Shiloh closed her eyes and kept her shoulders loose. She kept track of everywhere that Cary was touching her.
When the music slowed down, Cary pushed away from Shiloh a little. He let go of her hand and put both his hands on her waist. The song was “Faithfully” by Journey.
“I love this song,” Shiloh said.
“Great song,” Cary agreed.
The hand he’d been holding was hanging at her side. Cary picked it up and put it on his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Shiloh murmured.
His hand went back to her waist.
It was almost impossible not to make eye contact like this...
Shiloh wasn’t great with eye contact.
“I don’t understand how people dance with strangers,” she said. “Just like—Hi, sure, let’s stare into each other’s eyes for three minutes.”
“We’re not strangers,” Cary said.
“Right. But I mean—we are. Practically.”
He frowned. His frown wasinchesaway from her mouth.“Practically?”
“We haven’t talked in fifteen years—”
“Fourteen,” he corrected her.
“Well, that’s longer than we knew each other to begin with.”
“You think that makes us strangers?”
“No,” Shiloh said. “But also, yes? Like—cells get replaced in the human body every seven years. So that’s two full iterations since 1992. You don’t have any cells left that remember me.”
“I’m pretty sure my cells remember you, Shiloh.”
“Not from firsthand experience.” She clenched her hands in the shoulders of his jacket. “Anything your cells know about me has been passed down from other cells through oral tradition.”
“You’re winding yourself up,” he said. “Don’t.”
“I’m not winding anything.”
“I might believe that, if we’d just met. If I didn’t know what you look likewound.”
“I’m just saying—”
He looked tired all of a sudden. “You don’t have to look in my eyes, okay?”
“I don’thaveto do anything.”
Cary had stopped swaying. “Do you want to stop dancing?”
Shiloh stood very still. She shook her head.
“That’s a myth,” he said. “Some cells replicate quickly, but others stay with you for life.”
“Which ones?”
