When it’s time to start, I’m relieved the male to female ratio isn’t too bad. The class is on the large side but, luckily, we’re only short two male dancers, and the pair of college-age girls who arrived together are only too happy to dance with each other for the first go of each dance.
They’re also the youngest in the class by a good bit, so I make a few adjustments to my playlist, keeping the songs to no more than about one-hundred-eighty beats per minute. This works for both the young beginners and the older couples.
We’re into our second song, dancing the Rhumba, when I hear a shriek.
Then a crash.
“Ow! Dammit!”
Mrs. Lancaster, who is dancing with one of the regulars, whirls to face me, eyes wide. “That was David!”
Couples part to let me through. Most of the regulars spill into the foyer after me, and I open the parlor door to find my uncle flat on his back, clutching his arm while three strangers hover over him.
One of them—a woman with a stunning and surprisingly familiar face—looks up at me, and that’s when I remember Nonc’s NDA.
I shut the door behind me—nearly in Mrs. Lancaster’s face—and turn back.
“What happened?”
But Nonc doesn’t look at me. In fact, his eyes are squeezed shut, his face an unnatural gray color that sends me down to my knees by his side.
“Nonc, what’s wrong? Chest pains?” I look up at the three concerned faces watching us and quickly pick the one who looks the calmest. A woman, young, and not the one who looks familiar. I point to her. “You. Call 911.”
She reaches into her back pocket and brings out her phone just as Nonc grunts. “No… no ambulance.” He heaves a labored breath. “I think I broke my damn elbow.”
Chapter Five
IRIS
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” I flap my hands as though my shirt’s on fire. Oh God. I broke my teacher. “I’m a horrible dancer.”
Mr. Hebert groans, and I take it as an agreement. He presses his good arm against the floor and, grunting, makes an effort to sit up.
“Easy.” The guy who told Sally to call 911 braces him, helping him up. “Take it slow.”
Mr. Hebert’s color washes out again. He must really be in a lot of pain.
That’s my fault too.
“I-if you want an ambulance, I-I’ll pay for it.” From behind Mr. Hebert, Ramon shoots me a tense look of warning. I ignore it. “I’m so sorry.” My voice is shaking, and now that I’m not flapping my hands, I see they’re shaking too.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Mr. Hebert grumbles. “And it wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was. I tripped you up.”
Ramon looks like he’s about to have a seizure, his eyes bulging, the veins in his neck standing out. Liability, he mouths frantically.
But I don’t care about liability. I don’t care about being sued. I hurt an old man!
Okay, so he’s not ancient, but he’s almost old enough to be my grandfather. I think. If I still had a grandfather.
Mr. Hebert grunts. “It was an accident, Iris.”
Mr. Hebert is really nice. He has been so patient and encouraging for all three of my lessons. All of my past choreography sessions have been total nightmares. The instructors have been exacting. Scathing. Even cruel. But not Mr. Hebert. And this is how I repay him.
My lower lip trembles. I bite it and swallow hard. “The least I can do is take you to the hospital.”
Ramon shoots me an exasperated look. “You don’t even drive.”
I frown at him. “Yeah, but I pay you to do it.” The words come out harsher than I intend, and when he flinches at them, shame burns my cheeks. I shake my head. “I didn’t mean it like that Ray. You know—”
“I know what you mean,” he says, his expression softening. Ramon moves from behind Mr. Hebert to face him. “We’d be glad to take you to the hospital.”
Mr. Hebert shakes his head and nods to the man by his side. “My nephew can drive me.”
For the first time, I take in the man beside my dance instructor. He’s young—older than me, maybe thirty—with liquid brown eyes and sooty lashes. His short dark hair and trimmed beard give him just enough of a rough edge to keep him from looking pretty, but he’s…
He’s gorgeous.
“Um, Nonc,” he says, his voice low, almost hushed. “You know my truck isn’t really a smooth ride. You might be more comfortable—”