Amelie pulled her thoughts back to the present and turned to face Maurice Boucher, one of the members of the Bayou Brotherhood Protectors who had moved to Bayou Mambaloa almost two years before. He stood still on the edge of the dance floor.
Amelie missed a turn, caught up and fell in line again. “Why do you think I don’t like the dance?”
Maurice gave her a crooked smile. “You’ve been frowning through most of the song. I could buy you a drink to save you from line-dance hell, if you think it would help.”
His offer tempted her. Performing the line dance while reminiscing over that fateful day when she’d lost her friend wasn’t a good combination.
“I was lost in thought.” She shook her head. “I promised the ladies I’d do this last dance before I left.” Amelie tipped her head toward the line. “You could join us.”
“I could if I didn’t have two left feet.”
“This is perhaps the easiest line dance on record.” She missed another step and muttered, “Not that I’m a good example.”
“Tell you what,” Maurice said. “I’ll try if you promise me the next slow dance. It’s more my speed.”
“I really have to go. You know,” she shrugged, “life of a baker and all. Donuts don’t cook themselves early in the morning.”
“I get it, and I wouldn’t want you to disappoint your customers, me being one of them.” He stepped up beside her, watched her feet move and joined in, catching on quickly.
“Two left feet, huh?” Amelie rolled her eyes.
“It appears you were right. This line dance, I can do.”
After another repetition, the song ended.
Amelie’s girl squad hurried toward their table, leaving her standing with Maurice as the DJ played the next song. Her lips twisted when she realized it was a slow dance.
Maurice held out his hands. “You wouldn’t leave a man standing alone on the dance floor, would you?”
Amelie looked around the room at all the single women eyeing the man like a juicy side of beef. “There are enough single women, ready to pounce; you wouldn’t be alone for long.”
“Then save me from being pounced upon.” Maurice took one of her hands and gently pulled her into his arms.
Something about his right hand felt off. She glanced at where it held hers and frowned. “Why is it I’ve never noticed that you’re missing part of your finger?”
He shrugged. “Because you’ve been so busy with your bakery and keeping Bayou Mambaloa hopped-up on sugar to notice much else.” His brow dipped. “If it bothers you, we don’t have to hold hands to slow dance.”
“No,” she tightened her hold. “It’s fine.”
“The hand is the least you have to worry about. If I step on your feet, you have my permission to stomp on mine. Or you can walk away at any time.”
“Oh, shut up and dance,” she said and leaned into his body, liking that she could rest her cheek against his neck and smell the woodsy scent of his cologne.
She swayed to the music, her gaze going to the ladies who’d missed the opportunity to pounce on the tall, handsome man.
His good hand rested against the middle of her back, while the other held hers, strong yet gentle.
Was this what it had been like for her friends who’d found their guys? She’d thought she was envious before. Now, she was downright jealous.
How long had it been since she’d been held in a man’s arms? He made her feel all warm and tingly.
“So, was the line dance what was making you frown? Or was it something else?” he whispered against her ear.
And like that, the warmth and tingles disappeared, and she stiffened.
Maurice leaned back and stared down into her eyes. “Sorry. I take it you were having some unpleasant thoughts. Do I need to punch someone in the face for you?”
She smiled. “No. That won’t be necessary. I wasn’t mad at anyone. Just remembering.”
