Dancing with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 2) Read online

  He hadn’t really even looked at another woman since Paige, but the moment he walked into the dance studio and Mira’s dance teacher, Mitch’s sister, smiled at him, something he thought he’d never feel again was resurrected inside him. He couldn’t get the woman out of his head. Couldn’t stop watching her.

  He’d been hesitant to leave the studio, and Violet had taken it that he was reluctant to leave Mira. No. He left Mira at preschool every day. He was reluctant to leave Violet. He wanted to watch her dance.

  Adam loved to dance. Something he could credit his grandmother for.

  He was still focused on Violet and the way her body spun around the dance floor. It was if she had been born with music in her veins. Her movements were so fluid, so graceful, so … peaceful. As if she were tormented by something and the only way she could find peace was to dance. She danced as if her life, her soul, her sanity depended on it. And the children just watched in awe. Adam watched in awe.

  “You from Seattle?” Mitch’s voice brought him back to the now.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What? Oh, uh, no. Not originally. I hail from South Carolina. You?”

  Mitch nodded. “Born and raised, then moved away to Arizona. Met the love of my life while away on a photo shoot for a wildlife magazine. Moved there to be with her.”

  “What brought you back to Seattle?”

  Mitch’s face grew dark. “She passed away. So I moved Jayda back to Seattle to be closer to family. Vi moved back too, so we bought a house together. She’s helping me raise Jayda.”

  “Oh shit. I’m really sorry.”

  Mitch simply nodded. “Thanks. It’s been just over a year since Melissa passed away. We’ve been here nine months. Vi’s been back for just over a year. She lost her partner, Jean-Phillipe, shortly before I lost Melissa.”

  “Her dance partner?”

  He nodded. “Dance partner. Life partner. They found a tumor in his spine, and he died on the operating table.”

  Oh fuck.

  “Melissa was in a car accident.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “And then our father passed away six months ago from complications with pneumonia.”

  Motherfucking universe. Hit a family while they’re already down. What the hell?

  Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry. For all of you. My parents were killed in a car accident too. Happened when I was seven and my brother was four.”

  Mitch turned to face him. He was trying very hard to keep his shit together. A thick vein pulsed in his temple, and his jaw was iron-tight. “Sorry, man. That really sucks. Who raised you?”

  “My mother’s parents.”

  Mitch’s head bobbed, and he took a sip of his coffee. They sat there for a few minutes, not saying anything. Adam had shared a lot with this complete stranger, but for some weird reason, he didn’t feel like a stranger. Mitch had shared a lot too. Maybe that was why? He was a single father, just like Adam, raising a daughter. They weren’t strangers at all. They were brothers. He hardly knew the guy, but he seemed like a good dude. Like the kind of guy Adam could have a beer with, the kind of guy that enjoyed a Saturday night with the boys, cigars, liquor and gambling. Liam said he could invite whomever he wanted, and their host was always looking for a new and willing person to fleece out of his hard-earned money.

  Adam cleared his throat. “So uh, listen. I belong to a group of guys, a club really. We’re just a bunch of single dads that get together every Saturday night for poker. Sometimes we have other barbecues or parties, playdates with the kids when we can, but without fail, every Saturday night is poker night. You interested?”

  Mitch eyed him curiously. “Where?”

  “I can text you the address. Liam Dixon is one of the dads. He’s a divorce lawyer, and after seeing how unfairly dads can be treated by their ex-wives and the judicial system, and the fact that there really isn’t much support out there for single dads, he started this group. He’s represented a few of us, but we’re not allowed to join the club until he’s no longer our attorney. Others he just meets and invites in. We can invite whoever we want, so long as they’re a single dad.”

  Mitch stroked his chin. “Vi teaches until five o’clock on Saturdays. Then she could watch Jayda. What time?”

  Adam smiled. “Seven.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. So poker? Like for real money?”

  Adam watched as all the kids did jetés across the floor. “For real money.”

  Violet glanced back at the mirror and smiled, her gold-green cat eyes intense and bright. He knew she couldn’t see him, but the way she looked directly into the mirror, the sweet, almost coy smile that crossed her face made him think she was smiling directly at him.

  He smiled back.

  “You know she can’t see you, right?” Mitch said, a weird tone to his voice. He seemed both entertained but also mildly irritated. And there was definitely a protective older brother edge there too.

  Adam chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Mitch gave him the side-eye. “Riiiight.”

  Thunder filled the dance studio as the feet of nearly a dozen children pounded on the floor toward the exit door, all them with stickers on their hands for a job well done. All of them except for Mira.

  “Miss Violet?” her little voice asked, not an ounce of hesitation or shyness in her tone.

  Violet turned around from where she’d been switching off the music. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Thank you for dance class and the stickers.”

  Violet’s heart melted. This little girl was so sweet, and she’d tried her hardest in class, watching Violet and Jayda with such focus and mimicking their movements as best she could. She was a born performer.

  “You’re welcome, honey. Did you have fun?”

  Mira nodded. “I love dance.”

  “I can tell. You did a wonderful job. Do you practice at home?”

  “Yep. With my daddy. He used to dance too.”

  Violet glanced up as heavier, bigger, manlier footsteps drew near. Sure enough, there was Mira’s father. She felt her pulse begin to race and her nipples harden to tight points. His eyes flicked down to her breasts, where her bodysuit was most likely leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  He averted his eyes when he caught her watching him. “Mira, baby. We need to get going.”

  She took a few steps back and reached for him. “I told Miss Violet that you used to dance.”

  His cheeks grew a sexy ruddy color beneath his scruff. He ran his hand over the back of Mira’s chestnut-colored hair. “That was a long time ago.” He thrust his hand forward. “By the way, I’m Adam, Mira’s dad.”

  She shook his hand. It was big and warm and slightly calloused.

  She wasn’t ready to let go, but when he went to pull away, she let him.

  So he danced?

  Intriguing.

  Sure, there were lots of men in the dancing industry, not nearly as many as there were women, but she was always interested to hear the story of how a man fell in love with dance. Or whether he loved it at all or was forced into it by a mother who always wanted a daughter. She heard a lot of those stories too.

  “What kind of dancing did you do?” she asked, wanting to know more, not wanting them, him to leave just yet.

  He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “Mostly ballroom. I was raised by my grandparents, and they were both avid ballroom dancers. But after my grandfather lost his leg from diabetes, he couldn’t dance with my grandmother anymore. So I took over.”

  Could this man get any more adorable? A man who loved his grandmother.

  Swoon.

  “Did a bit of dancing in college too.” He made a face that said it was no big deal, but his laughter was forced, as though he would prefer to change the subject. “But those were mainly electives. Classes I didn’t have any homework for, as my course load was huge and heavy.”

  Violet chuckled.
“What did you study?”

  “Daddy’s a doctor,” Mira piped up.

  “I’m a biology professor,” Adam corrected. “But yes, I am technically a doctor. Not a cut-you-open-and-sew-you-up kind of doctor though. More like a sit-in-front-of-a-computer-or-microscope-all-day-and-analyze-data kind of doctor.”

  Violet smiled. The sounds of her next class—the older children—arriving flooded into the studio. Adam twisted around at the noise before swiveling his big frame back around and pinning his blue eyes on Violet. “Mira, baby, we need to get going. I have to swing by the grocery store on the way home.”

  “Are you registered for the one-day-a-week or the two-days-a-week class?” Violet asked, hoping that she would get to see them again on Thursday and not have to wait until next Tuesday.

  “One day,” he replied.

  Her heart fell.

  Mira tugged on his hand. “Can I do two days a week, Daddy?”

  Adam glanced down at his daughter with a look of mild impatience. “Don’t you want to make sure you love it before you commit to an extra day a week?”

  She shook her head. “But I do love it, Daddy. I looooove dance. I’m going to be a ballerina just like Miss Violet.”

  “There’s still space in the Thursday class,” Violet said, hoping she wasn’t overstepping but hoping even more that Mira browbeat him into signing her up for another day. “And Jayda is in that class as well. You seemed to really get along with her.”

  Mira bounced up and down on her toes. “I really like Jayda. She’s six and I’m four and half, but we’re still friends.”

  Ah shit. Violet should have sent Mira to the waiting room and brought up the additional class with Adam alone. Out of the little girl’s earshot. Now if he had to say no, he was going to be the bad guy. And she was going to feel like crap. She should know better. She and Mitch did this with Jayda all the time.

  She held her breath.

  Adam let out an exhale, his broad shoulders slumping just slightly, but his smile was full of love as he gazed down at his daughter. “All right. If you loooove dance so much, I suppose we can go and sign you up for Thursdays as well.”

  Mira squealed and hugged her father’s leg. “Thank you.”

  He lifted his head and smiled back at Violet. “I guess we’ll be seeing you on Thursdays as well.”

  Her heart made a heavy thump thump in her chest. “I guess you will.”

  3

  It was Thursday, and beginner ballet/jazz started in five minutes. Violet preened herself in the mirror in the office, tucking her long, sandy-blonde hair neatly into its high ballerina bun and smoothing down the flyaways.

  She normally didn’t wear much makeup, but today she’d put on a bit of mascara and some blush. Her tinted lip gloss was buried in with her pens and pencils, but she managed to find it and quickly slathered some on.

  “My, don’t you look pretty,” Kathleen said with a giggle, sitting back down behind her desk. “Special occasion?”

  Violet grinned at herself in the mirror and then at Kathleen. She was about to say something akin to “I just want to look nice” when she caught a glimpse of Jean-Phillipe’s photo and his handsome smiling face.

  Her smile fell, and she wiped off the lip gloss with the back of her hand.

  “What was that about?” Kathleen asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

  Violet’s heart hurt. “Nothing.”

  The front door chimed, and the sound of little dancers and their parents filled the studio once again.

  “Miss Violet, Miss Violet!” Mira ran up to her, a small bouquet of tulips in her hand. “These are for you.” She thrust the bright orange flowers into Violet’s hand, her smile and eyes wide and hopeful.

  Violet bent down and took them from Mira. “Thank you, Mira. They’re beautiful. What are these for?”

  Adam came up behind his daughter. “She saw them as we were standing at the grocery store checkout a moment ago and had to get them for you.” His smile was almost bashful, but there was also a twinkle of something roguish there too. Had it been all Mira’s idea to buy Violet the flowers? Or had Adam prompted her at all?

  She stood back up and clutched them to her chest. “Well, thank you very much”—her eyes fell on Adam’s—“both of you. They’ll look lovely in my kitchen.”

  Mira positively beamed. “I’m so excited to be doing dance two days a week.”

  “I’m excited too. Now I get to see you more, and we get to see all your wonderful dance moves twice as often.”

  The little girl giggled as she sat down on the floor and pulled off her shoes.

  “Hey, sis.” Mitch and Jayda came around the corner. Jayda’s eyes lit up the moment she spotted Mira. Mitch and Adam nodded at each other, and Jayda slid down onto the floor next to Mira, the two of them giggling and chatting away like long-time friends as they pulled on their ballet slippers.

  It was crazy how easily children made friends. Violet wasn’t nearly as lucky. She’d always been on the shier side. Shrinking Violet, her mother had called her. A wallflower. Until she found the love of dance, that is. Then she was a performer. As long as she couldn’t see the audience and was blinded by the light, entranced by the music and focused on her partner, Violet could perform for a theater of thousands and not feel nervous at all.

  She and Jean-Phillipe had done just that. They met their first year in the prestigious Marie-Claude Rousseau Dance Company in New York City. Jean-Phillipe, originally from Quebec, was fresh out of Julliard, and Violet had just graduated from the Pacific Northwest School of Dance and Art. They were made partners and, within a month, had fallen madly in love and were living together and making headlines in all the newspapers. Papers and websites all along the eastern seaboard raved over how riveting their performances were, how convincing their romance and chemistry were on stage, and how the world hadn’t seen a pair on stage so in tune and in sync with each other in decades.

  For six years, Violet and Jean-Phillipe danced for the Marie-Claude Rousseau Dance Company, headlining the shows and eventually becoming directors and scouts themselves. Then Jean-Phillipe began to experience pain in his back. They took him to the chiropractor, the physiotherapist and for acupuncture. You name it, he tried it all. It wasn’t until he was in so much pain he could no longer sleep, walk or sit without being on heavy painkillers that his doctor finally sent him for an MRI. That’s when they found it, a malignant tumor growing at the base of his spine.

  From there, life just became a series of doctors’ appointments and referrals, tests, tests and more tests. They had to stop performing, directing and scouting out new talent. Everything in their world, in their lives, was now focused on Jean-Phillipe and the tumor. It was as if there were suddenly three people in their relationship: Violet, Jean-Phillipe and the tumor.

  Violet hated the tumor. She’d never liked the idea of a threesome.

  They tried radiation and chemotherapy, but neither of them proved to be very effective. Surgery was their best option, but then the risk of paralysis loomed over their heads. It was the most difficult decision they ever made, and it had taken tears and begging, with Violet down on her knees at Jean-Phillipe’s feet, to get him to finally agree to the surgery.

  “I’d rather have you in a wheelchair for the rest of our lives than not have you at all. You can still scout, teach and direct. You can still do a lot. But if you don’t get the surgery, we may lose you altogether.”

  “But I am not me if I cannot dance,” he said, wincing from the pain as he hinged forward in his chair and cupped her cheek. “If I cannot dance with you. It would kill me to watch you dance with another man. To see his hands on you, see him looking in your eyes on stage the way I look at you. Without you in my arms, on the dance floor, I am dead already.”

  Eventually, the pain became so unbearable that Jean-Phillipe agreed to the surgery. But when they got in there, they found that the cancer had started to spread and the tumor was stuck to so much of his spine, the chance of him ev
er regaining mobility in his legs was practically zero.

  Complications arose from the lengthy, difficult surgery, and in the end, they were unable to get him stable, unable to revive him.

  He died on the table.

  Violet would remember that day, that moment, for the rest of her life. Her soul shattered. Her heart had been ripped from her chest, and her love of dance fell away like the petals of a flower in the fall.

  When they were preparing for Jean-Phillipe’s surgery, they’d begun to talk about what they would do once he recovered. They needed to talk about the future. Make plans, have goals. Otherwise he slipped into a dark place that Violet struggled to get him out of. They decided that once he recovered, they would leave New York, leave the company and move out west to where Violet grew up to open up a dance studio and their own school. She would teach and he would direct, hire and run the business side of things.

  They had enough money squirreled away to rent a decent-size space, and if they lived modestly in a studio apartment for the first few years, they could make their money stretch until the business took off and they started bringing in a profit. They might have to take out a small loan, but Jean-Phillipe figured he could take some bookkeeping courses and save them some money by doing all the grunt work himself.

  It was the only thing keeping them going. The dream of opening up their own studio and company. But all those dreams disappeared the moment the doctor came out of the OR, his eyes tired and his face somber.

  Violet lost her heart that day. And hearts don’t grow back.

  “You mind watching Jayda on Saturday night after work?”

  Snap snap.

  “Earth to Vi.”

  Snap snap.

  A hand on her shoulder gently shaking her finally brought her out of the painful memories. Mitch was looking at her, his green eyes, the same shade as hers, full of concern. “You okay?”