What if I fling my arm up and poke some man’s eye out?

Oh well. I guess I’ll soon find out.

I go through my purse again. Wallet, keys, cell phone. Heeled shoes for dancing, and I’m already wearing a swishy skirt.

My hands are clammy as I turn off my computer. I don’t really want to be doing this tonight. I won’t know anyone, and I won’t remember the steps—I break off, laugh at myself. I’m back in panic mode. Some things never change, do they.

At my desk, I scribble a note to my new sitter—Lisa’s new roommate at the sorority—letting her know that I’ll be back a little after seven.

I get through the class okay. It’s exactly what I feared—mortifying. I’m not, and never have been, a dancer, and all night I feel as if I do have three left feet. But the instructors, a couple from Buenos Aires, are fascinating, and I’m in love with their language, the music, the history of the tango, and the way they move together.

I might not ever be a great dancer myself, but with even one class I already appreciate the art form.

I’m just glad the next class is six and a half days away.

At home, I pay Kerry and she pockets her cash. She’s on her way out the door when she turns back. “Oh! You had a call tonight from someone named… Kai?”

I sag against the kitchen counter, my legs all wobbily and weak. Kai called? “When?”

She nods, shrugs. “Earlier. A couple hours ago.”

My body goes hot and cold. “Did he say anything?”

“Just to tell you he called.”

“That’s it?”

Kerry pulls her purse higher on her shoulder. “Yeah.”

I look around for a slip of paper. “Did he leave his number?”

She turns her head and then shakes it once. “No.” She sounds confused. “You don’t have it?”

“No.” My heart’s racing, and my hands shake. I’m already reaching for the phone, but I don’t know where to call. It’s ten now my time. Even with the three-hour time difference, the beach desks would all be closed. “Did he say he’d call back?”

“No.”

“Dammit.” Tears fill my eyes, and it’s ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m getting so upset. There’s no point in getting upset. I can always try to call the surf school tomorrow.

But Kerry sees my expression and is frowning. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d have his number.”

“It’s okay.” I turn away, rub my forehead, and try to calm down. I’m acting like a sixteen-year-old kid. This is silly.