Piper felt a prick of guilt. There were very good reasons Tyler hadn’t set foot on stage in the better part of a decade. But it was the right thing. It had to be. Tyler needed this as much as the Madrigal did. For closure.
“It’s not going to be traumatic. I’ve got a heart, for God’s sake. It’ll be good for her to get back on the stage and remember how much fun we used to have. She’s moved on.” Or she would, if she went through with the show.
“I hope you’re right,” Shelby said and turned back to their next patient.
Another two hours and most of a bottle of hand sanitizer passed before Piper could shake free for her lunch break. She raced across town to Edison Hardware, buoyed by an optimism that Tyler wouldn’t let the specter of one Brody Jensen keep her from doing her part to save the theater. She could see Tyler through the door, ringing somebody up. Shoving inside, she announced, “Dust off your dancing shoes, we have a mission.”
Tyler didn’t even pause in giving her instructions to Mrs. Van Buren.
Okay, going to be a tough sell.
The older woman grinned. “This is going to look so good! I’ll be sure to take pictures.”
“You do that. Be sure to tag us on Facebook!” Tyler called.
“I will!”
As soon as Mrs. Van Buren was out of the shop, Piper hopped up on the counter and swung her legs. “Did you hear what I said?”
With a bland stare, Tyler began stocking cabinet hardware. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who remembers I ever wore dancing shoes.”
Piper hated that Tyler had given up something she loved so much. “Not the truth and so not the point.”
“And what is the point? You know I don’t dance anymore.”
“You will for this. The Madrigal is in danger.”
Tyler paused, a drawer pull in her hand and that hesitation gave Piper hope. “That’s terrible! But what does it have to do with me?”
“They’ve agreed to let us make one last effort to raise the money to save it. To prove that it can be a sound investment. Nate is directing a production of White Christmas. And you’re going to unearth your dancing shoes from whatever graveyard you left them in to audition for it with me.”
“You used to dance?” Norah Burke, the new city planner, spoke up from her seat at the project table.
“I haven’t danced or sung since college.”
Piper hopped down and pointed an accusatory finger. “You lie. You’ve sung and danced with me as recently as last month.”
“What we do in the privacy of my living room under the influence of a pitcher of margaritas is between you and me and no one else. And wipe that considering smirk off your face, Norah.”
“What smirk?”
“The one that says you’re trying to figure out how you can use that in your next community development scheme.” She shoved plastic wrapped hardware into the Plexiglas bins.
“Oh, come on, Tyler,” Piper insisted. “It’s not like you’ve lost your chops. You’d be a shoe-in for Judy. And I would make the perfect Betty.”
“Give me one good reason why I should come out of retirement.”
Piper’s lips twitched. “Let’s just say, we’re doing it for a pal in the Army.”
One hand fisted on her hip, Tyler leveled a Look in her direction.
Unabashed, she shrugged. “What? It was appropriate. We’re doing it in the name of the good old days. Think of how many great memories we have of the Madrigal. Our first show. Our first lead roles. My first kiss with Robert Hudson in Meet Me In St. Louis. Where you first fell in love with—” Piper cut herself off. Nope, do not go there. “Okay, so maybe that one’s not good to remind you about, but you can’t hold his asshatishness against the Madrigal.”
“Whose asshatishness?” Norah asked
“He who will not be named,” Piper intoned, with a look that told Norah she’d tell all at the first opportunity. Away from Tyler.
“I’m not holding anything against the Madrigal,” Tyler said. Her expression shifted to