She could dance. He'd known she was athletic. He'd seen the discipline in her posture, the way she carried herself withthe precision of someone who'd trained her body to project authority. But this was different. This was Emily without the precision. Emily with the armor off and the music in her body and no authority to project except the authority of a woman who felt good and didn't care who knew it.
He found the rhythm. Not perfectly, not the way she had it, but well enough that his feet made sense and his body wasn't fighting the beat. He kept his eyes on her because looking anywhere else was impossible and moving closer because the distance between them felt like a problem he was built to solve.
Emily closed the gap. Her hands found his chest, then his shoulders, then linked behind his neck. They were dancing together now, not beside each other but together, and Jake's hands went to her waist and the world reduced to her face and the music and the feeling of her body moving against his.
She was laughing. Not at him. At everything. At the fact that she was here, that she'd planned this, that Jake Walsh was on a dance floor because she'd told him to be. At the joy of it, the simple pleasure of moving with someone who mattered.
Jake pulled her closer. Gave up trying to be good at this and settled for being present. Felt her press against him, her forehead against his face, her breath warm on his neck. A song ended and another started and they didn't stop. Two songs became three became four, and somewhere in the middle of the third one Emily lifted her head and looked at him and her eyes were shining and wild and happier than he'd ever seen them.
"You're not terrible," she said against his ear.
"High praise."
"I mean it. You're adequate."
"I'll put that on my resume."
She kissed him on the dance floor, quick and hard, with people pressed around them and the bass rattling in his ribs, andit was the least careful kiss she'd ever given him and the one that would live in his memory the longest.
They found their way back to the booth eventually. Jake's shirt was sticking to his back and Emily's hair had lost whatever arrangement she'd started with and neither of them cared. Claire was waiting with fresh drinks and an expression of pure, radiant satisfaction.
"That," Claire said, pointing at Emily, "is the girl I went to law school with. That girl right there. I've been looking for her for years."
Emily took her drink and leaned against Jake's shoulder. "She was always here."
"She was hiding."
"She was waiting." Emily looked up at Jake. "For a reason to come out."
Will caught Jake's eye across the table and raised his glass. A small gesture. One man acknowledging what he'd witnessed. Jake raised his in return.
They stayed another hour. More drinks. More conversation. Claire told stories from law school that made Emily cover her face and groan, and Emily retaliated with a story about Claire's moot court disaster that had Will laughing so hard he had to set down his drink. Jake added nothing of his own, content to watch, to listen, to feel Emily's body against his side and her laugh vibrating through his body.
At some point Will excused himself to the bar and Jake followed, standing beside him while they waited.
"She's different tonight," Will said, watching Emily and Claire at the booth. "Claire told me Emily doesn't do this. Doesn't come out, doesn't dance, doesn't let go."
"She doesn't."
"Claire says that's you."
Jake watched Emily across the room. She was telling Claire a story, her hands moving in the animated way they did when she forgot to be contained. Claire was leaning forward, hanging on every word, and the light caught them both and Jake felt the vertigo of looking at a life he hadn't known he wanted until it was forming around him in real time.
"It's not me," Jake said. "It's her. I'm the excuse she was looking for."
Will considered this. "That might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
"Don't tell her I said it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They brought the drinks back to the table and the evening kept going, the four of them falling into the easy rhythm of people who'd decided to enjoy each other's company without complication. Will told a story about a deal that went sideways in Singapore that was genuinely funny. Claire demolished Jake in a debate about courtroom strategy that Emily refereed with obvious delight. Jake caught himself thinking that this was it. This was the thing people built. Not the missions or the cases or the career milestones. This. A booth in a loud club with people who were becoming his people.
Emily leaned up and pressed her lips against his ear. "Take me home."
Emily sat sidewaysin the passenger seat, her back against the door, her feet kicked up on the center console, her shoes discarded on the floor. Her hair was wrecked and her makeup had migrated and she was looking at him with an expression that made driving in a straight line require genuine effort.
"You danced," she said.
