1. Leah
CHAPTER 1
leah
“ M ay I have this dance?” asked the man who had made my pulse stutter, even if for a short moment. I was forty-five, divorced, and out of fucks—so a stutter was a big deal.
“Marco, right?” I smiled at him.
“Yes. Leah, right?” He looked good in a button-down shirt that was rolled up to his forearms. He wore suit pants, and they fit him well—probably tailored, I thought, bemused. This man had obviously come to Viviana's Salsa Studio straight from work.
I deduced that he was probably my age or a few years older. His thick, neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair was a gorgeous contrast to his dark Latin skin, and his warm hazel eyes complemented his dark skin.
“Yes.” I slid my hand in his outstretched palm.
His hand was warm, and I couldn't help but notice the faint scent of cologne—clean, subtle, expensive.
“All right, no time to waste!” Viviana clapped her hands again, cutting through the moment. “Everyone, face your partners, and let's start with the basics!”
We turned toward each other, and for a second, Marco's eyes met mine again, and I saw that he was as anxious as I was about this little adventure my paralegal and friend Alana had forced upon me in the form of a Christmas present. January was a time for resolutions, and I'd decided to learn to dance the salsa—or at least pretend to.
“Marco.” I liked how his name rolled off my tongue. “If I step on your toes, be a gentleman and pretend it didn't happen.”
He smiled wide and the stutter came back. “Only if you promise to do the same when I step on your toes.”
“First time?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. This is a Christmas present,” I told him.
He chuckled, and seriously the man needed to stop doing that because his face went from good-looking to handsome, doing a number on my dried-up vagina that hadn't seen any action in a long while.
“For me as well.”
“No way!”
We both laughed, and that's how it began—my journey to learn a new dance.
The notes of Latin music filled the air, a sultry rhythm that curled into the polished wood and mirrored walls of the dance studio. I'd never been to one before, and I wasn't sure if Viviana's studio was unusual or the way all of them were. This one was painted in earthy tones of amber and gold, strings of fairy lights (probably forgotten from the holidays) hung along the high ceilings, and expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bustling streets of Buckhead below.
Outside, Atlanta pulsed with its usual vibrance, but inside, it was like stepping into another world, where people let their guards down and dared to discover something new.
When I had come into the studio, I felt foolish, but Alana had insisted. Severely conscious in my forty-plus body in black leggings and a loose emerald-green top, I didn't look anything at all like Viviana did in leggings and a crop top. In fact, all the women looked better than I did, my perusal told me. It also told me that they were part of a couple.
But when I saw the man—who, like me, was alone, I wished I hadn't gone for functional today as I usually did—my hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and my face makeup-free except for some hurried mascara. I was part excited that I'd be paired with him and part terrified of the same thing.
I cursed my friend under my breath. Alana had instructed me not to miss any of the classes unless I had a broken leg or she'd quit. Since I couldn't operate my law practice without the best paralegal in the state of Georgia—I had agreed.
“You've paid your divorce dues, Leah,” she'd said, her dark eyes full of mischief. “Salsa is going to bring you back to life. Trust me.”
I wasn't so sure about the whole “back to life” thing, but I figured there were worse ways to spend a Tuesday evening than learning how to salsa with a bunch of strangers.
“Okay, everyone, gather around!” Our instructor, Viviana, clapped her hands dramatically, her bangles jangling with every movement. She was the kind of woman who could light up an entire room without even trying. With wild, dark curls, a figure poured into a red dress, and a personality so infectious, it was impossible not to like her.
“Welcome to Salsa for Beginners!” Viviana's voice carried over the room, rich and lilting like she was born to speak over the music. “I'm Viviana, your instructor and personal matchmaker.” She winked as a ripple of laughter ran through the room. “Kidding, kidding—sort of.”
There were about ten of us, five couples in total, all of varying ages. Some seemed comfortable in their skin like they'd been dancing together for years, while others looked about as awkward as I felt.
Now, as we learned to dance, I was glad that Marco was not one of the confident ones.
“I've never done this before,” he whispered.
“Me neither. The last time I danced was…God, I can't even remember.”
“My younger daughter's quinceanera .” His eyes flashed with memories, not all good. He swallowed when he noticed my gaze, “It was…the last time I danced with my wife.”
I quirked an eyebrow. Divorced? Cheating? No…widower.
He confirmed that I was right. “She passed three years ago.”
“I'm sorry for your loss.”
“ Gracias .”
Viviana moved to the center of the room, demonstrating the essential salsa step with an ease that made it look far more straightforward than it was. “One, two, three—step! Five, six, seven—step! Gentlemen, lead your partners with confidence. Ladies, follow with grace. And don't forget to smile—you're supposed to be having fun!”
Marco and I tried to mirror the steps, and for the first few minutes, it was a disaster. His steps were too big, mine were too small, and our timing was hilariously off. At one point, I tripped over his foot, and he caught me by the elbow, steadying me as I burst into laughter.
“ So graceful ,” I moaned, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face.
“You're doing fine,” he assured me. “I'm the one making this hard.”
“Well, as long as we're equally terrible, I think we're in good shape.”
By the time we got through the first set of steps without tripping, I could feel the beginnings of sweat on my forehead. There was something oddly exhilarating about fumbling through this with Marco.
“So, who gave you dancing classes as a gift?” I asked during a brief water break.
“My daughters.” He leaned against the mirrored wall as he guzzled water from a bottle. “They think I need to get out more. You?”
“Same reason,” I grinned. “In my case, it was friend and colleague Alana.”
“You have children?” he asked casually.
I hated that question people threw around. “Yes.” I set my water bottle down, not wanting to elaborate. I was ashamed that I was estranged from my children. I lost my daughter to my ex even though he was the one who cheated on me—but she couldn't forgive me for not giving him a chance, letting him make up for his mistake. I lost my son to his then- girlfriend and now fiancée. She didn't like me, and I had tried to find out why so I could fix it with her, but to no avail. “Should we get back?”
Marco didn't press me, taking the hint that I didn't want to talk about it.
It had been so much easier to date when I was younger. Not that I was on a date with Marco or anything. But when I met Kevin twenty-eight years ago, when I was a nubile eighteen, I'd had no baggage, no areas that were off limits for discussion. I was an open book. I had no shame about my body. That came later after I had children, and Kevin kept at me for letting myself go, comparing me to the wives of his friends who'd stayed in shape and didn't have saggy tits or a potbelly. Then, I didn't worry whether I was attractive or not—I didn't care because my whole life was ahead of me. Now, I knew that I wasn't attractive, and I feared that whatever of my life was left in front of me would find me living it alone without love.
“Alright, everyone,” Viviana called out. “Let's get back to work. But let's face it, what they say is true. Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life.”
We shuffled back to the center of the room. Marco held out his hand. “Shall we?”
I hesitated for half a beat, my insecurities creeping up, but then I nodded and placed my hand in his. His grip was warm like before, firm, grounding me in the moment.
Viviana clapped her hands together, commanding our attention. “Tonight, we're focusing on the cumbia step. It's light, it's playful, and it's all about connection. Listen to the rhythm—slow, quick-quick. Got it?”
The music started—a lively, syncopated beat that immediately got my foot tapping. Marco and I faced each other.
“Ready?” He tilted his head.
“As I'll ever be,” I replied honestly, not sure what I was ready for, the dance or…the man? Not that he was offering, but he was tempting as hell.
His right hand settled at my waist, his left hand clasping mine. I placed my free hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of him —the warmth of his palm, the faint scent of him, the slight sway of his body as he counted the beat under his breath.
“Step back with your right foot.” Marco guided me into the movement.
I followed his lead, stepping back and then shifting forward as he stepped back—slow, quick, quick. The rhythm was tricky, but Marco was steady, his hands and body gently nudging me into place whenever I faltered.
“You sure you've never done this before?”
“I'm Puerto Rican,” he informed me, “maybe salsa is in my blood.”
I chuckled. “I'm white. I have the two-step shuffle in my blood.”
He laughed. It was a rich sound, and lots of heads turned to look at us…at him.
“Now, let's turn,” Viviana ordered.
Marco released my waist for a moment, gently spinning me out. My blouse flared a little as I twirled, and when I returned to him, he caught me effortlessly. Our movements were smooth and fluid.
Not bad.” I was breathless but smiling.
“Not bad at all.” His grin was as wide as mine.
Viviana continued to shout out adjustments, her voice rising above the music. “Shoulders relaxed! Keep your frame strong! Let the rhythm carry you!”
I tried to take her advice, relaxing into the music and letting Marco's movements guide me. The cumbia step became second nature, and soon, we were gliding across the floor, spinning and shifting with a grace I hadn't known I was capable of.
The music seemed to pulse through my veins, the beat quickening my heart as Marco led me into another turn, this one faster and tighter. When I spun back into his arms, our faces were close—so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
“You're a natural.” His eyes locked on mine, and the stutter, I thought for just a small, unguarded moment, was not one-sided.
“I'm just following your lead, senor .” Was I flirting? Yep!
“It's my pleasure, senora .” He gave it right back to me with a wink.
The song ended with a flourish, and we came to a stop, our bodies still swaying slightly as the last notes faded. The room erupted into applause, and Viviana clapped her hands together dramatically.
“Beautiful work, everyone!” she called out. “See? Dancing isn't just about the steps. It's about connection, about trust, about letting yourself feel the music.”
“That was fun.” Marco's hand lingered at my waist as we listened to Viviana close the class down. I would have stepped away, but I liked his hand on me.
I felt my cheeks flush like I was some ingenue. “Yes.”
Yes, it was !