Lavender Haze

Chapter 16

Today, I'm temporarily subbing for Mila as River's dance partner at their weekly classes. She asked me to be here only for twenty minutes while she wrapped up a work meeting, and though I would have preferred severing my toes with a butter knife than saying yes, or, let's say, sit for five hours at a symposium about oatmeal, or even munching on a cyanide pill as I watch on replay the moment Clark broke up with me at our favourite Mexican restaurant, I still accepted.

Because that's what they are paying me for.

Also, because Mila Bauman doesn't know the meaning of the word no.

Teo Ortega is Rafael's uncle and the best ballroom dance teacher in the tristate area (according to at least one reviewer on Yelp – who might have been me). When I walk through the door of his studio, the smell of wax and lemon polish almost overpowering, he greets me with a smothering hug and starts tallying all the way I've changed since last time he saw me. The list goes on like this:

- Look at you! Are you even taller than last year?! (I am not)

- Your hair is different! (It is indeed)

- Longer and – oh, did you change colour?! (About a year ago, but I don't remind Teo that)

- You gained a few pounds! But in a good way! (Excuse me?!)

- Seriously, in a good way! (Ok, then)

- No, really, in a good way!!! (Got it! Obesity looks good on me!)

Everything Teo says to me is punctuated by an exclamation point – or a few. He's kinda dug a grave after he awarded me a few pounds I don't remember gaining since last year, when I hired him for two clients, and now he can't stop telling me how I looked way too skinny when I was in high school and that I should probably keep gaining weight. I don't know how to make him stop. I stare at our reflections, glancing back at us from the mirror-panelled room, and wonder if there's a button I can click to shut him up. Or anything I can say to help him out of the funk. Just as I'm considering yelling, FIRE!!! at the top of my lungs, thankfully, mercifully, the other dancer-wannabes start filing in, cutting Teo off as he reminds me that his wife is a nutritionist, should I ever want to consult one. When I spot River in the crowd, I finally have an excuse to extricate myself from this growingly uncomfortable conversation. I sidle up to the coat rack and peel off my scarf and coat. I survey the crowd as I tie my hair in a ponytail (pointy ears be damned), noticing how some people are dressed to the nines, women in high heels and man in suits. In sharp contrast, I'm wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversized, off-the-shoulder lilac sweater. River, dressed in a navy three-piece suit, comes standing by my side as a few people start stretching. I didn't know ballroom dance required stretching.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Okay! Dancers on the floor!" Teo shouts as music starts playing. It's an upbeat song that has nothing to do with ballroom dance and everything to do with Teo's manic energy.

River offers me his hand, which I take almost reluctantly. Touching him still feels like crossing a line, committing a sin, breaking the law.

"Do you qualify as a dancer?" I ask, as he leads me to the middle of the room.

A corner of his lips quirks up. "Such a smartass."

The nickname gives me an undesired, unwarranted thrill I try to no avail to snuff. My stomach is already coiled in on itself, and the only contact between us has been that of our fingers twining. He is only business, I sternly remind myself, he's nothing more.