“Honest one.”
Her lips twitch. We turn. Her skirt brushes my thigh. The music swells. I pull her a fraction closer than necessary. Mrs. Dottie gasps softly in approval.
“Chemistry!” she whispers like she just discovered penicillin.
Sadie leans in slightly. “We’re supposed to look believable.”
“Trust me,” I murmur, tightening my hold just enough to make her breath hitch, “we do.”
Her fingers dig into my shoulder. The room feels smaller with every step. We pivot again. Her hair brushes my jaw. Her perfume hits me—something warm, subtle, dangerous.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses quietly.
“I’m tolerating it.”
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
She tilts her chin up.
“Is this part fake?” she asks.
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I slide my hand lower—just slightly—guiding her into a slow turn. Her hips align with mine. Her eyes darken.
“Levi,” she warns.
“What?”
“Your hand.”
“Is exactly where it needs to be.”
Mrs. Dottie claps. “That’s it! Feel the romance!”
Romance isn’t the word for what’s coiling between us. It’s something hotter. Something reckless. We glide across the floor again.
She moves beautifully—confident, steady, completely aware of how her body fits against mine.
“You practiced,” I say.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She studies me for a beat. “Still trying to protect me?”
“Always.” The word slips out before I can filter it.
She goes quiet. We step. Turn. Her fingers curl tighter in mine.
After a moment she says, softer, “You didn’t protect me from everything.”
The music continues but it fades into the background. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She swallows. “You never came to visit.”
The words land heavier than they should. I keep leading. Keep us moving.
