Chapter 23

When the snow finally stopped, the city took two full days to stir again—two days without school, without work, with nothing to do but live slowly. Snow forts rose in the front yard, laughter carrying across the drifts. Four adults, three kids, and nowhere else to be.

When the club reopened, Frank and Gut, along with a hired snow crew, cleared the walks and parking lot until they gleamed wet but safe. They spread sand and salt against the freeze, their breath fogging in the sharp air. By the time they finished, both were exhausted and grinning. Gut headed home first; Frank followed soon after, his boots crunching through the quiet as he thought of home.

He stomped the snow from his feet at the door, careful not to track any inside. Jane looked up, surprised—and then smiled that knowing smile. Without a word, she led him to the bedroom and turned on the shower.

“You don’t have to do that, honey,” he said softly. “If you’ve got things to do, I can—”

“Hush,” she interrupted, swatting his hand playfully and pressing her warmth to his. “I’m your wife, and it’s my prerogative where and when I shower. Now hand me the wash mitt.”

Steam rose around them, filling the space with heat and heartbeat. They washed each other without hurry, laughter and tenderness blending with the water’s rhythm. Frank’s touch was gentle, tracing the curve of her hip; Jane’s fingers were confident, deliberate, her affection shown through every careful stroke. The sound of the water and their quiet breaths became its own kind of music.

When the warmth began to fade, they stepped out and wrapped themselves in towels. Frank lifted Jane onto the vanity, the air cooling against their damp skin. She gasped softly as he entered her, arms looping around his neck, heels tapping against the cabinet doors. Their movements were slow and sure, an expression more of gratitude than urgency.

When it was over, she rested her forehead against his shoulder, still trembling. “I love you, Frank,” she whispered. “That was exactly what I needed.”

“I love you too, honey,” he said, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Thank you for sharing the shower.”

“Sometimes,” she murmured, smiling up at him, “being alone with my husband is all the therapy I’ll ever need.”

They cleaned up, dressed, and returned to the soft rhythm of the house—Frank in slacks and boots, ready for the snow; Jane in yoga pants and a T-shirt, glowing, barefoot, and utterly at peace. He kissed her one last time before heading back to the club.

When Frank opened the interior door to the club, three things happened at once—and all of them caught him off guard.

First, a woman leapt into his arms, wrapping herself around him and showering his face with kisses. Between the laughter and her repeated declarations of love, he could barely breathe.

Second, his phone rang—naturally, at the worst possible time—while his hands were full of a nearly naked dancer from his own stage. He tried awkwardly to fish the phone from his back pocket without dropping her.

And third, another woman grabbed him mid-struggle, joining in and kissing the other side of his face while the first woman continued her affectionate assault.

“Yes, hello, this is Frank,” he managed, half laughing and half gasping for balance as chaos reigned around him.

“Frank Devon, this is Mary Charles from your insurance agency. I’m the adjuster assigned to your claim. Is now a good time to talk?”

“Mary Charles—from insurance. Hang on one second.” He gently set Lisa and Veronica back on their feet and pointed a playful but firm finger at them. “Behave.”

They giggled, hugged each other, then sauntered off arm in arm, hips swaying exaggeratedly just to tease him. Frank sighed and rubbed his face.

“Sorry about that, Mary. My pack—you understand.”

She laughed. “I don’t, but I can appreciate it. My husband and I have been married for many years, and ... well, never mind that. I’m calling about your claim. Where’s your vehicle so I can inspect it?”

“Um ... I’m not sure. It was towed after the accident—my wife and I went to the hospital for a check-up. I suppose the tow company has it.”

That would be Chicagoland Tow, the WE informed them both. They have your vehicle at their central yard. Address transmitted.

“Thank you, WE,” Frank and Mary said together.

“With that documented,” she continued, “I’ll inspect the vehicle and send a settlement offer. Was anyone else injured besides you and your wife?”

“No, thank goodness. I managed to avoid that little Honda—that’s probably why we ended up where we did. I just couldn’t let myself hit them.”

“I understand, Frank, and I’m glad you didn’t. Your Escalade would have done real damage to that car—and made this whole situation worse for both of us.”

Frank heard her typing notes into her system. “I’ll check the truck in the next day or two.”

“Thank you, Mary. I appreciate how quickly you’re handling this.”

“Of course. I’ll be in touch soon. Have a good day, Mr. Devon.”

Frank hung up and leaned against the bar. He pulled out a stool beside a quiet patron sipping a hot drink and not paying much attention to the dancers.

“Tough call?” the patron asked.

“Yeah. My wife and I had an accident. Pretty sure my truck’s totaled.”

“What kind of truck?”

“Escalade. The big one. Got a large family.”

The patron nodded. “I get it. I came from a big family too—though that was a long time ago. We all went our separate ways.”

“That’s too bad,” Frank said. “Makes my loss feel small.”

The man smiled faintly, turned, and offered his hand. “I’m Carl. Carl Winters.”

“Good to meet you, Carl. I’m Frank Devon—and believe it or not, I own this place.”

Carl looked around, taking it in. “It’s a special place, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Off and on since it opened.”

“Got a favorite dancer?” Frank teased.

Carl chuckled softly. “No, but the WE told me my niece works here. She’s my sister’s daughter.”

“No way!” Frank’s eyes widened. “Which one? You should talk to her—have a little family reunion.”

Carl shook his head. “No. I’ve seen her dance. This isn’t the place for reunions. This is ... a place for other things.”

Frank met his gaze. “Carl, this club is family—for me, my wives, everyone who works here. If your niece knew her uncle was sitting here, she’d be thrilled. Trust me.”

Carl reached out through the WE. Is she here?

Yes. Your sister’s daughter is thirty-seven feet to your left—the one with the gold wig.

Carl turned and saw her. The resemblance to his sister hit him like a memory. He froze, hands wrapped tightly around his cup. “I can’t do it,” he whispered.

Frank, curious, quietly asked the WE, Which one? and got the same answer. He rose from his stool. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

He crossed the room to a table full of laughing dancers. Their laughter stopped instantly when the boss approached.

“Ladies,” he greeted warmly, his eyes landing on the gold-haired woman at the center. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello, Mr. Devon,” they chorused, their affection for him humming softly through the WE.

“If I remember right,” he said gently, “you’re Penny, yes?”

She froze. “Yes, sir. That’s my stage name.”

The other dancers subtly drifted away, leaving her alone.

Frank offered his hand. “Would you join me for a conversation?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, slipping from the booth to stand beside him.

He offered his arm. She hesitated, then took it. Together they walked back to the bar.

“I’m Frank, in case you didn’t know.”

“I know who you are, sir.”

“I’m about to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong,” he said, smiling kindly, “but since I care about everyone who works here, I’m doing it anyway.”