Chapter 17
Tallulah
"Well done!" Carmen clapped, beaming proudly as the music came to an end. "You are ready."
Jamison and I smiled at each other. We, along with the rest of the class, had danced the waltz one final time. Every time he spun me around and I stepped back into his arms, it was like tiptoeing across clouds.
As we said good night to our instructor and the rest of the students, a quiet sadness settled inside me. In a short time, I had come to enjoy our routine and become friendly with my fellow classmates.
Jamison and I were better dancers than when we began, but after tonight, I would no longer be spending time with him.
We filed out of the studio and slowly walked through the parking lot.
"Good night!" everyone called.
We waved, and they waved back.
As he had done three other times before, Jamison escorted me to my vehicle.
"Well, here you are," he announced, stopping beside my car door.
"Yes, here we are," I said, gazing up at him.
Somewhere between missed steps and shared laughs, it dawned on me that he and I weren't as different as I had originally believed.
We came in different packaging but shared the same priorities regarding our families, and we were stubbornly devoted to the children we adored.
We both had marital scars and carried the invisible weight of marriages that hadn't lasted, making us more careful as a result.
"I hope my son appreciates all the work I put in to make him look good," Jamison said.
"I hope my daughter appreciates all the work I put in too."
An awkward pause rested between us, and we both looked around the parking lot, searching for a topic we could pluck out of the air.
My chest became unbearably heavy, as if someone had set a stone on my sternum.
I didn't expect such intense emotions on the last night, as if we were leaving something unfinished.
In a way, we were. The night of our first class, he had hinted at his interest, and though he had continued being flirty and friendly, he hadn't made a move on me in the past week.
I wanted him to, and I wanted to spend more time with him.
"Do you have plans for when you leave here?" Jamison asked.
"Nothing special. I'll probably stop by the store on the way home and pick up one of those salad kits so I'll have something to eat tonight. Blossom is at Manuel's working on wedding stuff."
Hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "I do remember him telling me they were meeting tonight. I believe they finally decided on which food truck they're going to have for the reception."
"Which one?" I asked.
"Both." He grimaced.
"You don't like the food truck idea, do you?"
"No, I don't. I would much prefer a traditional sit-down reception with catering. I offered to help pay for it, but my son refused. They want to do the food truck thing, and he said he could afford the cost. Can you believe those kids?"
"Well..." I hedged, and he stared at me in disbelief.
"Don't tell me you think the food trucks are a good idea?" He sounded appalled.
"Using them has become more popular nowadays, and they’re a cost-effective way for couples to cater their weddings. I think it would be kind of fun and represents the special moment when they met."
"I never thought I'd be standing in line at a food truck at a wedding," he grumbled. "But never let it be said that Jamison Harris isn't flexible."
"I'm so proud of you," I teased.
"I've come a long way, haven't I?"
I giggled. "Yes, you have. We both have."
I enjoyed his dry sense of humor, and at random times during the day, I laughed to myself when I remembered one of his sarcastic remarks.
We both wanted the best for our kids and were devoted to work that helped people.
Could that be why these nights have felt so comfortable?
Because we were kindred spirits, in a way?
Kindred spirits looking for peace, calm, and no drama.
I was going to miss this strange but easygoing camaraderie that had developed between us.
"Good night!" Carmen strolled by, waving.
"Good night," Jamison and I returned.
Silence fell between us again as we watched her climb into a Mercedes coupe and drive away. We were the last ones in the parking lot, noticeably lingering.
"I should probably go..." I played with the bracelets on my left wrist.
His eyes followed the movement of my fingers. "You know, I was thinking about how our kids insulted us by saying neither one of us could dance."
"I'm still not sure I've forgiven Blossom."
"Because you thought you could dance. I knew I couldn't, but I didn't like Manuel pointing out my flaw. Anyway, I was thinking about what Carmen has said every night. She encouraged us to practice outside of class. Have you been practicing?"
"Not really," I admitted. "Maybe one or two steps here or there, but nothing serious."
"Me either. Practicing without a partner is difficult."
"True," I said, nodding.
"How about we meet up on our own? You could come by my place for dinner, and we could practice our steps to make sure we have them down."
My heart leapt excitedly. "When were you thinking?"
"How about Saturday night?"
"Do you know how to cook?"
"I'm a master griller," he said proudly.
"Oh, really?"
"Oh yeah. People all over Michigan talk about my grilling skills. You haven't heard?"
"No, I haven't," I said, thoroughly amused.
He spread his feet wider and held up his hands. "When I get on the grill, these hands work magic."
Oh my, he looked so damn sexy. I bet his hands were magical.
"I was planning to throw a couple of steaks on the grill anyway—and before you say a word, I know you don't eat red meat. The steaks will be accompanied by prawns, baked potatoes, and some other kind of vegetable. Call it dinner and dance. Interested?"
I had never seen Jamison like this. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. He obviously loved his plan, and I had to admit the idea of joining him at his place for a home-cooked meal and dancing was enticing.
"Do you need me to bring—"
"Bring only your appetite. I'll have enough food for both of us. You'll actually be doing me a favor. It's hard to cook for one person, and as you already know, I'm very frugal. Most of the time I cook extra so I have enough for dinner the next night. Keeps me from having to cook every night."
"So I'm going to be eating your Sunday night meal?"
"No, because you won't be eating steak, will you?"
"No, I won't."
"So you can enjoy the prawns and the vegetables, and the next day I'll put the extra steak on a salad or chop it up in a sandwich."
A man who cooked and was creative in the kitchen. I was impressed.
"What do you say?" he prodded.
"I would like to see what a master griller—known throughout the state of Michigan—does on the grill. I also like the idea of doing a little dancing. Might as well get in as much practice as we can so we don't embarrass our kids."
His face broke into a smile that made my stomach flip-flop.
"Great. I'll send you my address. What's your number?"
"I gave you my number on a card before, remember? You never entered it in your phone?"
"I... er... lost the card," he said.
Was he lying? I brushed aside my suspicion and repeated my number.
He entered the digits and then sent me a text.
I pulled out my phone and checked the screen. "Got it."
"I'll see you at my place on Saturday," Jamison said after we finalized the time.
I climbed into Orange Julius and watched him walk over to his Lexus.
The feeling of a stone sitting on my chest had disappeared and been replaced by warmth and excitement.
I didn't want to think too much about what I was feeling, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked forward with such anticipation to spending time with a man.
Moments before, I had been bummed he hadn't made a pass at me and that our relationship hadn't progressed past waltzing for an hour each night.
Now, I was going to his home on Saturday. We were going to have dinner. We were going to dance.
Together. Alone. Just the two of us.