He adjusted his step instinctively to match her stride, easing his shoulder so she had more room to turn back into promenade. “Good rude?”
“Thebestrude.”
They didn’t stop to dissect it. Nate liked that about them now. No defensive spirals or territorial choreography arguments. They recalibrated in motion. He softened his hold by a fraction and felt her shift her weight earlier into the hesitation, letting the suspended momentum stretch a fraction longer. The dance expanded under their feet like it had been waiting for permission.
“Again,” she said, energized.
They reset and moved with more intention. The rise was cleaner, the rotation was sharper, and then the freefall drifted with all the beauty of a feather caught in a breeze. You couldn’t muscle the waltz into submission or bulldoze through thecounts. You had to feel the rise and fall, and trust the person in your arms not to vanish when gravity shifted.
When they hit the lift they’d coordinated for the end of the routine he drew her up in one clean motion in a smooth continuation of the line rather than a show of the brute strength he was more than capable of.
Holly fully committed her weight, spine lengthening, head tipping back without hesitation. Once upon a time he would have overcorrected but now he held and let her shape speak, lingering before he set her down into a flow across the floor. The music swelled, allowing the final rotation to breathe before they settled into the closing hold.
They didn’t snap into stillness. They exhaled together.
“You’re not dancing at me anymore,” she said quietly, like she wanted to take this moment in the calm before the storm to acknowledge how far he’d come.
Nate felt his chest tighten, and he deflected because of course he did. “Good.”
Her beautiful brown eyes were full of pure wonder that made him want to kiss her.
“You’re dancingwithme.”
“That’s kind of the point, Martinez,” he smiled, still holding her weight in the pose untilshedecided to move.
Holly stood and stepped closer in what felt like one graceful movement, tilting her gaze up to his. “It wasn’t always.”
Nate’s smile faded into a more serious expression, and he nodded. Early on, he’d danced like he was throwing downgloves. He’d treated the ballroom like another arena where impact mattered more than intention.
“I don’t need anyone to validate this,” he said, meaning more than the choreography.
“Same,” she replied, and then a sweet smile bloomed on her lips.
It was the quiet shift he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for. They weren’t dancing to rehab his image or win a paycheck. Neither of them gave a shit about inciting a social media frenzy. Now all that mattered was going out there and enjoying their last dance together onTake the Floor.
He nudged her hip lightly. “You realize we’re about to waltz in front of a live audience like we’re the emotionally stable leads in some period drama.”
She snorted. “Speak for yourself. I’m chaotic-neutral at best.”
He spun her once just to hear her laugh, catching her cleanly when she came back to him. “You’re steady,” he said, softer now.
“I am now.”
She said it without hesitation, and that did something to his chest he didn’t bother analyzing.
They ran the routine one more time without stopping. No experimentation, just execution. The upgraded corner hit clean. The suspension breathed. The lift felt effortless, not because it was easy but because neither of them was trying to dominate it. And then, when the last note faded into the space of the rehearsal studio, they landed exactly where they meant to be.
He brushed his thumb along her jaw, not claiming, not performing for an invisible audience. Just grounding himself in the fact that she was here and wasn’t going anywhere.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” he told her, his voice suddenly gruff with emotion, “I’m over the moon, Martinez.”
He meant it. Whether they took home a trophy or walked off with nothing but applause, he wasn’t walking out empty.
She studied him for a second and nodded, like she believed him because she felt the same. He stepped into her space, sliding his hands to her waist with easy familiarity, feeling the familiar expansion of her ribs under his palms.
“Let’s go win it,” he grinned. Not because he needed the trophy, but because he liked the idea of finishing strong.
Holly looked up at him, and for a second he expected her to spark with the competitive glint that had driven her all season. She just gave him a smile that could rival Mona Lisa, almost amused. The next moment her fingers had curled into his shirt as she rose onto her toes to kiss him, slow and deliberate, like she was sealing something far more important than a routine.
