“I’ll survive.”
I take his hand.
Wyatt leads me onto the floor, finding a spot near the edge where we won’t be in anyone’s way. His left hand settles on my waist, warm and sure, while his right hand holds mine at shoulder height. We’re close, closer than I’ve been to anyone in months, and I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and clean.
“The two-step is simple,” he says, his voice low enough that I have to lean in to hear him over the music. “Quick, quick, slow, slow. Quick, quick, slow, slow. Just follow my lead.”
He starts to move, and I follow, or I try to at least. My ballroom training kicks in, making me want to take larger steps, to move in these sweeping patterns I learned in dance class. But Wyatt keeps me close, his hand on my waist, guiding me into smaller, more intimate movements.
“Relax,” he mumbles. “You’re too stiff.” I can feel his breath against my cheek, and I try really hard to ignore it.
“I’m always too stiff.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He’s smiling as he says it. “Stop thinking about the steps. Just feel where I’m going and go with me.”
I try. I fail. I try again.
And then, somehow, it clicks.
We’re moving together, his body guiding mine in a way that feels natural and effortless. The music wraps around us, and I stop counting my steps. I stop analyzing my posture. I stop thinking about anything except the warmth of his hand on my waist and the steadiness of his gaze.
“There you go,” he says softly. “You’re getting it.”
“It’s different from what I learned.”
“Most things are around here.”
We dance in silence for a moment, the music carrying us in slow circles around the floor. And I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect. His hand in mine. His palm on my waist. The occasional brush of his chest against mine.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Shoot.”
“Why do you stay here?”
He looks at me, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re obviously good at this stuff. You know, running the bar, managing people, handling difficult situations. But you could probably get a job anywhere. A bigger city, maybe a bigger establishment. Why stay in Copper Creek?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, guiding me through another turn, before answering.
“I grew up here. Left when I was eighteen. Joined the army. Saw the world. Did things I’m not always proud of. When I came back, I was so broken. When Mavis gave me a chance to start again, I couldn’t leave her.”
“But that was five years ago. You could leave now.”
“I could.” He pulls me slightly closer as another couple passes. “But why would I want to? Everything I care about is here. My grandmother. The bar. The people who have become family.” His eyes meet mine. “Why would I trade that for a bigger city and a fancier job? Some things are more important to me.”
I think about my life in Atlanta, the studio I inherited from my mother, the apartment I can barely afford, the social circles I moved in where success was measured in square footage and net worth.
“I don’t understand that,” I admit. “Staying somewhere for love instead of advancement. It’s, I guess, foreign to me.”
“Yeah, I know,” his voice is gentle, but not judgmental. “Maybe that’s part of why Mavis left you this place. Maybe she thought you needed to learn there’s more to life than climbing ladders.”
The song ends and transitions into something faster. Around us, all the couples separate, some heading to the bar, others staying for another dance.
But Wyatt doesn’t let go of my hand.
