“It does,” I agreed.
We dug in. The food was stupid good. Tender meat, flaky fish, and perfectly cooked veggies.
Faye looked out at the bay for a second, then back at us. “I’m happy we came.”
“Me too,” I told her.
“Same,” Dylan added.
We cleaned our plates and sat for a minute, finishing our drinks and letting the food settle. The night had cooled a little, just enough to be comfortable.
“Ready?” I asked.
“For dancing?” Faye probed.
“Yeah,” I answered.
She smiled. “Yep. Let’s go.”
We walked over to the bar to settle Dylan’s tab. The bartender wished us a happy New Year as we stepped off the deck and back into the lot.
“Okay,” Dylan said, stretching his arms over his head. “Dinner was a win. Now I need music.”
“And water,” Faye added. “I want to look out over the bay when the year turns.”
“We can do both,” I said, steering us toward the sound of live music and the strip of sand in front of the bars near the water.
The patio was open to the night, with string lights strung above and a small stage in one corner where a band played. People packed the space between the bar and the sidewalk, some already moving to the beat, drinks in hand.
We slipped through the crowd to the bar and waited until the bartender noticed us. Faye went for something fruity, while Dylan and I got beers.
After finding a spot for the three of us to stand, we sipped our drinks, listened to the music, and watched people dance.
“Finish those,” Faye urged after a few minutes. “I want to dance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dylan agreed.
We finished our beers, left the plastic cups on a high-top table near the bar, and let her drag us into the crowd in front of the stage.
The band shifted into something fast and loud, with steady drums and bass thumping through the floor. People moved between the bar and the stage, some really dancing, others just shifting their weight, drinks lifted, wearing big smiles.
Faye stepped between us and moved to the music, soft and sure. One arm looped around my neck, she pulled me downuntil I felt her breath. Dylan slid in close behind her shoulder, his hand firm on her hip as he moved with her. Nobody around us cared who she was. If anyone looked twice, they moved on quickly. It was just the crowd, the music, and the clock ticking toward midnight.
We stayed through a couple of fast songs. Sweat rolled down my back. Dylan’s hair curled at the ends. Faye’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright, her lipstick worn at the corners from her drink.
When the band eased into a slower tempo, Faye turned toward me without thinking, slid her arms around my neck, and pressed in.
“Hi,” she murmured.
“Hi,” I answered.
Her body fit against mine, warm and soft where the dress clung. My hands settled low on her back.
“Thank you for talking him into coming out,” she said, tilting her head toward Dylan.
“He talked himself into it,” I replied. “Eventually.”
“You know what I mean.”
