The deep breath he managed to get into his lungs shook, but he expelled it in a slow, easy flow. “Okay.”
The tight lines by her mouth melted into a tremulous smile, and she rubbed her palm over his arm. “Okay.”
Another slow inhale and exhale centered him further. He jerked his chin toward the interior room. “Let’s go speak to our mamas.”
Luckily, Mona and Aunt Lenora sat with his parents. He felt her gaze land on him and ignored it, focusing his attention on Holly’s hand on his arm, her fingers caressing through his jacket and shirt. Mama’s eyes lit at the sight of them together, lightening the pressure in his chest. He loved seeing her happy almost as much as he loved that same emotion on Holly.
“Hey, Mama.” He leaned down to engulf her in a hug and kiss her cheek, his throat aching when D rose to slap his back and pull him into a snug embrace. Geez, his parents weren’t perfect, but once he was someone’s daddy, he had a lot to live up to where D was concerned.
They lingered a minute, swapping hugs and handshakes at the table and letting their mamas snap photos.
Lord, it was worse than his first high school dance, when he’d been a relatively new driver, seriously gawky after a growth spurt, and Sue had been beside herself because he had his first date. Holly knew it, too, smirking at him as they walked away, threading their way between the tables. Able to breathe because her table was behind him, he restrained himself from popping Holly’s ass in retaliation for that know-it-all smile.
Two empty chairs waited for them, and of course, the pair of seats butted up to Tick and his wife on one side. That was fine – David and Lorraine sat opposite them and Trace and Sara Davisto one side of the empty chairs. Colt held the chair beside Tick for Holly because damn if he’d sit next to him, then took the spot next to Sara, reaching behind her to shake Trace’s hand, grateful to see them. Colt had almost zilch in common with him – Trace taught history out at the high school, he and Sara had a little girl about the age of Tick’s daughter – but they could talk sports or something.
Anything. He’d take anything right now, with Lamar to his right and her behind him . . . because he could tell himself all night long he wasn’t doing this to himself any longer, but damn, this washard.
Holly knew it, too, one steady hand curved around his knee in warm comfort.
As much as he could, he shrugged off the uneasy discomfort, talked basketball with Trace, listened to Sara and Lorraine and Caitlin talk about their children and with Holly about their wedding plans, tuned out David and Tick’s own basketball conversation. He even managed a few bites of Mrs. Rhonda’s marinated steak and roasted vegetables, turning down dessert, although any other time he’d kill for that apple tart and cinnamon ice cream of hers.
He laid his napkin beside his plate, an arm slung over the back of Holly’s chair. Idly rubbing a thumb against the softness of her sweater, he watched Mrs. Louella Hatcher drag Mr. Lewis Hatcher onto the small area left as a dance floor. A smile quirked at his lips – Mrs. Louella completely ignored Mr. Lewis’s crotchety frown, a blissful smile on her face.
“You should dance with me, precious.” From the corner of his eye, he caught Tick’s movement, sliding his chair back to offer a hand to Caitlin.
Holly spooned up a bite of cinnamon ice cream, watching them take the floor. A hint of wistfulness twisted her expression. “She makes those shoes look easy.”
Colt shot a glance over his shoulder. She did, walking and dancing a lot like Gracie, like maybe she’d had years of dance lessons. She and Lamar had that graceful fit to them, moving with the smooth flow of an established couple. Colt shut down the old sense of loss, easing his chair back as Holly scraped up a final morsel of tart drenched in melted ice cream.
“Are we dancing with or without your shoes?”
A cheeky grin brightened her face, chasing away the hint of insecurity. “How much do you value your toes?”
“I know you know how to dance.” He rose, offering a hand. “I remember cotillion.”
“Hmm.” She laid her palm in his and let him leverage her to her feet. “You’re taller now.”
He swallowed a sigh at the playful dig. She’d been a couple of inches ahead of him at the beginning of middle school, and he’d caught hell about it from the other boys in cotillion classes, all through sixth grade, until he’d had a growth spurt over the summer.
“You’re still mouthy.” Winding their fingers together, he urged her ahead of him as they wound through the tables.
“You like my mouth.”
He snorted, carefully whirling her into his arms and a traditional waltz, aware his job was to make her part of dancing effortless. “You better hush before Mona hears you. That whole still-a-virgin gig will be up.”
Other couples filtered onto the floor. She flexed her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer, her hair brushing his chin, her pleased sigh warming his throat. “You always were good at this.”
He hid a smile against the shining crown of her head. “Sue made me practice in the living room.”
Her soft laugh puffed across his skin. “Of course she did.”
Circling a caress at the base of her spine, he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “I could twirl you.”
“I’d rather not fall on my butt, Colton.”
“I’d keep you from falling.”
Her palm slid over his shoulder, almost to his nape. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
