Warm. Certain. Real.
It’s stupid how many times I’ve imagined this—how many nights I’ve stayed awake, playing out some ridiculous scenario where she looks at me like I’m something more than the awkward academic with perpetually crooked glasses. But I never got the details right. Not even close.
Because nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
She looks like moonlight and midnight secrets, like the kind of dream you don’t dare speak aloud in case it disappears. That dress clings to her curves like it was spun from shadows that learned how to worship her. And her eyes—gods, her eyes—are bright and sharp and amused all at once, like sheknowsthe effect she’s having on me.
And still, she let me take her hand.
I guide her gently into the center of the courtyard where others have already started to pair off. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I keep my grip steady. I can be steady—for her.
“Are you sure about this?” I murmur, low enough only she can hear.
Her head tilts, eyes glittering. “You offering me an escape clause, Porter?”
“No.” I swallow, clearing the knot in my throat. “Just making sure I don’t wake up and find out I dreamed this whole thing.”
She laughs softly, stepping closer, her other hand resting against my shoulder. “You didn’t.”
Then I’m moving—awkward at first, trying not to step on her, trying not to think about where my hands should go or how close is too close—but she leans in, and somehow I find the rhythm. The world fades to the warmth of her skin, the way her breath hitches when I spin her, the sound of her laughter like a spark catching fire in my chest.
I’m not the guy girls like her choose. I know that.
I know I’m the backup plan, the friend in the shadows, the one who gets remembered kindlyafterthe story ends. But right now, she’s looking at me like I’m the chapter she wants to read again.
And I’m selfish enough to hold onto her with both hands for as long as she’ll let me.
“I think you’re trying to seduce me with your fancy footwork,” she says, smirking.
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” Her smile softens. “I like this side of you.”
I blink. “What side?”
“The confident, charming,actually pretty good at dancingside.”
“Oh, that’s just an illusion,” I say, dipping her with more ease than I thought possible. “I’m shaking on the inside.”
She laughs again, and God, I’d bottle that sound if I could.
For tonight, I let myself be the guy she dances with under the Harvest Moon.
Tomorrow, the prophecy, the danger, and the secrets will come crashing back in.
But for now? For now, I dance.
The music slows, shifting from festive to something softer. Sweeter. Notes linger longer now, stretching like the hush before a wish. Or a kiss.
Her fingers curl just slightly against mine as though she feels it too.
I pull her a little closer. Not all the way—not yet—but close enough to feel the warmth of her breath when she exhales, to see the way her lashes lower and lift again as she meets my gaze.
And damn if it doesn’t undo me.
She looks at me like maybe…just maybe…this isn’t one-sided.
Like maybe she feels it too.
