Quinn was still not wearing anything over her bikini top, completely unafraid to show herself off. And why would she be? Maya bet Quinn earned quite a few tips just because of how she looked—very girl-next-door but with an extra layer of natural glossiness. She had this spark about her that Maya had never noticed before. Or maybe it was the kind of weekend she was having that was adding the spark. How Quinn reminded her of herself when she was in her early twenties and had her entire life ahead of her. How she made her feel like she was so much more than a divorcée whose son was leaving home. Maya knew she was much more than that, but still, being around Quinn made it so obvious. Because Quinn clearly saw something in her and Maya’s only response to that, apart from the necessary caution, was utter delight.
“I never understood why my parents always refused to put in their own pool, but…” Quinn fixed her gaze on Maya. “Today I’m very happy that they didn’t.” She pulled her lips into a grin. “Otherwise, I might have never made you those cocktails.” She picked up her wine glass. “Thank you for letting me use your pool, Maya.”
“You’re welcome to use it any time you like.” Maya looked forward to welcoming Quinn over and over again.
“What does the rest of your summer look like?” Quinn asked.
“I’m going to Puerto Rico later this month.” Maya rejoiced at the prospect. “For a week of non-stop salsa.”
“You’ll be teaching Puerto Ricans how to salsa?” Quinn whistled through her teeth.
Maya shook her head. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m doing a refresher course.” Not that her salsa needed a lot of refreshing, even if she said so herself.
“I don’t suppose you can show me a few moves?” Quinn sat there looking relaxed, except for her eyes—they were sparkling with some sort of secret delight.
“It’s too hot,” Maya protested.
“And it won’t be in Puerto Rico?” Quinn flashed her tongue over her upper lip.
“Yes, but that’s different. It’s part of the atmosphere.”
“Ah, right. I see.” Quinn nodded as though she knew exactly what Maya was talking about. “The sweat. The heat. The well-toned men twirling you around the floor. It’s not the same as your suburban backyard.” She slanted her head. “Maybe later, after it gets dark.” She gave the softest of chuckles. “Although there’s honestly nothing that could make my day more than seeing you dance, Maya.”
How did Quinn, with her mere twenty-four years of age, know so precisely what to say? By bringing up dance, she knew she was tapping into one of Maya’s greatest passions. If she was hoping that Maya wouldn’t be able to resist, she was betting on the right horse. Maya took a sip of wine and resolutely pushed herself out of her chair. “Come on. Get up.” She walked to the side of the patio where there was more unencumbered floor space.
Quinn’s smirk, which bordered on self-satisfied, didn’t bother Maya in the slightest. Quinn might be very good at flirting—which was basically an exercise in intuiting what the other person wanted to hear in that moment—but Maya was very good at dancing.
“The basic steps of salsa aren’t that difficult.” She wouldn’t say that to any other student—but Quinn wasn’t her student. “Just watch.” Maya counted herself down and then, much slower than she usually would, showed Quinn the steps. Despite the slow movement, a jolt of fresh energy coursed through Maya. It was what moving her body in this way did to her. Since she’d been able to walk, she’d loved to dance. She always had a beat going on inside her, a constant thumping in her blood that provided rhythm to her life, that accompanied her and, whenever she felt like it, which was often, allowed her to transform her gait into a dance step. “Why walk through life if you can dance through it?” she had a habit of asking her students.
She repeated the steps but didn’t succeed in doing so slowly for very long. Maya was showing off now, perhaps, also, because when she danced, her age was of no significance. On any dance floor, she could easily pass for a woman ten years younger.
Then Quinn, without being prompted, mimicked Maya’s steps. Maya did slow down then, to allow Quinn to watch the steps in more detail.
“One—two—three—four,” she repeated and repeated, until Quinn was dancing the basic salsa step in sync with her. “Very good. You’re a natural.”
Teaching dance instead of competing hadn’t meant that Maya had downgraded her life. She loved showing other people how to dance, how to find the beat of the music and move to it as though it was flowing through their body. It gave her such joy to watch her students improve after their first hesitant steps, because dance was such a universal language that everyone, if they gave it a chance, could speak and understand.
Maya stopped but encouraged Quinn to keep going. “I’ll put on some music,” she said. “Then we can dance together.” Again, not something she would say to a student in a regular lesson, especially not a first lesson. But this was not a lesson either.
Maya brought out a portable speaker and hooked up her phone. She scrolled to a salsa music playlist and pressed play.
Quinn’s feet had come to a stop. She looked only very slightly out of breath. She was barefoot, and wearing jeans shorts, and a bikini top which consisted of nothing more than two scant triangles covering her nipples, offering no support to the natural bounce of her breasts when she broke into a salsa rhythm. Quinn didn’t seem to care about that one bit.
“Okay.” Maya held out her hand to Quinn. “Let’s try to make this work together.” Quinn took her hand, and
