We speed out to Long Island, to the club. Jon is driving with an excited vibe about him. He’s wearing a nice suit and has a light dusting of stubble on his jaw. His eyes look brighter when he doesn’t shave. That dark hair makes the blue so rich and vibrant.

He has that chunky watch on his wrist that cost a fortune and a pair of black pants that hug his ass in a way that’s hard not to notice. It's like staring at the sun. I think angels sing while he walks, and it takes everything I have within me to not pinch him right then.

He’s got a soft button-down shirt on with no tie, and his jacket is across the shallow backseat. He downshifts, making the car purr, and cuts through traffic.

I adjust the strap on my sundress and look over at him. “So, are you going to tell me anything about our dinner plans?”

“Nope.” Jon grins, shifts again, and bobs around another car.

“Not even a hint?”

He glances over at me, his hand on the gearshift, and sighs. “Okay, a little one. We’re not having dinner at the club.”

My face crunches up. Unless he means crackers and peanuts, I wouldn’t have said the club serves dinner at all. His meaning finally dawns on me. “Wow, you serve food now?”

“Wait and see.” After a few more turns, we’re pulling into a newly paved parking lot.

It looks like a different building. Club Ferro glows in purple neon on the outside of a limestone building with thick dark wood beams surrounding the front door and supporting the roof. Glowing in the dim light, the building resembles a little French chateau lost in New York.

“Jon, it’s beautiful.” I don’t know how he got this done so fast. It’s only been a few weeks since he bought it, but it's barely recognizable.

After we park, he circles the car to open my door and takes my hand. When I step out, I notice the custom brickwork on the path to the brand new front door. It’s not even in the same spot in the wall. Instead, we’re standing in front of two double doors facing the street. The dark new color and intricate wrought iron scrolling contrast nicely against the pale stone veneer. It’s beautiful. It makes me wonder what I’m going to find inside.

He pulls the door open, and we enter the main room. The floors have been ripped up and replaced with dark, polished concrete. The walls are dark brown leather attached with decorative golden brads. The rich purple chairs are still here, but now they look like they belong. The light fixtures cast the perfect amount of golden light on the tables. The biggest change, however, is the stage area. Instead of three platforms, there’s one large stage minus the poles. A massive velvet curtain hangs closed across the front of it. A spotlight shines down on the heavy plum colored drapery, illuminating the ruched fabric and golden tassels.

I blink rapidly and look around. The girls are wearing dark purple corsets with fitted jackets and short black skirts. They all have matching thick black velvet headbands and tight chignons at the napes of their necks.

Gretchen sees us and rushes over. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run, but this is more than I ever dreamed. Jon, you took my ideas and made them even better. This, just, OMG!” She covers her mouth with her hand and blinks rapidly. “Thank you! It’s a marvelous place to be, and I'm beyond excited I get to work here.” She squeals and rushes off.

I glance at Jon. “You planned this with Gretchen?”

“She has an interior design degree she wasn’t using. I saw it in her file when I bought the place. I brainstormed with her and a few other girls who had hidden talents, and we came up with this. It’s not a strip club anymore, but that revenue was too important to the top dancers to take away. So we talked about it and came up with this idea. It’s a vintage-style burlesque and dinner club for men.”

I blink at him. “Is that code for a fancy strip club?”

He shakes his head, holds out a hand and leads me to a booth. We slide in, and he hands me a leather bound menu. “No, it’s not. The stage is for performances. They’ll start one in a moment. Instead of exposing everything, it’s more of a traditional burlesque—it’s about the dance. The girls are never completely naked. That’s not the point. It’s about movement, empowerment, and the woman showing the men what she thinks is a powerful display of seduction. To choreograph our new shows, I hired a woman who trained as a classical ballet dancer. She fell in love with Betty Paige style pinups and started a neo-burlesque revival a few years back in England.”

I don’t understand. “So the other girls got demoted to waitresses?”

“No, they’re all part of the show. It’s a full-blown production. Tonight is a practice run, a dress rehearsal if you will. The club doesn’t officially reopen until next week. We rebranded, and advertisements are running. My hope is to pull in a more refined crowd with more money. The girls can work less, and it’ll keep this place from turning into a money pit. It's possible we could even turn a profit in the first year—which is unusual.”

I’m about to tell him how proud I am that he did this. He pulled on the talents hidden in plain sight and turned this place into something unique. Before I can say anything, people pour out of the wing of the stage and sit down in a small area. Their brass instruments flash in their hands as they take their seats and quickly ready themselves. The horns play a quick jazz number then the curtain pulls up toward the ceiling and then back to the side.

Jon sits back and folds his arms across his chest. I feel his gaze shift and look away fast, as if he wants to know what I think.

White smoke fills the stage, flooding it from somewhere in the darkness behind. As the music pulses through me, several former dancers appear in black corsets and lavish headdresses adorned with feathers and sparkles. They’re pulling out a carved wooden horse, the kind that belongs on a carousel. There’s a woman in a pink gown sitting on the saddle. She jumps off and steps in beat to the music, dancing with a huge smile on her face.

Her pink skirt brushes the floor as she spins. She moves gracefully, taking elegant steps across the stage. The other girls join her. It’s more of a musical production at this point than a strip tease.

The woman in the center wears a sparkling pink corset with a sheer skirt that swishes at her ankles. Her headdress has tall plumes of pink and white feathers adorned with sparkling jewels. She has bracelets on her wrists and silver shoes with towering heels, but they’re not stripper shoes. She can walk and dance easily, even with the tall heel.

She suddenly turns away, and her sheer skirt drops on the offbeat. It flutters to the floor as she spins back toward us with a smile. Her wrists are above her head as she dances. Her hips shimmy in something resembling a belly dance then things speed up.

As she spins again, her corset comes off. Underneath, she wears pasties on her nipples and a bra that looks like jewelry with little bits of silver dangling between crystals. Combined with the pasties, it looks pretty. The women dancing next to her don’t remove anything. They’re dancing with the woman in pink, forming a kick line, then move her back to the carousel horse.

While one woman dances in front, the two in back help lift the main dancer up. She sits sidesaddle, leans backward then uses those long, shapely legs to make the horse rock. Her jewels shimmer in the bright light as she rocks, thrusting her front leg up with each downbeat of the music.

As the melody crescendos, she kicks once, twice, and a third time, then as they hold the final note, she holds her leg in the air. Golden fireworks sparkle in front of the horse and spray into the air, backlighting the dancers with a warm, glittering glow. They all end in unison, and the stage curtain drops with an abrupt swish, shielding them from the audience's view.

My jaw hits the table, and I turn to Jon. “Oh. My. God!”

Jon looks nervous. His brow is pinched, and he leans forward in the booth. His slouching arrogant attitude vanishes for the moment. “Is that a good ohmigod or a bad ohmigod? Last night I could tell, but right now—not so much.”

I blurt out a loud laugh and swat at his shoulder. “Jon!”

He grabs my hands and talks so fast I can’t get a word in edgewise. “There’s nothing on the island like this. It was a risk, bringing her here and turning this place into a club. I wanted to turn it into something you’d be proud of, something different. I wanted to offer people a Vegas-style show right in their own backyard. Talk to me, Cass. Was it that bad? Was it—”

I lean in and kiss him to make him stop talking. The tension flows out of his shoulders, and he melts the moment our lips touch. When I pull back, I say, “I loved it. I didn’t know what to expect at first, but the combination of the music, chorus dancers, and the main dancer—Oh, Jon, it’s amazing!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Really! That was less than two minutes on stage, and I’m grinning like an idiot, dying to see more. I think you nailed it. A place like this will do fantastic here. So, you've kept the bar, added food and hired more waitresses?”

I glance around. There are way more employees here than usual. Jon nods and watches me, his beautiful face smiling. “Yeah, and during the final number, well—I think it’s better if I show you.”

He cues the band to start playing again. The curtains rise quickly, and the main dancer is now wearing a fluffy red dress and performing a different dance. It’s fast, flashy, and fun. By the end, she’s wearing a G-string, a crystal bra that somehow still covers her nipples, golden heels and outlandish red feathers above her head. Every inch of her moves powerfully, confidently.

I don’t notice the waitresses moving around, but they get close to the stage, grab a circular tray and spin. On stage, the main dancer spins high in the air, lifted by two of the girls, while the rest spin around, suddenly wearing less clothing. I can’t tell where the corsets went, but all the girls don short flouncy skirts barely covering their cheeks with shimmering black bras. They hold their trays in front and dance in unison. As the band reprises the song, golden sparks shoot from the sides of the trays and shower down from the ceiling.

I’m gasping, clutching the edge of the table. I glance at Jon and back at the women who are holding one arm in the air awaiting further instructions. “You need to let women come in here. Don’t make it a men’s only club.”

Jon seems surprised. “What? Why?”

“Because that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! You shouldn’t cut out half the population. Women will want to see it, too. It’s amazing.”

The dancers are still standing there, arms up. Jon stands and claps. “Well, that was our first show, and it went really well. Congratulations, ladies!”

As everyone starts clapping, a million questions pop up in my head. Why don’t the sparks burn the floor dancers? How do the feathers stay on their heads while they’re moving around like that? Where did she get that crystal bra? It’s awesome! I want one. But mainly I want to learn how to dance like that!

Bruce walks over as Jon goes to take care of some things. “Hello, Cassie.”

I smile up at him. “Bruce! What are you doing now?”

“Same thing as before for the most part, security. Making sure no one goes backstage, tossing out troublemakers and that kind of stuff.”

I stare at the stage and watch Jon standing there, all his weight on one leg, with that perfect ass looking yummy in those pants.

“So, what other changes are in the works?”

Bruce has his beefy arms folded across his chest. “Possible daylight hours and classes.”

“Classes for what?”

“Cooking. The kitchen is huge. Ferro put in multiple stations. He said something about classes for man meals and dancing.”

“Dancing?”

Bruce points toward the stage. “Yeah, you can come in and learn how to do that.”

My eyes go wide, and I try not to fangirl squeal. I don’t know where to put my hands. They go to my face, and I slap my cheeks as I grin wildly. “No. Way. Don’t even toy with me, Bruce! Is that for real?”

An amused look spreads across his normally impassive face. “That’s what the boss said. Open for dinner and shows at night, cooking and classes during the day.”

I can’t help it. I love it even more, now. A giddy giggle works its way up inside of me, and I scoot out of the booth and rush toward Jon.

I crash into him from behind, laughing. “The classes? Are they real? Is it a thing?”

Jon stops talking to the bandleader and turns to face me. He pries me off his waist and holds both my hands. Looking down at me, he asks, “Do you really like it?”

“I love it. You took the best things people had to offer, made it fun, and then added a how-to-be-awesome section. Jon," I stroke a finger over his temple, "you have this creative mastermind living in here. You need to let him out more often, because OMG!” I gush, doubling over at the waist as I say it. “This is amazing! You’re amazing!”

Before he can reply, someone behind me says, “I’m inclined to agree.”

I turn quickly and see Sean standing behind us, his hands clasped in front of him. He’s wearing a black sweater that clings to his chest and a pair of strategically tattered jeans. He’s holding a helmet in his hands and studying the changed surroundings.

Jon stiffens. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.”

“Sean, I don’t need any shit from you right now.”

“That wasn't my intention before and isn't my intention now. I meant what I said the last time we spoke.” His voice is flat, but something in his eyes makes me know he’s sincere, though I have no idea what they last said to each other. Jon didn’t say anything to me about it.

“Sean, I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m sick of trying to meet other people’s expectations and failing.”

“So go your own way. Make your own mistakes. Life’s too short to live it for someone else.” Sean shifts his weight and sets his helmet down on a table.

Jon stares at him in disbelief. “Why are you here, Sean?”

Sean bows his head and glances to the side, his gaze landing on me. “To tell you what I should have said the other day—that no matter what happens with Uncle Luke or anyone else, I’m here. I’m not leaving again. I’m here for Pete and you. Anything you need, Jon. I mean it. I moved back into my place in the city. I’m home for good.”

Jon hesitates, shaking his head. I think he’s going to give his brother a verbal lashing, but, instead, Jon lifts his arms and wraps them around Sean. He slaps his back twice, and Sean does the same. They say something to each other, something I can’t hear before pulling back.

Then Sean turns toward the door with his helmet tucked under his arm. Just before he crosses the threshold, he pauses, turns, and says, “Don’t let that one get away. She’s good for you. She sees you, Jonny.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. Sean’s gone.