This. This is what I forgot. Not just the dancing or the closeness. But this specific feeling—being held by him. The way mybody remembers his before my mind catches up. How natural it feels to be here, in his arms, like no time passed at all.
Like I never left.
The thought should scare me. It doesn't.
He rests his forehead near my temple, humming the tune under his breath, the sound vibrating low and steady. His thumb moves, a small, absent stroke along my hip, back and forth, back and forth.
I swallow.
We sway. Barely dancing now. Just breathing in time. His chest is solid against mine. The way his hand fits there makes my skin buzz.
I tip my head back to look at him.
His eyes drop to my mouth, then lift again.
The air between us feels electric. Charged. Like one wrong move could break whatever this is.
My hand slides up his chest, stopping just below his collarbone. I feel the beat there. Strong. Certain. Faster than it should be.
He's not breathing steady either.
"Hazel," he says, voice rough. Not a question. Not quite a warning. Just my name, like he's testing it on his tongue.
The space between us thins.
I should step back. Give us both room to think. To remember all the reasons this is complicated.
But I don't want to.
His hand tightens on my hip. Anchoring.
His head dips. Mine tilts.
I can feel his breath against my mouth. Warm. Close.
My eyes start to close—
Headlights flare down the road.
A pickup roars past, engine loud, dust kicking up in its wake. The moment snaps clean in two.
He steps back like he's been burned, breath leaving him in a rush.
"Guess I win," he says. "Not a horrible dancer."
I smile, heat still humming under my skin. "I'll give you… improved."
He hops down, offers his hand again. I take it. When we slide back into the cab, the radio still plays, softer now, like it knows.
We drive the rest of the way in easy quiet. But the space between us feels different.
The truck rolls to a stop in front of the house, headlights washing over the porch rail and the worn steps. Gravel crunches once more as he cuts the engine, the night settling in around us.
He's out before I have time to unbuckle, already moving around the hood. He opens my door and holds out his hand like it's second nature.
I take it.
The ground is cool beneath my boots. We walk towards the steps together, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my side, close enough that neither of us comments on it. The house looms quiet, porch light glowing soft and familiar.
