“Sometimes I think I take our city for granted. Between places like this, the beaches, the cliffsides, the mountains. It’s hard to believe we get to live here,” I answered.
“My neighbor was just saying the same thing the other day.” Looking back at what was left of our dinner, she asked, “Do you want any more?”
Shaking my head as I wiped the greasy remains on a napkin, I said, “No, I’m so full. You?”
“No, I’m done. This was such a great idea. I’ve heard about this event before, but sadly, I never got a chance to come.”
We picked up our containers, took the last sip of our kombucha, something I discovered she was obsessed with, and started walking back toward the car.
“You have great instincts when it comes to date ideas. I still say I’m wasting your time,” she said, biting her bottom lip.
“You’re not, and I thought it might be something you’d like.”
“Yes, but do you think this is something Pam would like to do? At some point, you’ll be asking her out, right?” She looked up at me as she spoke. I wanted to take her hand again, but the crowd had unfortunately thinned.
“Yes, at some point.”
“Does she know you’re interested?” she asked, her attention on the ground as we walked.
I chuckled. “No. No, I don’t think she does.”
“When are you planning to tell her?” After spending so much time with Leyla, I was starting to notice the different cadence of her voice. For some reason, she sounded almost sad as she asked that last question.
“Um, soon, I think.” I remembered a line fromYou’ve Got Mailand hoped my version would suffice. “I’m working on it, but it needs some tweaking.”
She stopped walking and turned to me, her head tilted. “That almost sounds like a line from a movie I know.”
Oh boy. Just my luck, she knows that movie.
“I, ah, I just mean I’m working on it. So, are you excited to go dancing?” I asked, hoping to create a diversion.
She pursed her lips but seemed to let it go. As we resumed walking, she said, “Excited and a little nervous. You seem to be some kind of expert, and I really am not.”
“I may have oversold my skills.”
She laughed, throwing her head back as I watched, my own smile growing.
“You’re not getting out of this so easily, Mr. Demir,” she warned. The car was just up ahead, and my hand itched to touch hers again, but I knew soon enough she’d be in my arms.
When we reached the La Vue Dance Studio, Leyla turned to me as we walked toward the front door. “Are we getting lessons?” she asked excitedly.
“No, but they offer them if we ever want to come back.” I opened the door, and the loud music made it necessary to bend down to her ear. “Once a month, they turn the studio into a dance night with a live band. It looked like fun when I found it online.”
She nodded and let me lead her to a table. The evening's band specialized in Latin music, and I prayed I could remember the different Latin dance steps Mom had taught me.
“They’re amazing,” she yelled over the music, her eyes bright.
I nodded and pointed to the makeshift bar. “Would you like something to drink?”
Leaning toward me, she said, “No, I’m still stuffed, but thanks.”
The crowd was a mix of couples and groups our age and older. The venue hummed with warmth and rhythm, and an energy that was palpable. Leyla tapped her feet and swayed in her seat as the band’s pulsing beat filled the air.
Taking a deep breath, I stood and held my hand out to her. It was now or never. “Would you like to dance with me, Leyla?”
I was rewarded with her bright smile, which could’ve lit up the dark space.
“Yes, I’d love to.”
