Hot Moves. Kristin Hardy

      “Better every day.”

      Trish looked at her and nodded. “I almost believe that. You seem different tonight. I don’t know how, but different.”

      “Spring fever.”

      “Not spring anymore,” Trish corrected. “We’re in June. New season, new life.”

      “We’ll see.” The valet drove up with Trish’s car, a sporty convertible. She traded tip for key and leaned in to hug Thea. “Happy birthday, sweetie. Here’s hoping this is your year.”

      “My year for what?”

      “For getting it all.”

      She got in and drove away with a wave, while Thea watched. Here’s hoping this is your year.

      Thea’s cell phone rang as the valet pulled up with her Prius. She flipped open the handset. “Hello?”

      “I need your moves,” said the person on the other end.

      Thea blinked. “Excuse me?”

      “I need you, now.”

      “Is this an obscene phone call?” she demanded.

      “You wish,” answered a voice she recognized.

      Thea handed the valet his tip. “You’re a sick woman, Waller.”

      Robyn Waller, one of the few true friends Thea had made in New York. They’d met in a dance class Thea had taken to keep sharp. Since then Thea’s dance dreams had been channeled into amateur ballroom dancing and Robyn’s had been rescaled to owning a dance studio in her Portland, Oregon, hometown.

      “So what’s going on? Why do you need my moves? Assuming I feel like giving any of them away, of course.” Tucking her tongue into her cheek, Thea got into her car and buckled on her seatbelt.

      “Well, are you still working one of your McJobs, or do you actually have something you care about?”

      When your retirement was already in the bank, earning enough for most of your income besides, a career became optional. “I’m working at a nursery.”

      “Babies?”

      Thea laughed. “Plants. Why, you want to come down for a visit?”

      “Just the opposite. What would you say to coming up to Portland for a couple of months, teach in my studio?”

      Thea snorted and pulled out into traffic. “I’d say it’s a long commute for a temp job.”

      “I’m serious, Thea. I need you, if you can do it.”

      There was something in Robyn’s voice, she realized. An urgency, an anxiety. “Robyn, I’m not qualified to teach,” she protested.

      “Oh, come on, you know top level figures for all the Latin and smooth styles and you’re the best amateur Argentine tango dancer I know.”

      “For the women’s parts, not the men’s. I’d need that to teach.”

      “You can learn.”

      “What happened? Why the panic?”

      Robyn blew out an impatient breath. “My lead instructor’s husband got transferred to Chicago. She’s leaving in a week. I just found out today.”

      “Ouch. There have got to be more qualified people up your way, though.”

      “If there are, I haven’t had any luck finding them. And there’s a little thing called my vacation.”

      Thea’s eyes widened. “Oh no! Australia.”

      “Yeah, Australia. Everything’s already paid for. Three weeks Down Under. My cousin and I have been planning this for a year.”

      “Three weeks?”

      “Three and a half, actually. It costs so much to get there and it takes so long, it hardly makes sense otherwise. Plus, there’s so much to see.”

      “Yeah, but wow, the timing’s bad.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      Thea slipped into the left turn lane. “Can’t your instructor stay a bit longer?”

      “She’s got a two-year-old and a four-year-old. They’ve all got to move at the same time and that’s got to be soon.”

      “I guess that’s a ‘no.” ’

      “That’s a no,” Robyn agreed.

      “And you can’t find anyone?”

      “No one I want to leave with my business, lock, stock and barrel immediately after they start, anyway.”

      Thea turned with the yellow light, zipping across just ahead of a speeding Nissan Maxima. “I guess I can kind of see your point.”

      “I leave next Friday. If you can get up here in a day or two, we’d have time to get you up to speed. You can stay at my place. Darlene will keep you company while I’m gone.” Darlene, Robyn’s irrepressible pug. She and Thea had become fast friends on earlier visits.

      “You’ll have my car to get around.” Robyn paused. “Thea, I really need you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you do it?”

      To get my life in gear. A chance to get out of L.A., a chance to teach dance instead of potting plants for a living. A chance to help Robyn out at a crucial time, Robyn, who’d been there for her once, long ago. A chance for…who knew?

      “I won’t need your car. I’ll drive up,” Thea said.

      “You’ll drive up?” Robyn stopped. “Does that mean…”

      “Give me two days so I can stop and see my sister in Sacramento. I’ll be up Thursday.”

      “That gives us almost a week. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

      “Well, I’m glad you’ve finally realized that,” Thea said.

      2

      “WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I should have a hall pass?” Thea asked Robyn as they walked down the broad hallway of the Lincoln School. Eighteen years had passed since she’d graduated from sixth grade, but the black-and-white-tiled floor and the glassed-in display cases on the walls brought it all back. All she needed was the beaded metal chain from her I.D. tag to use as her hopscotch marker and she’d be set.

      “Just wait,” Robyn said.

      “Tell me you’re not going to take me to the principal’s office.”

      “Nope. Someplace better.” She stopped before a wooden door with Cafeteria emblazoned on its frosted glass insert.

      “Let me guess. You’re taking me out for sloppy joes?”

      “If you’re good,” Robyn promised and swung the door open.

      It reminded her of her elementary school cafeteria, only homier, friendlier. Butter yellow walls, black-and-white tile and polished chrome, in a room buzzing with conversation and laughter. Straight ahead lay the counter with its row of stools. Waitresses in thirties-style diner uniforms circulated with laden trays. Behind the counter lay not only the window to the kitchen but a full bar with a dizzying array of taps; on the far wall, copper-clad brewing tanks gleamed.

      Thea turned around with a broad grin. “This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen.”

      Robyn laughed. “I knew you’d love it. Wait until you see the bathrooms. It’s just like you remember from being a kid, only better.”

      They threaded their way to a table that overlooked a playground mostly occupied by the staked green rows of a kitchen garden, but still boasting a swing set and slide off to one side, and yes, a hopscotch grid on which a trio of animated girls hotly contested the lead.

      “They