Chapter 9 #3
But this one has mismatched signs over the storefronts, and the paint is peeling off some of the buildings. I like it. The small imperfections are what makes it unique. Leonora’s café, with its adorable hand-painted sign, is sandwiched between a doctor’s office and a little diner with a neon sign.
A paper bag tumbles down the sidewalk in front of us, but a group of laughing women steps out of a car and one of them bends down to pick it up and throw it into a nearby green trash can. I do a double take, not quite believing what I saw.
A hand lands on my shoulder, startling me forward again.
“You okay?”
“Did you see that?”
“What?” A puzzled frown furrows his brow.
“That woman just picked up a piece of trash and threw it in the garbage.”
“Uh, and…?”
Oh, maybe that’s normal around here. “Never mind.”
The soft whisper of music starts to get louder, morphing into the familiar beat of a club. Except as we get even closer, I realize it’s not quite as familiar as I thought. The distinct twang and rhythm of country music emanates from the place.
The brick building is on a corner, and the vertical sign hanging out front is lit up to show off the name.
If the music hadn’t given it away, this would have told me we’re here.
The Grove. The hottest spot in Balsam Grove is a far cry from the trendy nightclubs in LA I’m used to.
And I have a feeling that unlike those, this one isn’t going to vanish into the ether when a newer, hotter spot captures the attention of the A-listers.
Quint holds the door open for me and an older woman with long, silver-streaked hair greets us. We step inside the crowded bar, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. But when they do, the first thing that catches my attention is a tiny stage off to the right.
The twang of country music is coming from the gorgeous woman standing on it.
She’s got the kind of big blond waves that seem like a country music must-have.
Her bright pink cowboy boots match the hat perched atop her head, and her full figure is encased in a knee-length ruffled blue dress. Adorable.
It’s busy, but not suffocatingly so. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe until I get to the VIP section of a club.
Everything’s changed since my college years, when we used to go out twice a week.
No VIP section here though, just an interesting mix of people clad in everything from denim to tiny sparkly dresses.
I like it. The wear-what-you-want kind of attitude.
But I was right about the cowboy hats. They’re a wardrobe staple here.
There are booths lining the walls. A handful of high-tops surround the cleared space in front of the stage, and some regular tables are off to our left. All of them are full of people talking and smiling. A handful of couples and clustered groups of people sway together on the dance floor.
“You wanna dance?” Quint’s breath brushes my ear, sending a shiver down the back of my neck when he leans in close.
“I’m good.”
“You sure about that?”
That’s when I realize I’m swaying to the rhythm, bobbing my head, just losing myself to the tune.
My usual awareness of every move I make, every picture that might be taken without my knowledge, has slipped away.
Nobody here is looking at me, judging me, and there’s an incredible sense of freedom with that knowledge.
“You know what? Sure, let’s dance.”
I weave my way through the bodies, holding a hand out behind me for Quint to grab. He trails after me to the dance floor, where I turn to face him, looking up at the tall cowboy. His clean-shaven face has a hint of scruff around the chin, and there’s a lazy smile on his face.
Feeling bold with the anonymity of the place and probably the alcohol still streaming through my veins, I drop my hands to his waist. His swaying hips are warm and firm under my touch.
“You can touch me,” I say, feeling bold, in control of the moment for the first time in a long time.
I can see his eyes widening under the flashing lights, but he listens. It’s a tentative touch at first. Lightly resting his palms on my shoulders, but the faster beat trails off and a new tune starts. It’s softer, full of yearning and sensual heat.
His grip changes with the song, hands sliding down my sides to settle on my waist. I shift mine up to twine loosely around his neck, and I let myself enjoy the moment.
His body swaying under mine, and his strong but gentle hands lightly gripping my hips.
My eyes slide shut as the beat of the music pulses through me, and for the first time in a long time I let it.
My shoulders relax and I let go of all the fear, the anxiety of being under constant scrutiny.
And letting go opens up my senses. Our bodies brush against each other as we sway to the rhythm, and his woodsy cologne surrounds me, subtle but soothing. Tingly heat spreads from every point of contact.
I shut my eyes, feeling the melody flow through me while the lyrics tell a story of lost innocence. And for the moment, I pretend I’m someone else, that this is my reality. Dangerous or not, this is the kind of moment I could get lost in.