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This was what it was like to go steady, she thought. Just a couple of small things missing. Like, there was no future and he wasn’t falling for her. Well, if nothing else, it was good dating practice. Troy was a great date, after all.
Troy’s question was a simple but difficult one. The high school was having a Valentine’s Day dance and he wanted her to be his date. He was going to chaperone. “Oh, God, that’s almost the busiest day of the year for me!” she exclaimed.
“How late do you stay open?”
“Just till six, but I will be toast! I might be the worst date of your life.”
“I can help you after work, help you clean up the shop and lock up. How about deliveries?”
“I have a little part-time help with that. Justin Russell, Al’s boy, is running some flowers for me before he goes to work at the station and he’s going to be sure to help that day—I already told him it’s madness, but there could be good tips. Oh, Troy, what if I’m no fun? And it’s a dance! I love to dance, but I might be knee-walking tired.”
“The next day is Sunday. You can sleep all day,” he begged. “Come on. I want to take the prettiest girl in Thunder Point to protect me from all the teenage girls.”
“Really?”
“You are the prettiest girl in—”
“No,” she said. “To protect you?”
“Okay, I can handle them,” he said with a laugh. “Come with me, Gracie. We’ll dance. Put a sign on the shop door. Closing promptly at six on Valentine’s Day so make arrangements to get your flowers early or ask for delivery. The flower girl has a date.”
* * *
Grace couldn’t resist him. And while everything else felt casual, even the kissing part, this felt like the real deal. She asked if the right dress was going to be an issue.
“Not for you,” he said. “All the high school girls are competing with each other and trying to impress their dates. But you already have me. You can wear a barrel if you want to.” And that was exactly the right thing to say, but she warned herself not to get too excited. At least not until he said something that sounded like we’re more than friends.
Valentine’s Day met all of her expectations for craziness. Grace started early and made up as many bouquets as she could ahead of customers. The preordered roses had been ready the day before and by the end of the day every rose in the shop was gone, along with many other arrangements. Justin started deliveries early and continued right up till five o’clock. Without him, she’d have been lost. She tried to stay ahead of the mess but in the end she left a lot of it—she could give the shop a good cleaning on Sunday.
She would have liked a little extra time to get dressed, but even rushed as she was she went to more trouble than usual with her hair and makeup. Grace wore her maid of honor dress, a sleek little black number and the only fancy dress in her arsenal. She usually pulled her hair back to keep it out of the way of the stalks and stems, but for this date she wore it down. It had grown long, past her shoulders. She even used the curling iron!
“Wow. You clean up good!” Troy said when he picked her up.
Grace expected to stand around a punch bowl with a bunch of teachers while the high school kids danced, but it was so much more than that. She was immediately enchanted. The high school gym was beautifully transformed with painted murals, twisted crepe paper streamers, snowy scenes, balloons, glitter balls, white and colored twinkle lights. The bleachers were pushed all the way back and the gym floor was circled with small round tables covered with long white tablecloths. Candles and little centerpieces decorated each table and there was a disc jockey at one end of the dance floor. To enter the gym the couples walked through a heart-shaped arch decorated with hearts, clouds and snowflakes and their pictures were taken as they appeared. The chaperones hung back and chatted among themselves; only a couple had brought dates or spouses. As the music played, almost everyone danced, and refreshments were being served by volunteers.
It was magical. Grace had never been to a high school dance. She’d never been to a high school!
Iris was at the dance, of course. “No date tonight?” Grace asked.
“My date is patrolling the parking lot and looking for trouble. I’m sure he’ll cruise through the dance once in a while.”
“Are police necessary?” Grace asked.
“Seth is a little overprotective. He likes to feel the kids are as safe as possible. And since I have to be here anyway...” Iris was pulled away by another chaperone with a question.
A young man approached Grace and Troy. “Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Headly?”
“Yes, this is Grace Dillon, Ms. Dillon to you.”
He gave a short bow. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Dillon?” he asked politely.
“Ah, I...ah...”
“It’s entirely up to you, Grace,” Troy said. “Jerome here won’t put any moves on you because he knows I’d have to kill him.”
“Is it all right?” she whispered to him.
“No slow dancing. Those are mine,” Troy whispered back.
Grace began what became a series of dances with a variety of young partners who were funny and charming and devilish. It was obvious they thought it was a real hoot to get Mr. Headly’s girl on the dance floor. Whenever the music slowed Troy was instantly at her side, cutting in, holding her as closely as he dared at a high school function. It seemed as if all the slow dances were crooned by Michael Bublé, but she was surprised by the wide variety of music, from oldies to current rock. There was even a line dance performed to the strains of Aretha Franklin singing “Chain of Fools.” It took Grace about two seconds to learn it and Troy joined in. “Am I dancing with students too much?” she asked.
“I love watching you,” he said. “There’s one small problem—I can’t wait to get you alone.”
“Are you dancing much?” she asked.
“Very judiciously and as little as possible. Giggly high school girls are just not my thing. Besides, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things, make sure the kids aren’t getting into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Oh, you know, sneaking out to the parking lot to be too alone or to get a bottle or smoke a joint or get in a fight over something, like a girl. You know.”
That was the point, she didn’t know. “Really?”
“Been a while since you’ve been rockin’ the high school dance?”
“You could say that,” she said. “I thought this would be boring. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.”
“Just remember, don’t fall in love with anyone because you leave the dance with me.” He grinned at her.
She noticed that Troy danced with Iris. Not a slow dance, but not so fast, either. He twirled her around and they laughed. She had no worries that Iris would invade her territory, none at all. But did Troy still wish that romance had worked? She forced herself to look away. When she looked back, Iris was talking to her husband. Troy was nowhere in sight.
He was right behind her, claiming a dance. It was an old tune with a good beat—“Knock On Wood”—and Troy improvised, moving her two beats left, two beats right, a little twirl. She’d been very impressed by his dancing tonight. And it was sexy! Then the tune segued into a bebop beat and she noticed a few kids getting together for another line dance, but Troy pulled her back from the crowd, gave her hands a little shove and made a jitterbug move. “Huh?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
She laughed at him. “As long as you don’t slide me between your legs or toss me onto your hips and over your shoulder.”
“Aw,” he said, then led her into a really good jitterbug, so good that kids stopped what they were doing to watch. This guy knows what he’s doing, she thought.
When the song ended, there were a few claps from the crowd. Grace heard a teenage girl say, “Oh, God, why can’t he just marry me!”
Five (#ulink_cced8fe3-d2d8-5b28-beb1-dff4a42639aa)
Four hours flew by and at almost midnight they were on their way to Grace’s place in Troy’s car. She was completely amazed by the variety of music, from oldies to current rock to hip-hop and even country. And now that she thought about it, Troy was up to speed on all of those dances, even picking up the line dance steps quickly. “Care to explain that dancing, Fred Astaire?” she asked.
He laughed. “Short story. I dated a dance instructor. Not like Arthur Murray—she taught little kids. Her sister was getting married and she wanted someone who could dance to go to the wedding with her, so she taught me a bunch of moves, including the tango. It was fun, to tell the truth. She broke up with me the day after the wedding.”
“Aw, was your heart broken?”
“A little bit,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever have fun dancing again.”
“Well, you wowed ’em tonight. I even heard a marriage proposal.”
He laughed.
“Does that ever become...you know...difficult?”
“What?”
“The girls,” she said. “They crush on you! And some of them are beautiful! And look older than me, by the way! Does that ever worry you?”
“Worry me in what way?” he asked, his brow crinkling.
“What if one of them got the wrong signals? Thought you were romantically interested or something?”
He chuckled. “They do all the time, but not because of anything I do—because of their imaginative, nubile young minds mixed with the irresponsibility of raging hormones. Grace, teachers have to play it real safe or find themselves in a bad place.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “There are very specific guidelines. We don’t touch the students, except maybe a hand on an arm or shoulder to say, ‘Wait up a second.’ We can never have private conversations with students with doors closed. We don’t give them a lift home even in a nice little town like this. We don’t make gestures that could be interpreted as seductive, and we don’t respond to such gestures—the list is long. And it’s not just for young male teachers but for all teachers—young women, old women, crusty old codgers, guys like me. Counselors like Iris. If she closes her office door, the door to the main hallway is closed to the passersby, but all the offices are internal cubicles that share a common hall between them so that a conversation can be private but if someone yelled or called out, it could be heard. Counselors, principals, nurses—they have to be afforded a degree of privacy to do their work. Students need to feel safe. I, however, am always seen in a crowd. During my private conversations with students, the door to the classroom is open. And we’re on opposite sides of the desk.”
“But has it happened, Troy? That some girl takes her crush too far?”
“You understand that I like women, but women my own age, right? I’m not tempted by children. High school students are minors. And our school system forbids fraternization with students even of legal age, like eighteen-year-olds. There is absolutely no compromise there.”
“Of course,” she said. “But...”
“To a certain degree, there are some normal feelings in the mix for the kids. Little girls sit on their daddy’s laps and promise to marry them and the fact is, they probably will marry a man just like their father. Crushing on teachers is not unusual, but they’re children and it’s the adult teacher’s job to keep that from escalating. You get to be good at recognizing the signs and creating appropriate distance and barriers before...” He stopped. He pulled up behind her building and parked. He turned to her. “Gracie, why are you asking me this?”
“I just thought it must sometimes be challenging.”
He rubbed a knuckle along her cheek. “Honey, were you molested? Assaulted? By an older man or teacher? Someone in a position of authority?”
“Me?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “No! No, of course not.”
“Then you knew someone who was,” he said matter-of-factly.
Boy, did she! Years ago, and it all ended so tragically it marked one of the most traumatic experiences of her life. But that was not the direction Grace wanted this conversation to go. Not tonight. So she smiled gently.
“You must either be a very wonderful teacher or so intuitive it’s scary,” she said. “Once, I thought someone I knew was a victim, a younger girl, but even though I had suspicions, I never had proof. She wasn’t a good friend of mine, just a girl I knew. Seriously, I didn’t bring it up to discuss that—that was so long ago. I really was curious about how you manage the situation with the students. I’d have asked Iris all the same questions if it had ever come up. It was the dance that brought it to mind. Some of those girls are gorgeous. And you do kind of make them giggle.”
“The really scary part is I don’t have to do much to make them giggle. There’s a real dearth of young teachers in Thunder Point. Another one who gets their constant attention is Coach Lawson. But he doesn’t have female students.” He leaned toward her and put a small kiss on her lips. “You must be exhausted.”
She gave him a little smile. “Would you like to come up?”
“If you think you can stay awake awhile...”
“Come on up,” she said. She hummed under her breath all the way up the back stairs to her little loft, and right inside the door, she turned to him and, for once, she made the advance. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him like she really meant business.
“Whoa,” he said.
“Would you like a glass of wine? I think we should have a little talk.”
He paused for a moment. “Should I go down to the flower fridge for the wine?” he finally asked.
“No, tonight is this very special Shiraz. I hope you like it.” She picked up a bottle from the counter and handed it to him so he could look at it.
But Troy frowned, as if he was worried about what was coming. “Let me open it for you so we can get to the talking part.”
She turned to grab the corkscrew, then picked up the two glasses that she’d set out earlier.
“Where are we talking?” he asked as he shed his coat and tie.
“How about right in here?” she said, carrying the glasses to the little living room. She put the glasses on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes and got comfortable. “Why do you look worried?”
“Because this seems planned and I have no idea what’s coming. I hope it’s not bad news.”
“I hope so, too. Open that wine and let it breathe.” While he did that, she took a deep breath. “Troy, I’ve never been to a high school dance before tonight.”
He stopped twisting the corkscrew for a second, then looked at her. He pulled the cork. “A lot of kids don’t go to the dances, Gracie.”
“I bet you did,” she said.
“I did,” he admitted. “But by now you know me—I’m a flirt. I get along with everyone. I’m the fun coach. I almost always had a girlfriend or at least a date. I didn’t date just anyone, though—I’m no man whore. I’m not a screw around kind of guy.”
“Troy, I never went to a high school dance because I never went to a high school.”
He seemed to be momentarily confused. “Boarding school? Some private academy?”
She shook her head. “Homeschooled. With tutors.”
“And some classes here and there?”
“Some,” she said. “Small groups of tutored kids, now and then. Mostly independent study with guidance and lots of tests to track my progress.”
“Wow. You’ll have to share that study plan with me someday. It seems to have worked. You’re very accomplished for someone who never went to high school.”
“I didn’t say they were lazy tutors,” she said. “I learned things a lot of high school students wouldn’t even get to. But there’s a reason I’m telling you this, Troy. I’ve also never had a boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “That’s very hard to believe. You’re beautiful.”
“Oh, I had a couple of bad dates, but that’s about all. I just wasn’t in the mainstream of life like other young women. See, I said my parents were gone and that’s true, sort of. My father died when I was only fourteen and my mother and I fell out five years ago. We had an argument about what I wanted to do with my life. She comes from money—she’s very spoiled and demanding. She’s a diva, that’s the only way to describe her. The very thought of me in the back of a florist’s shop, filthy, lifting big pots, driving to residences to deliver flowers, being the help at weddings and funerals...” Grace shrugged. “She was mortified. We had a standoff. She wanted me to live at home with her, follow in her footsteps, plan charity events, travel with her, let her... Well, she probably had some guy lined up for me from somewhere. We never got that far in a discussion. I wasn’t interested. I wanted my own life and I wanted it simple. We haven’t spoken in years. It’s very sad. It’s for the best, I think.”
By his expression, he was stunned. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Grace...I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Maybe someday it will sort itself out. What I really want you to know is...” She lifted her chin bravely. “Troy, I’m not like Iris. I’m not like other girls. I’m probably less experienced than some of your students. I’ve never had a guy I really liked before. I’m pretty lame at it.”
“You’re doing very well,” he said with a smile. He poured them each a glass of wine.
She took a sip. Then a breath. “Well, even though you’re probably going to figure it out anyway, I thought you should know—I don’t know much about men. Just what my boyfriends in my romances told me. That’s it.”
