grumbles.
“Your exact words were ‘This is more fun than I thought it would be.’ See? Fun.”
I wave back at Polly, who’s stepped out to write something on her wee board in front of her shop.
Mik halts me, and Riley comes to a stop at my hip. Mik takes my shoulders in his hands.
“I love you, too, my malishka. I am selfish, and I know this. But I miss you. No one dances with me like you do. No one ever will. This one performance won’t be enough for me.”
“I know.” He takes my face in his hands, and I lean into him. “I know, my sweet Russian. And it’s sorry I am that I left you, especially in the way that it happened. We both deserved so much better. I miss you, too. Every day, and I’m not lying about that, Mik.”
His eyes, those beautiful eyes, are full of torment as he watches me.
“But you’re not going to come back to me.”
“No.” It’s a whisper, and I clear my throat. “I can’t. This is my home now. Maybe, one day, when you’ve retired, you and Benji could live here.”
“I hate snow,” he says.
“But you love me, and I’m your family.”
He huffs out a breath and leans in to kiss my forehead. “Benji loves it here. And I’ve grown fond of the Blackwells, too. They’re good people. Your Beckett will likely marry you.”
My heart jolts at that thought, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face.
“I’d like that.”
“You are so special, malishka, and not just for your dancing. Although I’ve never seen another dancer like you.”
I can’t hold the tears that drip onto my cheeks.
“But because of your heart. Your sweetness. You make me a better person because you’re my best friend. So because I love you, I will consider moving to the frozen Siberia of North America when I finish my dance and am one hundred years old.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around him, hugging him close. “Good. In the meantime, you can visit me between projects.”
“Yes, yes. Now, buy me coffee.”
With his hand in mine once more, we walk into the coffee shop, but rather than walk up to the counter, Mik leads me through the archway that leads to Billie’s Books.
“I thought you wanted coff—” I cut off, stunned. Mik and I stand side by side, and finally, I snort. “Hey, Benji.”
Mik’s husband blinks behind his glasses. He has a pen clenched in his teeth. His blond hair stands on end as if he’s run his fingers through it a million times. But the best part is the array of mostly empty drinks sitting before him on the small table. There are seven of them—some were iced coffees, some were hot. There’s a bottle of water and an empty cup, aside from the teabag in the bottom.