Dancing With Velvet by Judy Nickles Page A

“You were way past that.”
    His mouth twisted briefly, then relaxed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
    “I was wrong to suggest coming here. We should go.”
    He stood up. “Right.”
    “Don’t be mad, Kent.”
    “I’m not mad.”
    In the alley, when she turned to double-check the door, Kent’s hand went to the knob, too. “It’s locked good and tight.”
    Celeste nodded. “This wasn’t a good idea. You know that as well as I do.”
    He took her hand. “I’ll walk you home.”
    At the end of the block, he kissed her goodnight. “I’ll wait ’til you get inside,” he said, the way he always did. “And I’m sorry things happened like they did.”
    “It’s all right.”
    He squinted at her in the light from the street lamp. “I’m a man, Velvet.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means that maybe you’re still a little girl.”
    A knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach. “Maybe I am,” she managed to say. “I’ve never been that far before.”
    “I could tell.” He made no move to touch her. “But you liked it. And I meant what I said, I know when to stop.”
    She felt her mouth tighten. “So you’ve done this before.”
    His jaw hardened. “I’m twenty-six, almost twenty-seven years old, Velvet.”
    “What does that have to do with it?”
    He shook his head. “You really are a little girl.”
    “You said you liked me being young—and sweet.”
    “I know what I said, and I meant it, but there comes a time when you have to grow up.”
    “Grow up as in forget what I believe is right and what’s wrong?”
    “Not exactly. A lot of girls—a lot of your friends, I’ll bet—don’t let a guy get started and then put the brakes on like you did.”
    She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could answer him. “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” He touched her hair. “Goodnight.”
    Her eyes fell on her mother’s picture as soon as she turned on the light in her room. “You didn’t put the brakes on,” Celeste said aloud. “I’m proof of that. And I’m not like you, Mamma. I’m not.”

Chapter Eight
    Celeste had to re-do her ledger sheet three times on Monday before she got it to balance. Her mind was too full of Kent, the feelings his touch had stirred up, and even a few regrets that she hadn’t let things go on a little longer. If they’d gone on much longer, they’d have gone too far, and he wouldn’t have pulled back, like he said. I knew what I was doing when I used that key. Maybe I even wanted it to happen. Now I’m not sure. Has he been with a girl—really been with her—before? More than one? Does he think being twenty-six years old gives him the right to do everything he wants to do—even that?
    “Miss Riley?”
    She started. “Yes, sir?”
    “I’ve spoken to you twice. Is everything all right?”
    “I just had a little trouble with these figures, but they finally tallied.”
    “That doesn’t sound like you.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Want me to go over them for you?”
    “They’re all right now.”
    “I wondered if you’d like to work downstairs on Saturday afternoon. This is the second girl I’ve had to hire since Paula left, and she’s not doing much better than the first one. Maybe you could help her a bit.”
    “I’d be glad to, Mr. Thomas.”
    “You don’t have any plans with your young man?”
    “I’ll see him at the Canteen Saturday night.”
    “If you’re sure.”
    “I’m sure.” But I’m not. Maybe he won’t even show up, and if he doesn’t… Quick tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned her head to hide them. If he doesn’t, it will be my fault. But I can’t give him what he wants. I just can’t, no matter what.
    ****
    Claudia Peters reminded Celeste of a movie starlet. “There’s just so much to remember,” the girl said, tugging at her turquoise sateen blouse.
    “Not really,” Celeste said, wondering if the girl knew she looked cheap with her skirt and