Leah #2
Chelsea turns to me. “His wife is Tatum Erikson, y’know? Your—”
“New gyno,” I finish. “Of course. Wow, what a small world.”
She glances over at Nick, who is chatting with a growing crowd of kids. “Girl, you have no idea.”
Lizzie, the oldest Santiago daughter, runs up to her mother, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Mr. Nick is about to teach us how to line dance. Can I go grab my boots?”
Chelsea nods. “Don't forget your socks, mija.”
The music blasts louder through the speakers, an old Alan Jackson song drawing everyone's attention to the dance floor.
Most of the kids gather around as Nick steps into the middle, demonstrating a simple step-touch with exaggerated stomps.
He points to his feet and counts out the rhythm, slowly at first, but one by one, the children fall into line behind him—including Grady, who picks it up remarkably fast.
“Wow.” I turn to Chelsea. “He's actually really good.”
“Nick?” She laughs. “Oh, yeah, he's incredible. Comes with being a Crawford, I guess.”
I furrow my brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”
She stares at me. “You're kidding.”
I shake my head.
“Girl, his family owns the Crawford Cattle Company out near Weatherford—hence the name.
They're a bit controversial in the rodeo world. They rescue and rehabilitate livestock. Horses, cattle, goats, donkeys ... pretty much anything with four legs.” She nods toward Nick.
“The kids in that family are born with boots on their feet.
Two-stepping and line dancing are practically family traditions.
He's taken us out to a few honky tonks when we've gone to Fort Worth.”
We both glance back toward the dance floor, laughter echoing into the darkening sky as more parents crowd in. Nick beams at Grady, who stomps and wiggles through each step with surprising confidence, and my heart squeezes at the sight.
I can't help but feel an ache deep within my ribs. I had asked Nick to dance with me—borderline begged him like a moron.
And he said no.
I don't get it.
Suddenly, the familiar twang of a fiddle and a handsome voice singing about his pretty little Cajun queen plays over the speakers.
Nick stills.
He lifts his gaze until his eyes are locked on mine.
My skin prickles up my neck as he slowly walks toward me with a slight strut in his step. He extends his hand to me. “C’mon. The King is on.”
I offer a crooked smile before taking it. “And here I thought you didn't dance, Cowboy,” I tease.
He leads me onto the dance floor before effortlessly twirling me into his arms. “It's hard to dance when you're being swept off your feet, darlin’.”
My breath hitches as the noise around us fades to the background. His hand settles on my lower back, warmth radiating through the fabric of my dress and unraveling every doubt in my mind.
“Follow me.”
I nod, somehow already breathless.
He pulls me flesh with him, the planes of his chest strong and hard. His skin carries the scent of leather and spice and summer-soaked cotton, and gosh, I could get lost in it.
He eases us into the music, our bodies finding the rhythm together. His movements are unhurried, but deliberate. Effortless, but intentional. It's what I've come to expect of him.
“Do you trust me?”
I narrow my eyes, a grin pulling at my lips. “Should I?”
He chuckles. “This only works if you trust me.”
I suck in my bottom lip.
And nod.
A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he quickens our pace. My laugh bursts free as he guides me through a series of smooth steps. The world blurs around us, music and laughter melting into one joyful rhythm.
“Nick—” I squeal.
“I've got you.” He laughs. “I'm not letting go.”
He spins me beneath his arm, my skirt fanning around my legs as a warm breeze catches loose strands of my braid. The force of the turn leaves me laughing so hard my cheeks ache. When my gaze finds his again, he's already smiling back at me before spinning me back across the dance floor.
The final note lingers in the evening air, and I find myself wishing for just one more verse. Judging by the way Nick makes no move to let me go, I don't think I'm the only one.
We stand there, our fingers still intertwined as the air around us hums with unspoken words. His gaze drops to my lips before finding my eyes again. He slowly leans in.
My eyes flutter closed.
His hands slide to my arms.
And then he walks away.
***
Sorting through the remaining fruit and vegetable trays, I give everything a quick rinse in the sink before transferring it into plastic containers.
“Now, Leah, I told you to leave that alone.” Chelsea nudges me with her hip as she sets a large bowl of macaroni salad on the counter.
“I don't mind.” I snap a lid into place. “Besides, it scratches a weird itch in my brain.”
She snorts. “Weirdo.”
I grin. “Accurate.”
Truth be told, I've been foolishly waiting for Nick to come back. To tell me he wanted to check his breath, that he left his truck running, that he got called away to save someone's life ... anything.
But he's avoided me. He's chatting with his friends and playing with his son—which are all incredibly important things he should do … but I just wish I knew why I couldn't be a part of it as well.
It hurts my feelings. I'd almost rather he show no interest at all than leave me wondering like this.
Believe it or not, I appreciate my singleness.
Everyone else seems determined to fix it.
My family quietly roots for a reconciliation with my ex while my friends and coworkers treat my love life like a community service project.
Me? I'm content—just don't hand me hope if you have no intention of holding onto it.
I open the refrigerator—and frown. “Hey, Chels, I've run out of room.”
She peeks in behind me. “Ay Díos …” she hisses. “How did this happen? I swear all the food we had today came from this fridge. How does it not fit?”
I chuckle. “It's like the feeding of the five thousand.”
“The what?”
“You know? When Jesus fed five thousand people on just a few loaves of bread and fish … the food kept multiplying until everyone had their fill.”
“What in the David Copperfield?” She laughs. “Jesus could've had a residency in Vegas.”
I snort. “Turning water into wine could've been his first act.”