here.” She waited for him to say something. He didn’t. He just stared blankly at her. “You mean Lou didn’t tell you?”
Liam jammed his hands on his hips. “Tell me what, exactly?”
Good grief. Lou hadn’t told him anything? Was she really the one who had to break it to him? Somehow she had the feeling the news would have been better coming from someone else. Anyone else.
Super. Just super.
She pasted on a smile. “The new girls’ after-school program is ballet.”
* * *
Liam stared at his reflection, warped and tiny, looking back at him in the shiny gold nameplate on Lou McNeil’s desk. It was a perfect representation of how he felt at the moment—warped and tiny. As if he were living in some sort of alternate universe.
Posy was back. And according to her, she worked for him now. Teaching ballet. And how was it that she was calling the senior pastor by his first name? Lou. The single syllable had rolled off her tongue as if they were old friends. Liam had worked for the man day in, day out for four years, and he still called him Pastor McNeil.
He was even faintly nervous sitting here in the pastor’s office. He told himself he felt like a teenager appearing before the principal only because Posy was sitting beside him. They’d been inseparable back in their school days. For a while, anyway.
He wondered if he should have left Sundog back in the fellowship hall to continue foraging through the garbage. Presently, he was sprawled on the floor with his head resting on Liam’s foot. Liam had never thought twice about bringing the dog to work. Half the reason he’d adopted the beast was to give the kids a dog to play with. Funny how none of them had mistaken him for a bear.
“Lou.” There it was again. Lou. Seated in the chair beside him, Posy aimed a smile across the desk toward Pastor McNeil. “It seems there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”
The understatement of the century.
Liam leaned forward in his chair. “Posy says she’s here to teach ballet.”
“Posy?” Pastor McNeil’s face went blank for a moment. “Oh, you mean Miss Sutton. Josephine.”
“Josephine?” Liam blinked. Had he gone mad and forgotten everyone’s name all of a sudden? Pastor McNeil was now Lou, and Posy had morphed into someone named Josephine?
“That’s me.” Posy smiled innocently, as if up and changing one’s name was an everyday occurrence.
Liam stared at her. “Since when?”
“Since I left Alaska. I guess you could say it’s my stage name, and it just sort of stuck.” She shrugged, but the implied nonchalance of the gesture was belied by a barely discernible tremor in her hands, knotted in her lap. Nerves. She’d always been good at hiding them.
And Liam had always been good at seeing the parts of her that others missed. Apparently some things, unlike names, never changed.
Did she really expect him to call her Josephine now? He wasn’t sure he could do that. It would probably be better for everyone involved if Josephine, whoever she was, danced back to San Francisco.
He directed his attention back to his boss. “Josephine says she’s here to teach ballet.”
The senior pastor’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them before landing on Liam. “That’s right.”
Liam shook his head. Maybe if he shook it hard enough, he could undo whatever was happening. “I don’t understand.”
“You indicated you needed help with the after-school program, did you not?” Pastor McNeil eyed him over the top of his glasses.
“Yes, I did.” But I said absolutely nothing about ballet.
Liam’s boss shrugged. “You’ve got the boys busy with the competitive snowballing team, right?”
At the mention of the word snowball, Sundog lifted his head, ears pricked forward at attention.
“Competitive snowballing?” Posy slid her gaze toward Liam. “Seriously? That’s a thing?”
He lifted a brow. “Yes, it’s a thing. An Alaskan thing.”
“It’s like dodgeball, only with snowballs,” Pastor McNeil said.
Sundog let out an excited woof. Posy nearly jumped out of her chair.
Likening competitive snowballing to dodgeball was a rather oversimplified explanation, but it would give her a good enough idea. And Liam didn’t feel like elaborating at the moment. They weren’t here to discuss his snowball project with the boys. They were here to discuss ballet at the church. Or, if Liam had anything to do with it, the absence of ballet.
He attempted to guide the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I’m confused. How did this come about? Posy hasn’t set foot in Alaska in seven years.”
“Six years. Not seven. Six.” At least she hadn’t insisted he keep calling her Josephine.
Liam’s jaw tensed. He didn’t need her to remind him how long it had been. He knew, down to the day—the day they’d graduated. It had been six years and seven months, which was closer to seven years than six.
Pastor McNeil, who’d been quietly observing their bickering, spoke up. “As it seems you two know one another, Liam, I’m sure you’re familiar with the fact that Miss Sutton’s mother is a member of our congregation. She read about the job opening in the church bulletin and recommended her daughter for the position.”
Posy sat up a little straighter. “It’s only temporary. For six weeks. My mother told you that, right?”
Temporary.
Of course it was. Now things were making more sense. She couldn’t dance while her foot was in a cast, and she needed something to do. Once her injury was healed, she’d be on the first plane out of here.
But could Liam work with her every day for six weeks? If she’d been healthy, probably. The fact that she was injured complicated things. In a major way. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. And he knew for a fact he couldn’t watch her go through it. Not if the past repeated itself.
“Yes, I understand.” Pastor McNeil nodded at Posy. “But a temporary program is better than no program at all.”
Liam decided to cut to the chase. They were talking in circles. “I’m just not sure ballet is the answer.”
In fact, he was sure it was not the answer. So sure that he’d just about decided to form two competitive snowball teams. The girls could pelt one another with snowballs just as easily as the boys could.
Except the girls had made it pretty clear they weren’t interested in snowballing. If only Ronnie Goodwin hadn’t hit Melody Tucker in the head with a particularly wet snowball on the first day of practice. Maybe Liam could get the girls helmets.
Right.
