Dance with Me [h.s] (Completed)

Chapter 38

The following morning at eleven I'm greeting fifteen preschoolers as they come into the class for their ballet lesson. I hear various hellos and Good Morning Miss.Toscano and then I hear something I wasn't expecting.

"Where's Harry?"

"Well," I start to say, trying to come up with an excuse off the top of my head. Last night, I had walked home with Carmen despite Harry's persistence that I stay with him. We had plans to meet later to get sized for my costumes. "He's..."

"He's right there!" one of my student's says.

I turn and look in the direction she points and he is crouched on the floor, helping one of the kids get their shoes on. He finishes and then stands up walking towards me and I admire his broad chest with his flimsily buttoned shirt maybe a little too openly because he smirks when he gets to me.

"Good morning, Sunny," he whispers.

"Morning," I respond back but my voice falters from staring at his pecs. "Thanks for coming," I try to sound more sane. I don't think I'm successful.

"I had to. I promised little Piper," he points to one of my students. "She even invited me to the recital," he says gloatingly.

He reaches again for my wrist, pulling off a yellow elastic.

"My favorite colour," he says, as he twists his hair into a messy bun, grinning at me.

"Do you want to lead warm-up?" I ask.

"With pleasure," he smirks at me, touching my shoulder before getting the class following him around the room like he is a mother goose with goslings. He weaves and jumps and crawls. The kids follow along, giggling as they go. When they're sufficiently warm, I begin leading them through their routine for their recital in two weeks. It's a simple routine for the four year olds. An opportunity for them to show the basic skills they've learned thus far.

I watch as he makes sure they're all in a straight line and tries to keep them on beat by getting them to copy him. I think about what he must be like with his sister's child; he must be the most fun uncle. I can't help but think what kind of father he would be, a hands on dad who would cook for them and have dance parties in the kitchen. Someone they adored.
Damn, he's not even my boyfriend and I'm picturing him with our hypothetical children. Get a grip, Cici, I scold myself.

When class is over, he holds my hand to lead me to his car. When we get there, I watch his eyes dart around like he's checking for something and then his lips are on mine pulling me in for a deep kiss. He pulls away but keeps his forehead pressed to mine.

"I've been wanting to do that all class," he whispers to me. His hands glide over my hips moving down, squeezing my butt tightly and he lets out a little grunt as he does it. "I've been wanting to do that, too. Your ass looks so good in these leggings."

I lean forward and peck him once more before he opens my door, letting me into his car. We begin driving to the seamstress he knows to make my costumes for the competition. He thinks I can keep my Jive and Cha-Cha-Cha outfits but wants me to change my Paso Doble dress, my Rumba dress and my Samba dress. He thinks Zayn's clothing choices are fine, but I think that's mainly because he doesn't give a shit about Zayn. I had already sent my measurements to the seamstress last week so this will be a fitting to see how much they need to be altered.

The place is located in Little Italy, and Harry holds the door for me of what appears to be a dry cleaners. A small, elderly man greets Harry enthusiastically in Italian. I smile shyly as they speak to each other, only catching bits and pieces.

"Lei parla Italiano?" he asks.

"Only a little," Harry answers for me in English. "Luca, this is Ciro. Ciro, Luca."