Chapter 19 #2
But me? I’m someone who fades into the background, someone who people see as reliable, not irresistible. I’ve never looked at myself and thought someone could want me like that. Maybe that’s why, whenever someone asks me out, I shut it down, because part of me still thinks I don’t measure up.
So, when I saw that photo, it made me stop, not because it was too much, but because it was more than I ever thought I could be. The irony is that the picture isn’t real. None of this is, no matter how much I might want it to be.
Before I can say anything, the car slows and comes to a smooth stop outside an impressive stone-brick building.
A bold neon sign glows above the door: The Velvet Club.
Velvet ropes create a barrier at the entrance, where a sharply dressed doorman stands between two broad-shouldered security guards.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame either side of the door, but the interior is dark, hiding whatever waits inside.
“Hold that thought,” Wyatt says. “We’ll talk more inside.”
I nod, silently hoping he won’t ask again. I’m not sure how to put what I’m feeling into words.
Wyatt thanks the driver and slips out, rounding the hood to open my door. I place my hand in his, the warmth of his touch comforting as I step out. He closes the door, then leans down to speak to the driver through the open window. Moments later, the car glides away from the curb.
“I gave him the night off. Figured we’d just get an Uber later,” he says. “No point in making him wait around.”
I nod as he reaches for my hand again, threading his fingers through mine as we walk toward the entrance. The line to get in snakes around the block, but Wyatt strides confidently past everyone, heading straight to the front.
With a casual ease, he clasps the doorman’s hand. “Good to see you, Joe.”
“You too, Wyatt.” Joe smiles, then unhooks the velvet rope and gestures us through. “Go on in. Have a great night,” he says, his gaze briefly landing on me with an easy smile.
I return it shyly, letting Wyatt lead me inside, my heart fluttering as the music pulses louder with every step.
The interior is dimly lit with velvet drapes framing the wall and chandeliers casting a soft glow on the black, polished floors underfoot.
The club is packed with people dancing and drinking, and Wyatt keeps me close as we weave our way through the crowds.
It doesn’t take long before people start to realize who is he, and I see the stares and whispers as we walk by.
He must realize too, and he leans in close, his mouth near my ear.
“There’s a VIP area upstairs. It’s quieter. You okay with that?”
I nod quickly, relieved at the thought of slipping away from the spotlight.
He guides me through a velvet curtain and up a spiral staircase, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back again. I don’t think he knows what that touch is doing to me, or maybe he does. Either way, my skin burns where his fingers press, and my heart won’t slow down.
Upstairs, the noise dulls slightly, the lighting dimmer and more intimate.
Plush velvet sofas and private booths fill the space, creating cozy hideaways throughout the room.
In one corner, a smaller, more relaxed dancefloor glows under soft lights, with a handful of people dancing.
Wyatt leads me to a sofa tucked discreetly at the back, offering a bit of privacy,
and a server appears the moment we sit down. Once we’ve placed our drink orders, Wyatt turns his attention back to me.
“Is this place okay?” he asks. “We come here sometimes after a game.”
“Yeah… I love it.”
The server appears with our drinks, and when he’s gone, Wyatt raises his bottle.
“Happy birthday, Ivy.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, clinking my glass with his bottle.
He takes a mouthful of his drink and places the bottle on the low table in front of us.
“I meant to say yesterday,” I say, leaning closer to him so he can hear me over the hum of the music. “I found a couple more listings just outside Hope Creek that might be worth a look. They probably don’t fit exactly what you’re looking for, but it should give you an idea of what’s out there.”
“I don’t have to see Isobel again, do I?” he asks, pulling a face.
I laugh. “No. They’re with an agent who works out of River Falls.”
He grins, his whole face lighting up. “So, you can come with me?” I nod. “When can we see them?”
I laugh. “I’ll see what I can set up. Are you free next week?”
“Yeah, early in the week I’m around. I’ve got to head back to the city on Wednesday. I’ve got some pre-season training sessions lined up.”
I take a sip of my drink. “You’ll be back for the wedding the weekend after, though, right?”
“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “It’s only a few days. Nothing could keep me from the wedding.”
I smile. “Okay. I’ll make some calls on Monday, then.”
“All right,” he says, taking my half-drunk drink from my hand and placing it on the table. “Enough shop talk. Do you want to dance?”
I grin. “Absolutely.”
He rises from the sofa and holds out his hand. “Come on then, birthday girl. Let’s dance.”
I slide my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet.
Still holding hands, he guides me across the room to the dance floor.
It’s busier than before, with the crowd moving to the sound of an upbeat country track.
As we find a space, I start to sway my hips in time with the rhythm, lifting my hands in the air and letting the music carry me, my fingers slipping from Wyatt’s as I lose myself in the moment.
After a few more songs, the tempo suddenly slows and the mood around us changes.
Couples gravitate toward each other, and everything suddenly feels more intimate.
I turn to Wyatt, suddenly aware of how close he is.
He doesn’t speak. He just steps forward and places his hands at my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space left between us.
My hands move instinctively around his neck, and we begin to slowly sway to the music.
His gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, everything blurs around us. He’s all I can see. I breathe him in, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne enveloping me. I let my head rest against his chest and his arms tighten, holding me like I belong there.
We don’t say a word, but the silence between us is anything but empty. Instead, it’s full of things I don’t know how to say. In his arms, everything feels right, even though it shouldn’t.
I don’t know what this is, or what it means, but swaying here with him under the dim lights, it doesn’t feel fake. Not even a little.
And maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.