Kristin Hardy - Hot Moves

No, she wasn’t given to primping anymore. So why was she standing here now, looking at herself, searching for a remnant of the excited young girl she’d been all those birthdays before? At twelve, bursting with anticipation in the days before the birthday that would make her a teenager. At seventeen, sitting on the cusp of adulthood, desperate to move out and escape her overbearing father.

The next significant milestone, twenty-one, didn’t bear thinking about, lost at a time she’d lost herself. And she couldn’t really say she’d ever found herself again in the fog of time that had passed since.

With an impatient noise, she turned for the door.

There was a cake on the table when she got back to it, glimmering with candles. Nine more of them than at the last milestone. Nine years… And where had they left her now?

Sabrina glanced up with laughter in her dark eyes. “About time you got back. We thought you’d drowned.”

“It was a near thing, but I made it to shore.”

“You should have yelled if you were in trouble,” Kelly said. “We could have sent in our sexy waiter to rescue you.”

“Hey, expectant mothers and soon-to-be brides aren’t supposed to notice other guys,” Trish reminded her.

“Other guys who aren’t their intended,” Paige clarified, pushing a smooth wing of blond hair behind one ear.

“Exactly.”

“I was only being descriptive,” Kelly said with dignity, taking a drink of the mango juice she’d ordered. “We writers do that.”

“’Zat so?” Thea sat down and pulled in her chair.

“Well, you’ve got to admit, he is sexy. I suppose I could have said hot. That’s a synonym. We writers use those, too.”

“Glad you clarified that for me.” Thea glanced at the waiter across the room. She’d spent so long consciously shutting off that line of thought, not thinking about men, how they looked, how they acted, whether she might want them in her life.

Whether they might want her.

The waiter glanced over and their gazes met for a moment, the quick connection like the flash of light from the revolving lantern of a lighthouse. Such a circumscribed life she led, so few people she touched—the Supper Club and the acquaintances she’d made at tango class—so few people she even made eye contact with. She’d forgotten what it was like.

“Time for wishes and resolutions,” Trish announced.

“And cake,” Delaney added.

“Hurry up. I’m suffering a chocolate deficiency,” Kelly said. “It can’t be good for the baby.”

“Don’t rush her,” Trish scolded. “Take your time, Thea.”

“I’ll have to. I’ve got to come up with something pretty good to keep up with what all the rest of you guys have done this year.”

“You don’t have to worry about keeping up.”

Thea grinned. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” Not with this group of friends: Trish, who’d made her dream of being a Hollywood screenwriter a reality; Cilla, now a sought-after clothing designer and retail entrepreneur; Sabrina, who’d turned her fascination with cameras into a documentary filmmaking career; Kelly, a top reporter at the biggest film industry daily. Even Paige and Delaney had done well, if less publicly, Paige with her own interior design business and Delaney moving up at her marketing firm.

Only Thea was no further along with her life than she’d been when they’d met at eighteen, save for the robust investment accounts that were her only tangible souvenirs of her time in New York.

It was definitely enough to make a person think.

“So what’s your birthday resolution?” Cilla asked. “No cake until you tell us.”

“To get my life in gear.” The words were out before Thea knew she was going to say them.

And she swore everyone at the table stilled for an instant.

“Well, how about that?” Sabrina said finally. “You don’t take on the small stuff, do you?”

“So what does getting your life in gear mean?” That was Paige—figure out your goal and set about accomplishing it.

“I don’t know,” Thea confessed. “I just want something…different.”

The table erupted in conversation. “Different is great.” Cilla stared at her with a broad grin. Had it been that obvious that she’d been going through the motions, Thea wondered.

“You could go back to school, finish your degree,” Trish suggested.

“Do you want to get into film?” Sabrina asked. “I have an opening for a production assistant.”

Paige nodded. “Or you could start your own business.”

“Why would she need the headaches?” Delaney took a sip of her Cosmopolitan. “She’s got all the money she could want socked away in the bank. You ask me, she should only do what she wants to do.”

“And what is that?” Sabrina asked.

If she only knew, Thea thought. “Right now, it’s having cake.” For the rest, she had time. She leaned in to blow out the candles.

“Don’t forget to make your wish,” Kelly reminded her.

Just to be happy, finally. It was time, Thea thought, looking around the table of glowing faces. Things had changed for her friends in more than the career department. All of them were in love. All of them, save unrepentantly single Delaney, had found their soul mates.

Not that Thea was looking for that. When it came to men, she didn’t trust her judgment a lick. She didn’t trust the whole breed, for that matter, though her Supper Club friends seemed happy with their husbands and lovers so far. She needed to take it slowly, start with getting her life rolling again.

She took a breath and blew.

THEA AND TRISH STOOD at the valet stand, the last two wait ing for their cars.

“So how are things?” Thea asked her. “You look happy.”

“I am.” A smile bloomed across her face, slow and beautiful. “I never realized I could be, not like this. I know that sounds goofy but it’s true. I keep thinking it’s all a dream and I’m going to wake up but I think it’s real.”

Thea admired her, the luminous skin that glowed against the red hair, the loveliness that Trish had hidden for so long. Until she’d met Ty. “It doesn’t sound goofy. It sounds nice.”

“I wish I could bottle it and give some to everyone I know.” Trish paused. “I wish I could give some to you.”

“I’m all right,” Thea said.

“Are you?”

“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.