“Can you separate business from pleasure? I don’t want you to…I don’t know, to get involved with this guy just because he reminds you of Cole.”
She was never a huge Cole fan. He was too mysterious and rough around the edges for her tastes.
“I’m not doing anything, Bree.” I stir cream into the coffee as a twinge stabs in my chest. “Trace is nothing like Cole, and I’m not accepting his job offer.”
“But you need the money.” Her voice is soft and motherly, scraping on my nerves.
“I’ll find other jobs.”
“Paying jobs?”
“Yep.” I sip the coffee, relishing the bold flavor.
“Are you going to Gateway today?” She pins me with her school-teacher glare.
“Of course.” I go to the homeless shelter every Saturday. What’s the big deal? I turn toward the demon-whisperer in the hall. “You want to go dance at the shelter with me?”
“No.” Angel hunches into a ball, peering at me over her bent knees.
“You can wear one of my tutus.”
Her eyes widen with interest. Got her.
“No way.” Bree steps in front of me, hands on her hips and blocking my view of Angel. “You’re not taking her downtown.”
“It’s good bonding time.”
“Whenever you bond with her, she comes home with bad habits.”
“Is that true?” I ask Angel.
“Redrum,” she whispers in a fiendish voice, curling a tiny finger in front of her face like she’s holding an imaginary finger puppet. Exactly how I taught her.
Laughter snorts past my nose. “Come on, Bree.” I yank her ponytail. “It’s funny.”
“Whatever. It’s time to go, Angel. Give Aunt Danni a hug.”
“Nuh-uh.” She jumps to her feet and spins away, arms folded across her chest.
“Angel,” Bree says sternly. “Give your aunt a hug. With arms.”
“No thanks.” I mimic Angel’s pose. “I don’t want forced affection.”
Bree makes an irritated noise in her throat. “Fine.”
I walk her out, rubbing the chill from my arms and bouncing in place as she helps Angel buckle up in the backseat. With her bent over and leaning into the car, I can’t resist jabbing my toe into the back of her knee and forcing her leg to bend.
With a huff, she straightens and steps around to the driver seat. “Grow up, Danni.”
“That sounds horribly boring and lame.”
She rests a hand on the open door and looks at me over the top of the car. “What are you going to do about the meeting at the casino tonight?”
“I’ll go if I feel like it.” I shrug. “I have a counteroffer that’ll make his ass clench.”
Her disapproving glare rolls off my shoulders. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Not knowing what I’m doing is kind of my superpower.” I grin.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Look at all those smiles.” Father Rick Ortez leans against the wall beside me, his own grin twitching his gray mustache. “I’m always amazed at how many of them you can get on the dance floor.”
It’s not easy. No one at a homeless shelter has a reason to dance or smile. But I’m persistent, because when they finally give in and participate, they focus on learning the steps and laugh at their fumbling feet. In those small moments of levity, they forget about the tragedies that thrust them onto the streets.
Rick runs the shelter, and he doesn’t wear his white collar here, so it’s easy to forget he’s a priest. Which is the point. He wants all people to feel welcome, no matter their religion, race, or background.
On any given night, there are about fifteen-hundred homeless people in St. Louis. Since Gateway’s occupancy permit only allows seventy-five beds, the shelter is always maxed out.
I recognize some of the faces tonight. Those I’ve never seen before are the hardest to coax into dancing. They don’t know me, don’t trust my intentions, and I don’t blame them. But I have a strategy that works.
Line dancing. Anyone with two working legs can do it. I always start off alone, traveling through the steps and explaining each movement. After I draw a crowd, I cajole the most enthusiastic ones into joining me. Eventually a few more jump in. Then more and more.
I’ve been at it for hours, but they’re finally warming up and letting go.
“Don’t you have to dance at the restaurant tonight?” Rick runs a hand over his bald head, watching twenty people of various ages and dress teeter through the Cupid Shuffle.
I don’t know what time it is, but my seven o’clock meeting with Trace Savoy is probably nearing. Or passed. I rather enjoy the thought of him waiting.