Chapter Six #2
Marco appeared with their food, and they both leaned back and let him set the plates down, and by the time he was gone the moment had shifted into something warmer and less exposed.
“Try your food,” Ethan said.
She picked up her fork, smiling, speared a shrimp, put it in her mouth, then moaned. “It’s fantastic,” she said after she chewed and swallowed.
Ethan cut into his steak, and stabbed a piece, then looked at her. “You can’t go wrong here.” He put the steak in his mouth, chewed, moaned, then swallowed.
“It looks really good,” Naomi said as she stared at his steak, the red juice swirling on the plate.
“Nope.”
“Not even a little piece?”
“Nope. I do not share my steak.”
“Fine. I won’t share mine either.”
Ethan chuckled. “I didn’t ask you to.”
At the end of their meal, Marco set the leather check holder on the table with a smile. “No rush whenever you’re ready.”
Ethan opened it, slipped his credit card inside, and set it at the edge of the table without looking at the total.
Naomi watched him. “Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”
“The night’s not over.” He leaned back in his seat. “Feel like a drink at Dewey’s?”
Her eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”
Marco returned, Ethan signed the receipt, stood and offered his hand across the table. She took it, slid out of the booth, and he kept hold of it as they walked through the restaurant toward the door.
After helping her into the truck he walked around the front, opened his door, and slid onto the seat. He looked at her for a moment before he started the engine, wondering what the end of the night would bring.
He pulled into a spot at Dewey’s and cut the engine. He made his way around to her side, opened the door, helped her out, then led her to the big double doors. He pulled one open and nodded for her to go ahead, then followed.
She stopped just inside and he nearly walked into her.
The place was packed wall to wall, the noise washing over them like a wave.
“It gets a little packed on Friday and Saturday nights,” he said close to her ear.
She turned to look at him. “A little packed? It’s like a sardine can.”
He chuckled and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find stools at the bar.”
He led her through the crowd, stopping a few times when someone grabbed his arm to shake hands or say a word, and eventually they made it to the bar. He moved two stools together and held her hand while she climbed up, then settled in beside her and caught the eye of the bartender.
“Hey, Ethan. What can I get you?”
“Hi, Dixie. Whatever’s on tap.” He looked at Naomi.
“Just a Coke, please.”
“Coming right up.” Dixie disappeared down the bar.
Naomi looked out at the crowd. “I can’t get over how many people are in here.”
“Only bar for three towns. Add the tourists on top of that.” He leaned back against the bar. “It’s always like this on weekends.”
She looked toward the empty stage. “Does a band play?”
“They must be on break.”
She turned to him. “Will you dance with me when they come back?”
“Slow dances.”
She grinned. “That’s fine. But I’m getting in some line dances too.”
He picked up his beer when Dixie set it down. “And I’ll sit right here and watch.”
She laughed, then turned back to the crowd, and he watched her take it all in, happy and bright-eyed, completely at ease. He thought that she fit here like she’d always been here.
The band came back on with no warning, launching straight into a fast-driving number that hit the crowd like a starter pistol. Half the bar was on the dance floor before the first few lines were sung.
Naomi was off her stool before he could say a word.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He watched her move through the crowd and find a spot in the line that was forming near the stage. She fell into the steps like she’d known them her whole life, easy and natural, her yellow dress catching the light every time she turned.
He picked up his beer and settled in.
She was good. Really good. She moved with the same confidence she had on a horse, like her body knew exactly what it was doing and her mind was free to enjoy it. The man next to her said something and she laughed but kept dancing. Ethan told himself that the tightening in his jaw was nothing.
The song rolled into another fast one and she stayed out there, and he stayed at the bar and watched. When she finally came back her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright and she was breathing a little harder than usual.
She climbed back onto her stool and picked up her Coke.
“You’re very good at that,” he said.
“I grew up doing it.” She took a long sip. My grandmother loved to dance, so she taught me when I was a little girl.”
The band eased into a slower number a few songs later, one that cleared the line dancers off the floor and brought the couples on. Ethan set down his beer and stood.
She looked at him.
He held out his hand without saying anything.
She smiled and took it.
He led her onto the floor and turned to face her, his hand settling at her waist, the other holding hers against his chest. She stepped into him, closer than she had at the reception, and rested her head against his chest.
He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected how natural it would feel either.
They moved together slowly and he kept his hand firm at her waist and looked out over the top of her head at nothing in particular. He was in serious trouble and had been for a while now.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him.
“You’re a good dancer for a man who only does slow ones,” she said.
“I have my moments.”
She smiled, laid her head back against his chest, and he tightened his arm around her just slightly.
The song played on, neither of them speaking as the crowd and noise moved around them, none of it touching them.
When the song ended she didn’t step back immediately.
Neither did he.
Then the band kicked back into something fast and the spell broke. She lifted her head and looked up at him with bright eyes.
“One more line dance,” she said.
“Go ahead.” He let her go.
She squeezed his hand before she did.
He went back to the bar, picked up his beer, and watched her go. Taking it slow was quite possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
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