“Excuse me?”
Bob reached across the table to hold my hand.
“Monica, would you be my date for the Fairy Dogmother’s Ball?”
I looked at his face, then down at his hand and mine in it, then at Bob’s face once again.
At that point, I was tipsy enough that I didn’t entirely trust my own observations, but he gave every appearance of being serious, not just about asking me to go to the ball, but, if I was reading the signs correctly, about exploring the possibilities of a real relationship.
I didn’t know what to say.
I liked Bob, I did. He was easy to be around, funny, kind, calm, considerate, athletic, an excellent listener, great with kids, hardworking, dedicated, and—for a guy with Anglo Saxon roots and a lot of consonants in his last name—pretty good looking.
But.
He had nothing in common with anybody I’d ever dated or considered dating—not Mark, or Johnny, or Joe, or Anthony, or Rob, and certainly not Vince.
On the other hand, given my track record, was that such a bad thing? Still.
Bob. Bob Smith.
I sighed. “It’s nice of you to ask. I like you, too, a lot. But, Bob—”
He plucked a red rose from the vase on the table and placed it in my hand.
“Call me Roberto.”
Chapter 33
Grace
The Crystal Ballroom. The name seemed a little overblown for an old three-story brick building in that particular part of Portland, so near to the freeway.
The neon sign near the door, topped with an image of the moon as a grinning, disembodied face, coupled with the fact that the lower floor was occupied by a pub, made me think the place had probably seen better days and added to the generalized anxiety that had been hovering over me all afternoon.
The quip about my dress being made for dancing had sort of popped out unexpectedly. It wasn’t that I hadn’t understood what I was getting into, committing to four weeks of dance lessons with Luke. But I’d done so in the excitement of the moment, giddy from my unanticipated success and grateful to Luke for helping to make it all possible. It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I realized I might have left Luke with the wrong impression.
Though it was awkward, I felt like I needed to call and make things clear.
“Sure,” he said casually. “We’re just going to dance, as friends. I got that.”
“Okay, good. I mean . . . I just. You know. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
“We are,” he confirmed. “Not a problem. I’ll meet you there, right?”
“Right. Thursday, seven o’clock. See you then.”
Though it had to be said, it was a weird conversation and left me feeling unsettled. Fortunately, work kept me so busy that I hadn’t had much time to think about it—especially since Aunt Rickie had agreed to cosign my loan so I could get Twirl and Whirl off the ground more quickly.
Two more wildly successful Saturdays had proven to me that my debut at the market hadn’t been a fluke. The demand was there. People loved my twirly skirts. But I wouldn’t return until I had a chance to hire some reliable help and build up the inventory so I could keep up with demand. However, apart from the eight prepaid special orders, I hadn’t sewn a thing that week and I was so busy I’d even skipped support group. At that moment, my whole focus was on planning the future of Twirl and Whirl and turning it into a proper business.
Already I had bank accounts, a company logo, a website in the works, and accounts with a fabric wholesaler. I had purchased another sewing machine, and was searching for someone who knew how to use it—my first employee. For some reason, that part seemed especially daunting.
I was incredibly busy. So busy that, until Luke called that afternoon to ask if I needed directions, I’d forgotten about the class.
I looked down the street in both directions, hoping to catch sight of Luke. I’d feel less awkward if we could go in together. Where was he? I looked at my watch, then remembered the frozen hands and checked my phone instead. It was only 6:44. Luke wasn’t late; I was early.
When it started raining, I reluctantly went through the doors alone and climbed the stairs to the third floor, expecting . . . Well, I don’t know what exactly. But definitely not what I found.
Entering the doors of the Crystal Ballroom was like entering another world, another time, like walking onto the set of one of those old black-and-white movies I loved so much and seeing it come alive with color and sound.
I stood just inside the doorway, drinking in the atmosphere, breathing deep of the scent of wood, and spent candles, and dust, as I watched a few couples who had arrived early and were already practicing some steps. They looked so graceful, so beautiful. Were they always like that, I wondered. Or had they become so when they entered this room?
“It’s really something, isn’t it?”
Luke’s voice, coming from behind, startled me a bit, but I was happy to see him.
“The windows are amazing,” I said, looking toward the four enormous palladium windows on the street-side wall, each one outlined by white marquee lights. “But the chandelier . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I walked into the center of the room and stood beneath the four-tiered crystal chandelier from which the ballroom took its name. It was part Palace of Versailles, part carnival midway; a fanciful, glittering jewel, embellished with blown glass flowers of vibrant coral and turquoise that straddled the border between dazzling and garish.
“Did you see the murals? That’s my favorite part.”
Luke pointed to one of several large medallions, also outlined with marquee lights, and painted with an assortment of fantastical scenes. In one, a couple waltzed among the clouds as angels looked on in envy. In another, a silhouetted female form wearing a crown of sunbeams balanced a moon and
