Comeback (The Holland Brothers Book 3)

Eleanor is everything I might have imagined. Tall, graceful, poised. She has a head of gray hair that’s shaped into a classic bob and wears red lipstick with jeans and a white button-down shirt.

I love her instantly.

I stand from the table to shake her hand. She has a firm grip and a smile that transforms her entire face.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear.” She waves for me to take my seat.

“I ordered you the peppermint tea. The girl at the counter said it’s their most popular drink.”

“Thank you. I never learned to like coffee. How about you?” Eleanor takes a seat across from me and wraps her hands around the cup. She stares at me like she’s reading more than my expression.

“I could probably live on coffee,” I admit. “But I like tea, too.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, but my insides twist into knots anyway. Eleanor takes a sip from the cup and leans back in her chair.

“Carrie Ann says you’re new to Lake City.”

“Yes.” I nod. “Have you always lived here?”

“I moved away for a few years in my twenties to give New York a whirl, but I missed the sun and the familiarity of home. I opened the studio on my twenty-ninth birthday and ran it for almost thirty years.”

“I love that.”

“It wasn’t always easy, but it brought me a lot of joy. The building changed hands a dozen times before my husband got so sick of it, he bought it.” Her eyes twinkle as she talks about him.

“Wow. Really?” I find myself mirroring her big smile.

With a nod, she says, “Charles loved a big gesture.”

I’d already gathered by her choice of words that Charles wasn’t around anymore, but then she says, “He passed the same year I closed the studio for good. I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to sell or lease out the building to anyone. It feels like as much his legacy as mine.”

“I can understand that.”

“Tell me about you. What made you want to open a dance studio? It’s a lot of work.”

“Oh gosh. A million things.” I sit forward with my elbows resting on the table and then immediately lean back when some ancient manner advice about that being impolite flashes in my mind. “I started dance classes when I could barely walk. My mom said when I was a baby, she could set me in my carrier in the front of the room and I’d sleep through tap class or watch the ballet dancers too enthralled to cry.”

“Was she a dancer too?”

I nod. “She was my first dance teacher.”

“That must have been special.”

“It was.”

“I never had any girls. Only a boy who preferred playing outside with mud and sticks.”

“He didn’t want to carry on the studio anyway?” I ask. Even if he wasn’t interested in running it, he could have taken over and found someone else to do the day-to-day.

“No. He went away to college and never came back. Will and his wife are in Florida where her family lives.” She sighs. “He’s been on me to sell it and be done with it. He worries about me here alone. And I’ve had some good offers, but the thought of it turning into a shipping center or one of those cash loan places makes my skin crawl.”

“The location is great. It’s such a cute area.” I glance around. The café is only a block down from the studio and this afternoon it’s filled with people working on laptops and groups of friends talking and laughing.

“It wasn’t always. This used to be a bank. The pizza place at the end of the street was an insurance office. And there was a dry cleaner next door to the studio. I could do just about all my errands on my lunch break.” She smiles. “It was a quiet, commercial area, but nothing like what it’s become.”

“I tried to look up the studio, but I couldn’t find a lot. What sort of dance did you teach?”

“Ballet, mostly. Jazz, tap, lyrical, even a ballroom class or two, though it was not my strong suit.” The way she lights up when she talks about it, I can tell how much she loved it.

“What was your favorite?”

“Oh, that’s a hard question.” She takes a moment to think. “There’s nothing cuter than a three or four-year-old in a tutu.”

“Agreed.” I picture Greer in her princess costumes.

Eleanor and I talk so long that my tea goes cold. She tells me more about the studio, everything from the recitals they had twice a year to the summer camps. My head is spinning with more ideas, and I’ve completely forgotten that it’s not a foregone conclusion that the space will be mine until she stops talking and looks at me seriously.

“So, Sabrina…”

“Yes?” My stomach works itself into knots while I wait for her to continue.

“Have you seen the building?”

“Yes, Carrie Ann walked me through it yesterday.”

“Then you know that it needs a lot of work.”

“I like that it’s a clean slate.”

“That’s a generous assessment. We completely cleared it out after the studio closed and it’s sat vacant for a while. The floors are wrecked, the windows need to be replaced, and that’s nothing to the caked-on layers of dust.”

“It needs a good cleaning,” I admit with a grin. “But I’m not afraid of the work.”

She’s still looking at me in a way that tells me she likes me but isn’t convinced. This is my opportunity to make sure she knows what it means to me.

“I wanted the space before I met you, but now it feels like fate or something. Maybe that’s presumptuous, but I’d love to honor your memory and Charles’ by opening a new dance studio there. I will work hard and give it everything I have. It’s been my dream for so long. It might take some time, but I won’t give up.”

I force myself to stop talking. I’ve made my case. Though I’m not above begging if it’ll help.

Eleanor extends one arm across the table. “I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in you. You have passion and spunk.”

I glance down at her open palm and place mine in hers. She squeezes gently.

“Does that mean you’re going to rent me the space?”

A small laugh leaves her lips. “That’s exactly what it means.”

I am still on a high when I get back to the apartment. I called my mom and dad to tell them the news and then I texted Olivia, and I’m still beaming. I can’t wait to share with Brogan. I know he’ll be excited. He’s always excited.

Unfortunately, when I step into the apartment he’s nowhere to be seen and instead Archer and his teammate Tripp are in the living room.

“Sister Six!” Tripp calls from the couch, raising one arm to me.

“Hey, Tripp.” I set my purse on the counter and smile at him.

Archer briefly meets my gaze, and I get a tiny chin jut as a greeting.

“Where’s Brogan?” I ask them.

The apartment is too quiet for him to be here unless he’s sleeping.

“He and London are out on a date, staying in some swanky hotel for the night,” Tripp says. “He sent me over to keep Archer company.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Archer asks him. “I thought you were letting me kick your ass at Street Fighter.”

“I’m not letting you do anything, sadly.” Tripp tosses his controller onto the couch beside him.

Their bickering fades to the background as my disappointment takes front and center. I hadn’t even realized how much I was looking forward to celebrating with Brogan until now. I just knew he’d be so excited and make a big deal out of it, and I guess I wanted that tonight. My parents are too far away to meet up for a last-minute celebration, and Olivia has to work tonight.

“What about you?” Tripp asks, drawing my attention back to him and Archer. They’re both looking at me.

I blink away the fog. “Sorry, what?”

“What are you doing tonight?” Tripp asks me. “Wanna hang out with me? Archer isn’t any fun.”

“She works nights,” Archer says before I can answer for myself. I can’t tell by his tone if he’s trying to be helpful or make sure I don’t interfere with their night of gaming.

“I’m off tonight.”

“Then you gotta come out with us. We’re going to a new bar down the street.” Tripp grins wide and I finally come back to reality. The one where Tripp thinks it’s no big deal to invite me to hang out with him and Archer. Does he not know how much Archer dislikes me?

He wouldn’t even call a truce, and then chastising me, claiming I didn’t know about family. I get angry again just thinking about it.

“Thanks for the invite, but I have plans.”

Archer looks relieved. Ugh. Hot, frustrating jerk.

“Doing what?” Tripp asks.

I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot and my brain goes empty. It doesn’t help that I have very few friends here.

Tripp smiles like he knew I was bluffing all along. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re coming with us, Little Six.”

Going out with Tripp does sound fun. He’s a lot like Brogan in that he always seems to find a good time or make one, but I sneak another glance at Archer. I can’t read a thing about his expression. Would it kill him to smile?

There’s a very real chance he’s going to ignore me all night and I’ll be the third wheel at the bar, but at least I’ll get a mini celebration out of it. And worst case I’ll have one drink and walk home. Archer Holland doesn’t get to ruin this day for me.

I look straight at him, heart fluttering excitedly as I smile back at him. “Okay. I’m in.”

I did not stop after one drink.

I’m on drink number…a lot.

Archer is at the bar talking to some woman. A very pretty blonde with curves that have every guy in this place looking her way. Women too, including me. Though my attention is more on the man next to her and how happy he looks. He’s actually smiling. I didn’t know his mouth could open so wide.

“Here we go,” Tripp says, setting another round of drinks down in front of us.

My stomach lurches at the sight of the shot glasses he sets down next. The man can drink.

He picks up one and holds it in the air. “To the studio!”

“Shh!” I say, probably louder than he had. I swivel around to look at Archer.

“Relax. He’s not paying any attention to us.”

I nod and pick up my shot. I really should stop, but Tripp has been such a trooper in helping me celebrate. I let it slip after drink number two. Around the same time that Archer started talking to the hottie at the bar.

We clink our glasses together and then throw back the cinnamon-flavored liquor.

“Either I’m drunk or it’s starting to grow on me.”

Tripp grins and rests his elbows on the high-top table. The bar is busy for their opening weekend. The place has a cool vibe. It’s small enough to feel intimate but big enough to pack quite a few people in. The bar runs along one side and there are tables surrounding it in an L-shape. There aren’t dart boards or billiards or any of that, so people are limited to sitting around and talking or watching the single TV above the bar.

“You know, he’s not such a bad guy when you get to know him.”

“Who?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from the guy I’m highly certain he was just referring to. I don’t know what it is about his stupid, hot face.

Tripp doesn’t call me out on staring at Archer across the bar; he just laughs. “Actually, I lied. He’s a great guy when you get to know him. But something tells me you already know that.”

“Can he be a great guy and also have such terrible taste? Hating me, I mean.” I pick up my beer and take a long drink.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, he doesn’t like me very much.”

“That’s not true. He’s just projecting his fears onto you. The two of you just need to spend more time together.”

I open my mouth to object more, but Tripp stands tall and waves his hands above his head until Archer glances our way. Tripp motions him over and I watch in panic as Archer says something to the woman at the bar and then heads our way.

“I think I’ll go get another drink from the bar,” I say and take a step in that direction.

Tripp reaches out with a hand around my forearm and pulls me back just as Archer arrives at the table.

“You stay,” he tells me. “I’ll get us drinks.” He looks at Archer. “Another Blue Moon?”

But Tripp is already walking away.

“I was literally just there,” Archer says and brings the bottle to his mouth.

His throat works with a swallow and his hazel eyes snap to me, catching me staring at him. I glance away quickly and take another drink of my own beer.

“Having fun?” he asks.

“Yes. I am actually. Sorry I ruined your night by tagging along. Actually, no, I’m not sorry. No regrets. Hashtag, living my best life regardless of you being all hot and angry all the time.”

Oops that hot part was an inside thought.

He lifts one brow and regards me with a hint of amusement on his face.

Tripp returns quickly with three new beers and another round of shots.

“I don’t think I can have any more shots.”

“Cheers with us anyways.”

We all take a shot glass and lift it to the center of the table. My fingers holding the glass brush against Archer’s and my skin hums with electricity that I blame on the alcohol.

“What should we drink to?” Tripp asks.

“To a hell of a hangover tomorrow,” Archer says quietly and a little grumpily. How can he be so cranky at a bar?

“To Sabrina.” Tripp looks to me. “We’re glad to be out tonight with you instead of your brother. He’s always talking about love and couple-shit.”

The smallest snort of laughter comes from Archer next to me. His body shakes with the movement and his fingers brush against mine again.

Tripp’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “And because you’re way hotter than your brother.”

A surprised burst of laughter leaves me.

Archer and Tripp move their glasses higher. “To Sabrina.”

I’m the last to bring the shot to my lips. I tip it back and end up drinking the whole thing despite my earlier reservations. Archer was right about the hangover tomorrow. It’s a good thing I have my own room right now. Greer is cute, but I have a feeling tomorrow would be especially brutal with her waking me up at five o’clock in the morning.

Tripp sets his glass down with a thunk and backs away from the table. “I gotta use the bathroom.”

I let out a long breath and try not to sway on my feet.

“You alright?” Archer asks me.

“I think I’ve had about five too many drinks. Standing feels like an Olympic sport.”

He glances to the left and then steps away from me like he’s bored with me or my answer or maybe just doesn’t want to be around me a second longer. What an assho⁠—

Before I can finish the thought, he’s nodding to the group at the table next to us and taking an empty chair with a quiet thanks. He sets it beside me without a word.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He finally lets his gaze linger on my face.

My skin flushes hotter, but I don’t look away.

“Trying to keep up with Tripp will always end badly. Trust me. I’ve tried.” A hint of a smile accompanies his words of advice.

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Okay.” Tripp returns, rubbing his hands together. “Another round?”

“No.” Archer drains the rest of his bottle and sets it on the table. “We’re heading out.”

“But it’s still early,” Tripp whines.

“It really isn’t and I want to get up early in the morning for a run.”

“A run.” Tripp scoffs, then he motions toward me. “We can’t go. She’s celebrating tonight.”

Archer’s brows pinch together, and he glances at me. Tripp’s face scrunches up, and he shoots me an apologetic look while Archer’s attention is still on me.

“I think I’ve celebrated my return to Lake City quite enough. Thank you for the drinks. I drank them good.”

He laughs. “You sure did, Little Six.”

“I’m not a Six.”

“You’re right, baby. You’re a hard ten.”

Archer groans. “That was a terrible line. Even for you.”

Tripp smirks. “I’m not wrong though, am I?”

Archer’s jaw is tight as he flicks his stare to me. “No. You’re not wrong.”