I place my hand at the small of her back, and the moment my fingers touch her skin, my heart kicks hard in my chest. She lets out a soft gasp, and when she doesn’t pull away from my touch, with my mouth close to her ear I murmur,
“You can lean on me. I’m here with you. We’ll learn every step together.”
Cecily closes her eyes for a moment and nods.
The instructor claps her hands, her cheerful voice ringing across the studio.
“Okay, everyone! Let’s start with connection. Gentle hands, soft posture. No tension. To feel salsa, you need to listen to your partner with your body, not just your ears.”
Cecilia adjusts her skirt again. I watch the small motion, the graceful way her fingers gather the fabric, and how she keeps straightening her posture.
I step a little closer, catching the faint scent of her perfume. It goes straight to my head.
“Relax your shoulders,” the instructor says. “And remember, you’re a team.”
I touch the small of Cecilia’s back again, guiding her gently, and she inhales as if that exact spot on her skin had just woken up. My heart answers with a beat far too strong.
The music begins.
A soft tum-tum, followed by the smooth slide of brass weaving its way in. The instructor demonstrates the basic step, loose hips, the shift of each foot. I try to pay attention, but Cecilia is too close and she smells too damn good.
“Step... together... step,” the instructor calls out, motioning with her hands.
I follow the rhythm, a bit awkward at first, focusing on keeping my lead light so I don’t overwhelm her. She follows every cue from my body, hesitant, but determined.
“Good! Now shift your balance. Left... right... yes, just like that.”
Her small hand finds mine, fitting perfectly and trusting me to keep leading us. Gradually the tremor in her fingers fades as her body finds its own flow, her movements smoothing out with each beat.
“Look at your partner,” the instructor says.
Cecilia lifts her face and something in my chest just caves—my heart doesn’t care that we are surrounded by strangers. And the boundaries in my brain begin to blur.
The music swells, the cadence opening and we follow the count:
“Forward... back... side... together...”
Soon the instructor’s voice fades away and all I can see is her. Cecilia.
All I can feel is the way her breath grazes my neck whenever she steps just a little too close on the side pass.
My hands already know where to be. One on her waist, bringing her closer to me. Firm enough to guide her, never crossing any line. The other holding her hand. She lets out a small laugh when she stumbles. A nervous sound that hits the bottom of my stomach like a spark.
“Sorry,” she murmurs.
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Just... feel the rhythm. I’ve got you.”
And I lead her. But her body also leads me places I shouldn’t be going.
The heat of her body brushes my chest when the instructor calls for a simple turn. I guide her through it taking my time, making it last, just so I can watch her come back to me at the end, as if the entire room stops moving for a beat.
I don’t hear anything except the pulse of the music and the soft rhythm of her breathing. And at some point, I don’t know when, we’re no longer following the class. We’re just dancing. Alone. In the middle of a crowded room, our gazes locked.
The end of the class comes too fast. The music fades and people around us start clapping. The instructor is cheerfully saying something, but for the life of me I can’t hear in a single word.
Cecilia’s eyes are still on mine and neither of us moves. She’s in my arms. Looking at me as if she didn’t notice the class had ended either, as if waiting for the next move.
The clapping softens, the room shifting back into focus as people start passing beside us, and only then does Cecilia inhale deeply.
