16. Halle
CHAPTER 16
HALLE
“ Y ou bought a dress for me?” I hold up the maroon-colored garment and turn, zeroing in on Caleb. “Where on earth are you taking me?”
When we agreed to give this a shot, I never imagined he would take me out quite so soon or that it would require me to dress up. The dress isn’t the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen, but it is certainly nicer than anything I’ve ever owned.
Eyes twinkling, he takes a step closer. “I’ll tell you when we’re in the car.”
Annoyance mixed with what might be excitement courses through me. “Why? Am I going to hate it?”
With a frown, he backs toward the door. “I hope not.” He gives the doorframe a knock and steps into the hall. “I have to get ready too. Meet you downstairs in an hour?”
Nodding, I lay the dress out on the bed gently. There’s no point in pressing him for more information. I’m learning that Caleb is incredibly stubborn when he wants to be.
I don’t own much makeup, but I use what I’ve got, and when I’m done, I feel a little stronger. It’s not that I need makeup, but in situations like this, it can be a confidence booster. And I can’t deny I could use a little of that. I use my old curling iron, a hand-me-down from my mother, to set my hair in loose waves. It took far too long to understand that my curls were always tighter than I wanted because I was supposed to comb through them a bit to soften them. That’s probably something most girls learn from their mothers. Not me.
I slip into the dress, surprised when it covers more skin than I expected. It shows off a bit of cleavage, but that’s about it. The sleeves are short with a slight flutter, and it cinches in at the middle before flaring out and stopping just past my knees.
As I assess myself in the mirror, I can’t help but wonder what Caleb was thinking when he picked it. And it’s hard to imagine any man picking out a dress this simplistic yet flattering for a woman.
My single pair of black heels should work fine with this. They’re a little scuffed, but it’s not too obvious, so unless people stare at my feet, they shouldn’t notice.
I give myself a final once-over in the mirror, fluffing my hair, then sling my purse over my shoulder. Only a little wobbly on my feet—mostly from nerves, not the heels—I pull the door open. When the two figures on the other side register, I let out a small yelp.
Quinn grins. “You look pretty.”
Casen looks me up and down and nods. “I like the dress.”
“Thank you. Caleb got it for me.”
They exchange a look and bark out identical laughs.
Apprehension skitters down my spine. “What?”
Casen pats my arm, then steps back, headed for the stairs. “He’s so down bad for you.”
“No, he’s not,” I scoff.
Quinn snorts. “We’re not blind.” He follows his twin. “See you later.”
Once they’ve disappeared, I take a moment to gather myself. They’ve got me even more out of sorts, and I need to focus if I want to make it down the stairs in these heels without rolling an ankle.
Halfway down, holding on to the banister for dear life, I realize I could have just taken them off.
I’m so focused on not falling that I don’t even notice Caleb waiting for me at the landing until he lets out a low “fuck.”
“What?” I freeze, heart lurching.
Did my lipstick smear on the way down? Did I leave a clip in my hair?
“You look … beautiful.”
I look down, assessing myself, trying to imagine what I look like from his perspective. Beautiful is not the first adjective that comes to mind. Awkward seems more fitting.
Rather than argue, I decide to take the compliment graciously. “Thank you.”
When I finally reach him, he offers me his hand. Even like this, he towers over me. He’s got to be six-foot-two.
He smells minty like he just brushed his teeth, and his face is freshly shaved. I want to run my fingers over his cheeks to determine whether they’re as smooth as they look.
Before I can do it—thankfully, since I probably would have made a fool of myself—he clears his throat. “Your brothers are already across the street. Do you need anything before we go?” He entwines our fingers, tightening his hold.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. When I try again, my voice is embarrassingly breathy. “I don’t think so.”
His touch alone causes my heart to jump and goose bumps to erupt up and down my arms. Outside, he opens the passenger door and waits for me to buckle my seat belt before shutting the door. I squeeze my eyes closed and count to five. When I open them again, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. My heart flutters as his scent wafts over me. Men like Caleb don’t exist in my world, so while the gesture—opening my door for me—is a simple one, it packs a powerful punch.
Would my mom have been different if a man had treated her right?
Not that the way a man treats a woman should have a major influence on her wellbeing, but I wonder if it would have helped. Or maybe it’s easier to blame her behavior on bad situations than it is to accept that she’s just a horrible person.
“Are you up for DJing again?” He holds his phone out to me.
I take it, noting how much heavier it is than mine. Probably because of the thick, expensive case.
I cue up a playlist and place his phone in the cupholder, then I slip off my heels. If I’m going to wear them all night, I’d rather delay the pain they’ll inflict for as long as I can. “Do I get to know where we’re going now?”
His shirt rustles with a roll of his shoulders. “I suppose. You’re not going to jump out of a moving vehicle, are you?”
A small huff escapes me. “Should I?”
“I hope not.” With a laugh, he rubs his jaw, but when he speaks again, his voice is subdued. “We’re going to a ballroom dance class.”
My stomach lurches. Oh yeah, I’m definitely contemplating jumping out of the car.
“Ballroom dancing?”
I’ve got to hand it to him. It’s a creative date idea, but it’s nothing like the simple dinner I was expecting.
Though I try to hide it, the horror I feel leaks out as I say, “What if I step on your toes?”
He scoffs. “What if I step on your toes?”
Focus averted, I pick at the edge of my nail. “I’d be okay.”
“Exactly, so why would you think I wouldn’ t be if you did it?”
Stomach hollowing out, all I can do is shrug. “I’m not sure.”
He comes to a stop at a light and zeroes in on me, once again using his fingers to gently tilt my face up. “I take it none of the men in your life have been very understanding.”
I give him a sad smile. “Seems like all the guys my mom brought around had tempers.”
As for my own experiences with men, I never let it get that far. Sex and nothing more. But I don’t think Caleb wants to hear that.
“I’m sorry she did that.”
I clear my throat and force myself to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry she thought she didn’t deserve better.”
The light changes and he eases off the brake. A moment later, we’re on the interstate, and he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped around mine again. “Do you want to talk about her?”
“There’s not much to tell.” I look out the window as the trees blur past. “She’s my mom. Sometimes she was good, but most of the time she forgot I even existed. Then, for some dumb reason, she got pregnant again.” The moment the words are out, I regret them. “I wouldn’t change anything,” I clarify. It’s the truth. “I love my brothers, but she’d never shown more than a passing interest in me. Mostly, I was a burden or an inconvenience. So I don’t understand what she was thinking. After the boys were born, she spiraled further. Year after year, it got worse. The drugs and alcohol. She didn’t work and eventually turned to selling herself to pay for her habits. And when she tried to sell drugs to an undercover cop, then offered him sex to let her off, things didn’t go well.”
Caleb sucks in a harsh breath, his cheeks hollowing.
Shit. I’ve probably scared him enough to send him running. Maybe it’s for the best. He clearly comes from a privileged family. Even if they’re not perfect, like he’s alluded to, he was certainly more taken care of than I was. He’s the literal golden boy, while I’m the girl from the wrong side of the tracks.
“We can turn around,” I say softly. The words cause a fissure in my heart, but offering him an out is the right thing to do. “If you don’t want to go on a date with me anymore.”
The car veers to the right sharply as Caleb takes the exit we almost pass, and I hold on to the dashboard for dear life. Rather than whip around and get back on the interstate headed back toward Hawthorne Mills, he brakes heavily and comes to a stop on the side of the road.
“What the fuck?”
He undoes his seat belt and shifts so his whole body is facing me. “You think that would deter me from taking you out? You think your past has any bearing on my feelings for you?” There’s hurt in his voice and etched into the lines of his face. “Fuck, Hal. I’m just… I’m trying to wrap my head around how your mom could take you and your brothers for granted like that. The three of you are incredible. You deserve to be cherished. She chose herself and her vices over you. That’s shitty. And it breaks my heart that you grew up in that environment. ”
“But you were so quiet,” I defend, turning to face him, arms crossed. “What was I supposed to think?”
Despite the way his nostrils flare and the passion in his words, he doesn’t scare me. Time and again, he’s shown me that he won’t hurt me.
“I needed a moment to process my thoughts,” he says, voice gentler than before. “I didn’t think I should come out and tell you I hate your mom while we’re on our first date, but fuck, Halle, I really hate your mom.”
A soft, disbelieving laugh leaves me. “Thank you. I think.”
He cuffs my neck gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my cheek.
“You expect me to run, and I get it. No one has ever stuck around. But I need you to know—I need you to believe —that I don’t plan on going anywhere, not as long as you want me.”
This man. His words suture up those cracks in my heart, just like that.
How does he always know exactly what to say to soothe my frayed edges? It’s unfair when I feel like I constantly stumble over my own words.
I wet my lips and manage a breathy “okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes, nodding once.
Another ten seconds or so pass before he releases me.
He straightens, buckles up again, then pulls back onto the road. When we’re on the interstate again, he settles his hand on my knee, a warm reassurance, but he makes no move to skim it higher .
His easy, carefree grin returns. “Now that that’s settled, let’s get on with our date.”
The studio is located in a small building across from a small strip of stores, including a pizza shop, a liquor store, and a pharmacy.
The sign on the door reads Frederica’s Ballroom Dance Studio.
As he creeps through the parking lot, I can’t help but worry that I’m going to make a fool of myself. Step on toes. Fall. Or worse. I’m not even sure what worse is, but if it’s possible, there’s a chance I’ll discover it.
Caleb gets out, and before I’ve even slipped into my shoes, he pulls my door open.
“Let me get that,” he says, taking one heel from me.
I open my mouth to protest, but he arches a brow, silencing me, and slips it onto my foot. I feel like Cinderella.
“Thank you.”
He offers me his hand, and though my instinct is to climb out on my own, to prove to him that I don’t need the help, I take it.
Though the front of the studio is nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, they’re covered by curtains, so at least I don’t have to worry about any passersby witnessing what I’m sure will be my ultimate humiliation.
Hand in hand, we enter the studio. The first thing I notice is the sweet vanilla scent from the diffuser on the check-in desk. The next is the kind smile radiating from the woman standing there.
“Hi,” she says, her tone light. “Checking in for the beginner ballroom class?”
“Yes,” Caleb answers, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
She slides a clipboard over to him. “Sign in here, please.”
He scribbles both our names down in annoyingly neat handwriting that makes my penmanship look like that of a third-grader.
When he’s finished, she spins the clipboard around, peers down at it, then writes our names in Sharpie on two nametag stickers. “Just put these on your shirts and enter through those doors there.” She points to our left. “Enjoy.”
Caleb finally releases my hand to peel the backing off my name sticker. He reaches out like he’s going to affix it to my chest, but before he makes contact, he jerks his head once and pulls back. With a sheepish smile, he holds it out with a thumb and forefinger instead.
I struggle not to hide my smile. The man is almost thirty, incredibly intelligent and kind, but he gets flustered over the idea of accidentally touching my boob if he puts the sticker on me? It’s adorable.
Once we’re both wearing our nametags, he takes my hand again and leads me into the designated studio.
Holding his hand like this feels right, and that alone is terrifying.
If I let this man in and he changes his mind, he could so easily shatter my world. And a little voice in my head tells me that I’m more like my mom than I’d like to believe. If I’m dependent on a man for my self-worth, I’m no better than she is.
When I catch sight of several couples mingling near a refreshments table, my stomach cramps.
I loathe small talk.
Caleb, thankfully, doesn’t drag me over to the other couples. Instead, we keep to the wall just the two of us.
I give his hand a squeeze in thanks. He may not realize it, but small gestures like this mean the world.
He looks down at me, his fingers grazing the curve of my jaw. “How are you doing?” he murmurs, a stray piece of blond hair falling over his forehead. “You’re okay with this, right?”
Though I was pretty certain before, I know without a doubt now that if I wasn’t okay with it, he wouldn’t hesitate to escort me back out.
“Nervous, but I’m okay.”
I want to put myself out there, do things that I normally wouldn’t, and this is perfect. Though there are people here who may witness my embarrassment, I never have to see them again. And Caleb has shown me time and again that I’m safe to take risks when I’m with him.
“Good,” he replies.
There are nine couples total waiting for class to begin when a beautiful woman in a cobalt blue dress in a similar design to mine breezes in. She looks like she’s well into her fifties, and she carries herself with a confidence I can only hope to one day possess.
“Hello, hello my beauties,” she greets, the bracelets on her wrists tinkling like chimes. “ I’m so happy you’re here. I’m eager to introduce you to the wonder that is ballroom dancing. My husband Matteo and I will be your instructors tonight. He’s running a little behind, so we’ll get introductions out of the way while we wait. I’m Frederica.”
She points to a couple on her left and asks them to share their names. Slowly, she works her way around the group, and when it’s our turn, my voice comes out annoyingly high-pitched.
“Halle?” she repeats. “Not Hailey?”
“Nope, it’s Halle.”
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been called Hailey, so I’m used to having to make the distinction.
“Beautiful name,” she says, clapping once. “Ah, here comes my husband.”
A middle-aged man with dark hair and toned muscles strides straight over to Frederica and tugs her against him, greeting her with a kiss to her cheek. “Sorry I’m late, my love.”
Their eyes shine with pure love and adoration for each other. It’s almost jarring to see a couple their age so clearly enraptured with the other.
He releases her, then surveys the rest of us. “I’m Matteo, and I’ve been dancing with my lovely wife here for thirty years. Would’ve been longer, but this one”—he wags his finger at her, chuckling—“is very stubborn. It took quite a bit of time to convince her to give me a chance.”
Frederica rolls her eyes. “Only because I’d always heard you were a charmer.”
“And were the rumors true, darling?” He smiles at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners .
“Yes.” With a huff that’s half annoyance, half affection, she brushes her fingers through his mustache to flatten the stray hairs.
Matteo turns to the group. “The key to a happy relationship is to show your woman she’s loved. Every day. It’s more than gifts or flowers. It’s showing her she’s taken care of. When she’s tired, make dinner without being asked. Put the kids to bed. Those kinds of things make all the difference in a happy marriage.”
Around the room, most of the women look at their partners in a see? I told you kind of way.
“If you come back, there’ll be more lessons where that came from.” He wags his finger, then holds a hand out to his wife. “Today, though… we dance.”
As if it’s been cued up to start at the exact moment in their little display, music plays, and Frederica and Matteo begin dancing to the quick tempo. After about a minute, it cuts out, and they turn to us.
“That is called the foxtrot. It’s a bit more advanced than what you’ll be learning today,” Frederica says, smoothing down her skirt. “But if you stick with dance, you absolutely could learn it. Today, though, we’ll start with the basics of a slow waltz. Turn to your partners, please.”
I face Caleb, rubbing my lips together like the motion alone will get rid of my nerves.
“The two of you should decide who leads. When you have, that person should extend their left arm like this.” Matteo holds his arm out to one side. “Partners, you’re going to take their hand in your right, then gently place your left hand on their shoulder. ”
I do as instructed, and as I’m getting settled, I catch the flicker of nerves in Caleb’s gaze. That alone is enough to take away some of my anxiety.
“Light fingers,” Frederica scolds. “No need to hold on for dear life.”
I give Caleb a sheepish smile and relax my grip. “Sorry.”
His answering smile urges the sticky fingers wrapped around my chest, squeezing, to loosen a smidge more.
“It’s okay.” He brushes his nose lightly against mine, sending a thrill through me.
“Hold this pose,” Matteo calls out. “We’re going to come around and make corrections to your posture.”
I don’t dare move, soaking in Caleb’s proximity. “I’m not hunched over, am I?”
He chuckles. “No.”
“My shoulders aren’t up to my ears?”
His laughter deepens. “Your shoulders are fine.”
“Okay.” I swallow. “Just checking.”
When Frederica makes it over to us, she taps our arms. “Elbows up, darlings.”
We obey, lifting our joined hands slightly.
“More. There you go. And dear, fingers like this.” She adjusts the way Caleb is holding my hand. “Perfect. Hold that and scoot a little closer.” She urges us to close the awkward distance we’ve left between our bodies. “Act like you know each other. You do know each other, correct?”
“Yes, we’re just nervous,” Caleb replies as he takes a step closer, eyes locked on mine.
“No time for nerves,” Matteo scolds from where he’s helping the couple beside us. “Only fun. ”
Frederica nods succinctly. “Dance should first and foremost be enjoyable. It can be intimate, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s the expression of our bodies. They’re designed to move, you know?” With a wink, she spins gracefully and moves on to another couple.
The class runs for just over an hour. By the time it’s finished, I feel like I’ve done an entire workout. The waltz is slow, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Not for me, anyway.
Before we leave, Caleb guides me to the refreshments table and pours water into two small cups. “What did you think?”
Honestly?
“I loved it.”
His smile is radiant and instantaneous. “Does this mean you’ll do it with me again?”
I sip at the water and nod. “Sure. Why not?”
If the twinkle in his eye is anything to go by, he’s pleased at the prospect. “Good. I’ll sign up for the next class before we leave. They’re every two weeks.”
Without my permission, that insecure part of my brain rears its ugly head, whispering what if he’s already sick of you by the time the next class rolls around?
“Sounds great,” I say, shoving those thoughts down deep.
Frederica breezes over just as I’m tossing the empty cup in the trash. “It was a pleasure to have you in class today. I hope to see you for the next one. I see some talent here, and the chemistry you share is strong.”
She probably says that to everyone, but the comment does bolster my confidence .
Once our thirst is sated, we say our goodbyes, sign up for the next class, and head out to the car. Caleb holds my door before rounding the hood and climbing in. He cranks the engine immediately but doesn’t put the vehicle in reverse. “I planned to take you to a nice dinner after this, and we can absolutely do that if you’d like, but I’m starving after all that dancing. What do you think about grabbing dinner somewhere close instead?”
I sigh in relief. “I’m ravenous.”
His lips kick up on one side. “I know just the place.”