“It’s either too big or too small,” Avery confirmed. “And almost always overpriced for the kind of work required to convert the room into an appropriate studio.”

An idea hit me, and I couldn’t believe I had never thought of it before, because I had heard them talk about fulfilling their dreams to start up their own dance company. Then again, I’d never been in this position until now.

“We have quite a bit of space available at the Academy, on the first and second floors, that we’re currently looking at renting out,” I explained, looking between the two. “Most of the space is completely empty. Would obviously need something work to make it ready for a studio, but I know my father wants to expand the kind of services we offer. I know you guys are looking at doing your own thing, but—”

“We’d eventually love to do our own thing, but we know we don’t have the type of capital or reputation right now,” Avery said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Partnering with an organization like the Lima Academy . . .”

“Would be beyond anything we’d expected.” Excitement filled Teresa’s eyes. “Do you have to get permission from your father?”

“Not yet. I just need to talk to . . .” My brows lifted. “I just need to talk to Brock and see what he thinks. If I can convince him, then we might have a space for you. We could have you guys come in, look around, talk about what would need to be done, and how much it would cost.”

“That sounds amazing,” Avery said, exchanging a delighted look with Teresa, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself smile without trying to hide it.

* * *

I was full of nervous excitement, waiting for Brock on Monday. The moment I saw him walk past my office, head down and attention focused on his cellphone, I all but flew from my chair. However, the fact that he didn’t pop his head in or wave as he walked by, like he’d done every day, was odd.

I sat back down, deciding I should wait for a bit.

Not to mention I should probably give him a few minutes to get settled in. It was Monday morning, after all.

Half an hour passed before I grabbed my cup of coffee and started toward his office and then pivoted around, heading to the break room. I totally saw nothing wrong with buttering him up with a fresh cup of coffee.

Knowing that he’d liked his coffee black, I grabbed one of the clean, Lima-branded coffee mugs from the cabinet overhead and poured him a cup. I topped mine off after adding another packet of sugar. Turning, I jerked back a step when I saw Paul standing a few feet behind me. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, spilling along the top of my hand.