I glance at the dancers, the fast rhythm, the fact that nobody’s really touching. I can fake it. One dance, and I’m done. I take a breath and plaster on my bestwhateverface.
“You know—” I glance at Hamish. “My legsaregetting stiff. A dance might actually be just the thing.”
“You’ll find it is.”
Hamish’s smile returns, but it’s different now. Cold. Measuring. Like he’s just peeled back a layer of me and discovered exactly where to press.
I grit my teeth and take his hand. It’s clean and dry, gripping mine with polite firmness. I tell myself it’s not so bad. It’s just a hand.
And yet.
I’m aware the moment Callum spots us. Like a stone dropped into a pond, waves of anger ripple from him. People shift without realizing why, as if instinctively adjusting for an approaching gale.
I give him the slightest shake of my head.Chill out, Callum.
Hamish pulls us into the circle of dancers. Everyone joins hands. I don’t get a chance to see who is on my other side before the music starts and we’re jolted into motion.
It’s chaos. We hop around one way, then stop and reverse back the other way, a manic, high-speed Ring Around the Rosie. And I’m the Rosie who’s feeling ringed.
Abruptly, I’m let go, and I look around wildly, trying to mimic what everyone else is doing. Thankfully, people just seem to be skipping around and clapping. Then everyone surges in again, grabbing hands.
By the time the music fades, my jaw aches from clenching and my cheeks hurt from the fake smile I’ve worn to hide my distress.
The fiddler shouts something over the din. A collective groan rises from the dancers. I don’t need to speak Gaelic to recognize the universal call for last dance.
I peel my hand from Hamish’s. He’s about to protest.
Before he can, Callum appears from nowhere. He gives Hamish a peremptory nod, then simply takes my hand and sweeps me deep into the crowd.
It’s thrilling.
Blood is pounding in my chest. It rushes to my head, to my hand in Callum’s…to myeverywhere. Like I have blood inside me that’s never pumped before. He grins down at me like he’s just masterminded the greatest caper in the history of capers.
“Won’t Hamish be mad?” I ask, but my smile is too big to sound truly concerned. This smile is beaming into outer space.
Callum gives a cavalier shrug. I can’t tell if he really is that laid-back about stealing me away from the young Campbell, or if he’s faking it for my benefit.
Either way, I’m too relieved to care.
Callum says something, but I can’t hear over everyone shouting at the musicians, so he leans closer to repeat himself.
I still don’t understand his accent.
My smile starts to fade. Will I ever understand anyone again?
He studies me, a soft, unreadable look on his face. Then he reaches out. Gives my chin a light pinch. He traces his finger along my jaw as he leans in again, gently tilts my head, places his mouth closer to my ear.
My heart stops.
When it starts again, I swear my pulse originates from that one narrow section of my body. For several beats, that’s all there is in the whole universe: Callum’s finger along my jaw and his lips at my ear.
“’Tis perfectly acceptable to cut into a dance,” he’s saying.
I barely register the words.
“Are you sure?” I ask, still trying to reboot my brain. “Because we can’t make him mad.”
Warmth floods my chest. Because I just saidwe. Not my usual lonelyI.
