“It’s just for fun. Trust me, nobody here knows who we are, and they won’t judge us. You don’t need any skills, just the ability to move your body to the music.” He gestures to the crowd around us. There are some kids, an older couple, and two people our age. “So what do you say?” He dips his chin and offers me his hand. His eyes are daring me to dance.
I don’t dance. Or play sports. Period. It’s always ended badly for me. Like the time I managed to give myself a concussion learning how to do a plié in ballet. My parents and I are still mystified about how I did that. But it tells you all you need to know about me. Daphne was always the athletic one, not me. Growing up, I was happy to watch from the sidelines. But that was then, and this is now. I want myEat, Pray, Lovemoment.
I swallow hard. If Fernando is going to be my partner, I guess his ice-skating grace can make up for my missteps. A few beads of sweat pool down the back of my neck and under my arms. “All right,” I tell him. “But only this once.”
Fernando’s face breaks out into a wolfish grin. It’s the feature of his I’m the most attracted to. He takes hold of one of my quivering hands and places his other on the small of my back. “Relax,” he says. “Pretend your entire body is Jell-O and follow my lead.”
I hope he doesn’t feel the dampness back there. I move in closer to his body. My heart is hammering against my ribs. On beat with the music, he steps forward, forcing me to take a step back. We repeat this easy motion. His grip is light, but reassuring. It takes my brain a few moments to figure out that all we’re doing is an easy on-two step.
“There you go, Ava, you’ve got it.” His voice is low and soothing, like a hot cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. “Now you can look up here, instead of at your feet.”
“Oh, um, sorry,” I mumble, lifting my chin. Then I misstep, stomping on his right foot. I inhale sharply and abruptly stop. I hopeI haven’t damaged it! He needs his feet in one piece. I drop his hands and take a step back. “I’m so sorry, I... I... I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t,” he says calmly. “You were doing great up until you started to second-guess yourself. Let’s try again. And this time, trust your body. Focus on me. Let your mind go blank and listen to the music.”
“I can’t believe you want to try this again.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere,” he says.
Taking hold of my hands once more, he guides me through the one-two step again. “There it is,” he whispers. “I have you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Now look at me.”
Dry swallowing, I hesitantly lift my chin, locking gazes with him. His brown eyes are wide, like an owl’s. They’re laser focused on me. He does have me. He won’t let me fall.
“Yes,” his voice nearly purrs.
My eyes close and I open my ears. I hear the guitar and its soft melody. I let go, fully give in to Fernando’s instructions, letting my body do what it wants. My brain empties and I become that smooth Jell-O.
It’s only the two of us. I’m fully aware that his large body is pressed right up to mine. His hands are wrapped around my waist, helping me glide back and forth. I hear the low, soothing rumble of his voice counting out, “One-two, one-two. Yes. Just like that.”
The longer we dance together, the higher the temperature of my internal furnace climbs, and the more rapidly my stomach somersaults. Being near this man has awakened my body. It’s alive and buzzing with enough energy to power a small solar system. I haven’t felt this way since I discovered my feelings for Dylan.
Before I know it, however, the music ends. We stop moving and there’s clapping. My eyes open. “Well done, Ava. I knew you could do it.”
It’s back to reality. I’m hot and clammy. I step back, releasing him. “Thanks, Fernando, that was, er... what I mean is, um, thanks.
“You said that already,” he teases. “Are you thirsty? I sure am.”He lifts the hem of his shirt and pats his brow, exposing a flash of skin and two little squares of muscle that disappear into the waistband of his jeans. I dry swallow. “How about some orange juice? It’s what Seville is famous for.”
“No surprise, given all the orange trees.” I laugh nervously, fanning myself, all too happy to have a distraction. “Do they make a shaved ice or ice cream?”
“I’m sure they do.”
I will myself to focus on the oranges, but I’m failing miserably. I’m dying for another flash of what’s under Fernando’s shirt.
“Are you okay? Your cheeks are all pink.”
“I’m good,” I chirp, my ears burning. “I must’ve just been out in the sun a little too long. I’ll be fine once we rehydrate.”
Ugh, that sounds so lame. But it’s the best excuse I can come up with.
We stroll side by side from the main plaza into a beautiful green park with a quaint café nestled under a canopy of palm and orange trees. The tables are shaded by bright umbrellas, and a chalkboard menu out front proudly advertiseszumo de naranja fresco—fresh orange juice—andhelado de naranja—orange ice cream.
“Here we go. Let’s try this place,” Fernando says, leading the way to an empty table.
We place an order and settle into our chairs. A server brings out a large juice for Fernando and a bowl of orange sorbet for me. For a moment, we’re content to sit in companionable silence, enjoying the cool treats and the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. He wasn’t kidding about the flavor. The ice cream is delicious, not too sweet or tangy.
“Have you had a chance to get in touch with your parents yet? I know you said they wouldn’t mind if I stole you for a day or two, but I still feel guilty about it,” I say.
He leans back in his chair and stretches. “It’s on my list of things to do this afternoon. I sent Mamá a text, but who knows if she’ll readit today or a few days from now. At least if I call her, I know she’ll get the message.”
