Page 110 of The Devil of Downtown

A few minutes later, Sloane appears in the doorway, already dressed for work, hair pulled back, bag over her shoulder. She bends to kiss Elsie’s head.

“Ready, boo?”

Elsie nods, already reaching for her backpack.

Sloane straightens and looks at me. “I’ll head out now. Can you walk her down to the bus before training?”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ve got it.”

Her eyes linger on me for a beat. “And Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

She smiles, gentle but serious. “Let’s not keep secrets again.”

“Okay,” I say. “No more secrets.”

She nods once, satisfied, and heads for the door while I help Elsie get into her coat.

“Come on,” I say. “You don’t want to miss it.”

“If I do, can I come to rehearsals with you?” She asks, slipping her shoes on, eyes wide and hopeful.

“But then, who will Sammie play with today if you’re not there?”

“Mmmm.” She considers it, slipping her hand into mine, her decision made.

“Let’s go, Auntie Ivy.”

I step into the studio, and the familiar mix of music, chatter, and movement wraps around me immediately. Whatever else is going on in my head, this still feels like home. The music kicks in, smooth and smoky, swingy in that playful way that settlesstraight into your bones. We move into it together, bodies falling into rhythm as voices slip in too, soft at first, half-sung, half-smiled, before the sound fills out and gets bolder.

I let my body catch the beat instead of chasing it, trusting instinct over thought. I clock my reflection in the mirror and hold it, chin lifted, shoulders back, enjoying the way my body looks when I stop thinking and just let it work. The black skirt I’m wearing flicks and flares with each turn, brushing my thighs before settling again, as familiar as the steps themselves. Singing and movement fuse together until they’re inseparable, breath and rhythm lining up without effort.

By the final run-through, we’re full-out, voices ringing, energy zipping through the room. When the music cuts off, the buzz lingers, and I grab my bag flushed and smiling, riding that loose, satisfied high that only a good rehearsal gives.

My phone buzzes as I’m pulling my sneakers out of my bag, muscles still trembling from the last sequence. I glance at the screen and feel that stupid, traitorous flutter in my chest.

Dane.

I swipe to answer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, voice deep, low—rough in that way it gets when he’s been talking business all day. “You finished?”

“Just walked out.” I sink onto a bench in the hallway, letting my back hit the wall. “How’d your meeting go?”

“Long.” A dry exhale. “I’ve got a dinner now. Trying very hard not to stab someone, but we’ll see how the night plays out.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Charming.”

He ignores that. “Did you talk to Sloane?”

I pull a face he can’t see. “Yeah. This morning.”

“And?” he asks, but the tone tells me he already has a guess.

“She knows,” I say. “I told her.”

“You told her,” he repeats, and I hear something shift in him. “Good.” Then, after a beat, “I figured she knew, anyway.”