“For Nellie,” Harvey added, his eyes kind. “I want to ask her to dance, but I don’t want to step on her toes or fall over my own feet.” He tried to make it a joke, but it didn’t hide the hope that sat just under the words.
Hope was an argument I rarely ignored. Knowing deep down that I was edging over a line I’d never been tempted to cross, I placed my hand in Dane’s.
His palm was warm and calloused, steady without pressure. He moved closer and set his other hand on my back.
“Left foot forward,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Then step, together, side. Right foot back. Together, side. That’s the box.”
I could diagram the box on a permit plan. Doing it with my feet was different. I focused on the math of it. Forward one, collect two, side three. Back one, collect two, side three. The pattern anchored my breathing while his hand anchored my balance.
“You don’t have to look at your shoes,” he said.
“I’m not looking at my shoes,” I lied.
He huffed out a laugh, and my attention shifted to his mouth. That didn’t help. I focused on his eyes instead. That was even worse. Letting someone else lead went against every rule I’d written for myself since my parents split. Since the first time I learned love could walk away.
“That’s better,” he said. “Now let the steps live in your feet.”
Live in my feet? I didn’t have any idea what that meant, but I tried. The first two attempts were beyond awkward. On the third, my body recognized the pattern and did it automatically. My shoulders loosened a fraction. The fabric at my waist warmed under Dane’s hand. The room shrank to the lines we drew with each set of three.
Harvey watched us with the smug satisfaction of a man who’d arranged exactly what he wanted and wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the beat against his knee. When I glanced over, he lifted his chin toward the door with the slightest suggestion of privacy. Then he looked away, humming along and pretending not to listen in.
“Again,” Dane said, his tone even softer now. “Left. Together. Side.”
I moved. He led. My mind tried to find some professional reason to justify dancing with Dane Thorne and failed. My body seemed to understand before my thoughts did that it was possible to be held and still be steady.
“You’re not bad at this,” he said.
“I’m not good at it either. I don’t dance,” I said.
“You do now.” He guided me through a turn. I made it halfway and caught myself against his shoulder. I stepped back fast, heat rising in my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said.
“For what?” His hand at my back tightened just enough to keep me from quitting. “You didn’t fall.”
The song shifted into another with the same tempo. The speaker crackled and smoothed out again. Harvey pretended to study his phone.
“What made you decide to start giving dance lessons?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
Dane shrugged. “Harvey asked. And I’m not about to shut down a guy who wants to shoot his shot at the Founders’ Festival. I can show him the steps. Making it mean something? That part’s on him.”
I tilted my head. “I didn’t peg you for a dance coach. I always figured your lessons leaned more toward how to get a woman all hot and bothered.”
His gaze dipped to my mouth before traveling back to my eyes, a deliberate drag that set my nerves buzzing. “That one usually comes with a live demo.”
My pulse shot skyward. Heat crept up the back of my neck, but I didn’t look away. “Let me guess. Starts with footwork, ends with somebody pressed up against a wall?”
“Only if she wants it that way.” His smirk was wicked and unhurried. “Are you offering to help me with the next lesson, March?”
I took a tiny step closer—just enough to shift the air between us. “Depends. You trying to pass with flying colors? Or just hoping I forget how to count?”
His voice dropped a notch. “I don’t dance for practice.”
Tension stretched tight, like a rubber band being pulled in two different directions. Part of me wanted to lean in and let it snap.
Instead, I took a breath and eased back, slipping behind the safety of the reason I’d stopped by in the first place.
“Good to know,” I said. “But unless you’ve got a facilities use form tucked in that back pocket, we’re off-topic and my dance card is full.”
