Emerson hollers, “This is Vegas! It’s New Year’s Eve! Let’s live a little!”
I wonder if Bree assigned her to babysit me, and by that, I mean make sure I get into a little trouble.
However, as the song builds, I can’t help but move along with the beat. I start to relax. The pop song about letting loose is infectious. The crowd is happy and celebratory. For thefirst time in months, I feel some of the constant tension in my shoulders begin to ease. The worries about the bakery’s lease renewal, the stress of running the business solo, and the pressure of keeping Bibi’s legacy alive all start to fade.
This is exactly what the girls meant when they insisted I needed this trip. When was the last time I danced? When was the last time I did something just for fun, without calculating the monthly cost or worrying about the consequences?
Emerson spins me again, and laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. Maybe this is what my word for the year means.
Rise.
Rise above my preoccupations and fears. Rise to meet new experiences instead of hiding behind habits and the small little life I live.
The song builds to a crescendo, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over me. I feel free in a way I haven’t in years, like I’m remembering a part of myself I’d forgotten existed.
That’s when I smell fresh mint and something clean, like ice and winter air with a hint of cedar. The scent is completely different from the mix of perfume and champagne that otherwise fills the ballroom, and it makes me turn around instinctively.
Time slows.
The handsome stranger from across the room stands just a few feet away in a rare break in the crowd. Our eyes meet again, and this time there aren’t any bodies between us, no distance to keep us apart. This close, he makes my belly flutter.
As if in a dream, he extends his hand toward me. Not grabbing, not presuming, just offering. An invitation.
I hesitate for exactly one heartbeat while every warning Papa ever gave me flashes through my mind. Butthen the music swells, Emerson gives me an encouraging push from behind, and my hand is in his before I can talk myself out of it.
We dance.
Not the careful, formal dancing of weddings or charity galas, but fun, up close and personal dancing. The kind where we move to the music because we feel it in our bones, where we laugh when I step on his toe, and where the only thing that matters is the moment we’re in.
He’s a good dancer—confident but not showy, leading without being pushy. When he spins me, his fingers wrap around mine and his hand is steady at the small of my back. The flutters keep the beat and work double time. When I stumble slightly in my heels, he catches me effortlessly, his smile widening with amusement.
We don’t exchange so much as a word, but communicate through movement and smiles that just won’t quit.
The surrounding crowd is singing along to the music, voices raised in celebration, and I find myself singing too, something I never do in public. He grins when I belt out the chorus, and I feel a pleasant flush of connection, of being alive to the moment.
For these few precious minutes, I’m not Nina, “the responsible bakery owner who worries about everything.” I’m not the daughter bound by old promises and older fears. I’m just a woman dancing with a handsome stranger on New Year’s Eve, feeling happy and free and completely present in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
The pulsing crowd presses us together. So close, I see that his green eyes are flecked with gold, and the small scar on his chin that was recently shaved. The flutters rise and dance with us.
Then the song changes, shifting to a slower and more romantic tune, drawing the energy of everyone with it. Couplesslide closer together, and I suddenly remember where I am, who I’m supposed to be, and all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.
Before I can step back, before I can thank him for the dance or make my graceful exit, the massive crowd surges around us. Someone bumps into me from behind, pushing me forward just as my dance partner is shuffled in the opposite direction. Our hands slip apart, and suddenly a wall of people forms between us.
I catch one last glimpse of his green eyes, looking as surprised and disappointed as I feel, before he’s swallowed by the undulating sea of party-goers.
Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing on the dance floor with my heart racing and the lingering scent of winter air and cedar, wondering if I just imagined the most perfect dance of my life.
“Nina, there you are!” Bree appears at my elbow, vibrating with excitement.
I startle, feeling slightly dazed.
She says, “The hypnotist is next up in the variety show!”
Somehow, Emerson is still nearby. She frowns. “Just when Nina was making heart eyes at that guy, which resulted in them dancing for a second?—”
But he’s gone. Figures.
Just then, the new talent for the variety show is announced.
