The McNabbs started hosting summer dinners and dances out here a few years back. They charge a cover and then they put on a massive barbecue and barn dance once a month from May through September.
I recognize plenty of the cars parked along the driveway and in the overflow gravel area beyond the house. I place my hand on Angie’s back and lead her toward the barn.
“You can still back out,” I say, smiling down at her.
“And why would I do that?” she asks.
I don’t answer her. She’s choosing to be seen with me in front of a good number of townspeople. That’s what matters.
We step into the barn and find a seat at one of the tables that have been placed around the edge of a large dance floor. When Jacob McNabb announces that the food is served, people line up out on the grass, grabbing plates and filling them with meat and sides. Angie and I eat our meal, laughing and talking comfortably. After we’ve polished off some cobbler with ice cream, we head onto the dance floor for some two-stepping.
Truck’s right. I’m no dancer. But I manage not to trip her or step on anyone’s toes. Angie’s far better than me. And she’s smiling nonstop, swinging her hips, shuffling her feet and looking over at me regularly. When it comes time for a slow dance, I pull her into my arms and place my hand on her back. We sway to the music, her looking up into my eyes and me cherishing the feel of her, the expression on her face, and the way people keep watching us, but trying to look as though they aren’t.
At the end of the night, I drive her home.
“I had so much fun!” she says, relaxing back into her seat across the cab from me.
“I’m glad,” I tell her.
“You’re too good to be true, EJ.”
“I promise, I’m not. I’m a simple man. And I’ve got my flaws.”
“You always seem to know what to say.”
“Seemis the operative word in that sentence. I just tell you the truth. I’m winging it here. Hoping I don’t mess things up. Grateful you finally gave me a chance.”
She reaches over, placing her hand on my thigh. “You’ve made me feel so special.”
“You are special.”
She should feel special no matter what happens between us. If I’ve been a part of making her see herself the way I see her, that makes all my pursuit of her worthwhile.
I pull up in front of her house and park.
We walk to the front door, an ease between us that should come far later in a relationship. I guess it comes from knowing one another as long as we have. Even though this is new, there’s something familiar and comfortable between us.
When we reach the door, Angie says, “Tonight was perfect.”
“So much for my theory that you should only go on one date with me.”
“I’m glad you were wrong,” she says, her voice softening.
She steps closer to me and reaches her hand up to run it through my hair. My breath comes out in a deep exhale.
“Thank you, EJ,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say.
And then I lean in and kiss her. She moves her hand to the back of my head and I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her close. She tastes like berries and vanilla and sweetness.
Her hand lands on my chest and she grips the fabric of my shirt. I slowly pull back, placing one more kiss on her lips. She’s intoxicating and we’re under a porch light after a second date. I’ve only got so much restraint.
“So?” I lightly drag the back of my fingers down her face and then I lift her hand with mine, interlacing our fingers. “How about date number three?”
“Yes,” she says easily, not even putting up the semblance of a fight.
“You better be careful,” I tease her. “I might get used to you saying yes to me.”
