The Kimball School of Dance would open in April, and she already had six potential students. There was an interview scheduled for the following week for an article in the local paper. That, she was sure, would generate more interest, more calls, more students.

A few more weeks, she thought as she pulled up behind Brody’s truck in his driveway, and a new phase of her professional life would begin. She didn’t intend for the next phase of her personal life to lag far behind.

He came to the door in his bare feet and smelling of crayons. The fact that she could find that both sexy and endearing in a grown man showed her just how far gone she was already.

“Hi. Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I have something for Jack.”

“No, that’s okay.” He wiped at the magic marker staining his fingertips. “We’re just in the middle… In the kitchen,” he said, gesturing. “But it isn’t pretty.”

“The process of school projects rarely is.”

It surprised him that she’d remembered the project. Had he talked about it too much? Brody wondered as he followed her back to the kitchen. He was pretty sure he’d only mentioned it—maybe moaned a little—in passing.

She stepped into the kitchen ahead of him. Surveyed the scene.

Jack was kneeling on a chair at the kitchen table, hunkered over a sheet of poster board and busily applying his crayon to the inside of an outline that resembled a large pig—as seen by Salvador Dalí.

Several picture books on dinosaurs were open on the table, along with illustrations probably printed off the computer. There was a scatter of plastic and rubber toys as well, and a forest of crayons, markers, pencils.

A pair of work boots and a pair of child’s sneakers were kicked into a corner. A large pitcher half full of some violently red liquid sat on the counter. As Jack’s mouth was liberally stained the same color, Kate assumed it was a beverage and not paint.

As she stepped in, her shoe stuck to the floor, then released with a little sucking sound.

“We just had a little accident with Kool-Aid,” Brody explained when she glanced down. “I guess I missed a couple spots on the cleanup.”

“Hi, Kate.” Jack looked up and bounced. “I’m making dinosaurs.”

“So I see. And what kind is this?”

“It’s a Stag-e-o-saurous. See? Here he is in the book. Me and Dad, we don’t draw very good.”

“But you color really well,” she said, admiring the bright green head on his current drawing.

“You gotta stay inside the lines. That’s why we drew them really thick.”

“Very sensible.” She rested her chin on the top of his head and studied the poster.

She saw the light pencil marks where Brody had drawn straight lines for the lettering of the header. Jack had titled his piece A Parade Of Dinosaurs. She found it apt, as his drawings marched over the poster in a long squiggly dance.