“We’ll get it to-go, then.” The elevator doors open and he holds them open for me and the rest of the class, then enters and stands near me wordlessly as people around us chat about the lesson. Ilikehim, I think. Shit.
As soon as we are outside the building, he leads the way down the street toward a coffee shop at the corner. “So what did you think of West Coast Swing?” he asks.
“Amazing,” I say, surprising myself with how honest my response is. “I’ve never done partner dancing before. I used to love music, and I wanted to learn tap as a kid, but we never had money for it. In high school I did the musical and stuff, but I never learned how to dance with another person, and this is really fun. I’m rambling now.”
“No, you’re not. I’m glad you liked it.” His smile is sincere and warm.
“You know,” I continue, “I saw some videos of you dancing and you’re incredible. At the party, too.”
“You mean with Katy? That was nothing.”
“But you have those improvised dances on YouTube.”
“Those are from a few years back.” He looks a little embarrassed. Every time he starts to blush it kills me. And he definitely has dimples.
“Why did you stop competing?” I ask. “I mean,didyou stop, or…?”
He shrugs. “The last couple of years have been tricky.”
For you and me both, friend. “My friend Viv said you got divorced.”
He nods, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk a few feet ahead of us. “Yeah.”
“Was she a dancer, too?”
“Yes,” he says, glancing at me again. “She was not my partner when I was competing, but she was part of the scene. She still is, as far as I know, which… She doesn’t come to Manhattan Swing Workshop, but if I go to events around the city, there’s a good chance she’ll be there.”
“Ah.” I understand that feeling after a divorce, that there are certain places that aren’t safe anymore. “So you’ve been avoiding her?”
“I was avoiding the entirety of New York.” He looks a little rueful. “But I love this place. It’s nice to be back.”
“The city or the dancing?”
“All of it.” He holds the door as we enter the coffee shop together.
“So whodidyou dance with when you competed?”
“That was Eliana Macri. I dated her for a while, but she eventually switched to dancing with someone else. About six years ago. They are doing well, too. Probably top five in the country.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Yeah. She picked the better partner, clearly.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t bother him, but the words give him away. It hits me that his former dance partner left him for someone else, a few years before his wife left him for his brother.
“Clearly she didnotpick the better partner,” I say. “Because you’re amazing.”
He smiles. “I’m not sure you’re experienced enough to judge that, Ms. Marceau.”
“You know my last name.” It is also Nick’s last name; I haven’t quite gotten myself organized to change it yet.
“It didn’t require masterly detection skills. I looked you up on the company website.”
I smile. “When did you do that?”
His eyes are twinkling again. “I don’t think I’ll tell you that.”
We stand there for a moment together in line, scanning the menu. After a moment, I get my courage to say what I planned to tell him when I first arrived.
“I just…” I look at the floor. I’m not sure why this is so hard to say to him. “I came today because I wanted to prove that I was serious about being interested in you. What I said to Vivi was... I didn’t mean it, and I guess I wanted to show that I was willing to humiliate myself for an hour to make it up to you.”
