Still massaging my foot, he asked, “Do you miss anything about it?”
“Well, there was a pond near our home that would freeze up some winters. We used to go ice-skating on it. I was a terrible skater,” I said with a laugh, “but my friend could do all these tricks and spins. It’s sad to think about it now. My childhood is gone, my home is gone, and nothing is the same.”
“I know the feeling. You get attached to certain places for different reasons, and going back years later is a bittersweet reminder of the good times gone. I once tried finding my childhood home, but so much has built up around there that I don’t have a clue where it used to be. They probably built a train station over my mother’s remains.”
The topic was depressing me. “You should put some music on. Do you have a playlist on your phone?”
“Phone?” Atticus stood and walked toward the back. “I have something better. Vinyl.”
“Oh!” I scooted to the edge of the seat, impressed by his nostalgia.
“What do you like?”
“The oldies.”
Atticus erupted with laughter. “I’m three thousand years old. What do you consider oldies?”
After pushing myself up, I replied, “Anything from the fifties or sixties would be fun.” I smiled playfully. “Nineteen hundreds.”
He opened up a lower cabinet, which revealed a plethora of record albums.
“Virgil would love this. He has a collection of his own.”
“Does he? I’d like to see it. He might have a few I’ve been searching for.” After selecting one, he pulled out the black disc and placed it on the turntable. When the needle dropped, it crackled on the speakers before Otis Redding crooned the opening lyrics to “These Arms of Mine.”
I swayed as the music brought back memories.
Atticus held out his hand, offering me a dance.
And I took it.
As soon as his arm came around my waist, he moved and swayed like a professional.
“You can really dance!” I said with a light gasp.
He didn’t just slow dance with a few steps side to side. No, Atticus moved his body with mine, guiding me into a sensual rhythm. When I gazed into his dark eyes, a connection stirred between us, and I felt myself falling for him.
Why am I feeling this way?
Because his unwavering devotion to my happiness touched me. Atticus was a wonderful person to be around. While I appreciated everything Salem had done for me, he was clinical. He monitored my health not because he cared for me but because that was his job. If my feet hurt, he would tell me to lie down. If I was depressed or having trouble sleeping, he gave me a pill.
Atticus tilted his head to the side. “What are you thinking about?”
How wonderful his arms felt around me? How this was all happening so fast and it scared me that I was falling for him?
Hope’s words whispered in my head:Our wolves always know who we belong with.
But my wolves were hibernating, so they weren’t any help. I broke up the dance and stepped back.
His eyes were brimming with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“I keep overstepping my boundaries.” He stalked down the bowling lane and gathered up the wooden pins.
I crossed my arms. “Why did you change the pins when we first came down?”
“The ones I use for myself are steel.”
