Chapter 2 #2
Not the careful, formal dancing of weddings or charity galas, but fun, up close and personal dancing. The kind where we move to the music because we feel it in our bones, where we laugh when I step on his toe, and where the only thing that matters is the moment we’re in.
He’s a good dancer—confident but not showy, leading without being pushy.
When he spins me, his fingers wrap around mine and his hand is steady at the small of my back.
The flutters keep the beat and work double time.
When I stumble slightly in my heels, he catches me effortlessly, his smile widening with amusement.
We don’t exchange so much as a word, but communicate through movement and smiles that just won’t quit.
The surrounding crowd is singing along to the music, voices raised in celebration, and I find myself singing too, something I never do in public. He grins when I belt out the chorus, and I feel a pleasant flush of connection, of being alive to the moment.
For these few precious minutes, I’m not Nina, “the responsible bakery owner who worries about everything.” I’m not the daughter bound by old promises and older fears.
I’m just a woman dancing with a handsome stranger on New Year’s Eve, feeling happy and free and completely present in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
The pulsing crowd presses us together. So close, I see that his green eyes are flecked with gold, and the small scar on his chin that was recently shaved. The flutters rise and dance with us.
Then the song changes, shifting to a slower and more romantic tune, drawing the energy of everyone with it. Couples slide closer together, and I suddenly remember where I am, who I’m supposed to be, and all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.
Before I can step back, before I can thank him for the dance or make my graceful exit, the massive crowd surges around us.
Someone bumps into me from behind, pushing me forward just as my dance partner is shuffled in the opposite direction.
Our hands slip apart, and suddenly a wall of people forms between us.
I catch one last glimpse of his green eyes, looking as surprised and disappointed as I feel, before he’s swallowed by the undulating sea of party-goers.
Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me standing on the dance floor with my heart racing and the lingering scent of winter air and cedar, wondering if I just imagined the most perfect dance of my life.
“Nina, there you are!” Bree appears at my elbow, vibrating with excitement.
I startle, feeling slightly dazed.
She says, “The hypnotist is next up in the variety show!”
Somehow, Emerson is still nearby. She frowns. “Just when Nina was making heart eyes at that guy, which resulted in them dancing for a second—”
But he’s gone. Figures.
Just then, the new talent for the variety show is announced.
The crowd moves toward the chairs arranged in front of the stage. I try to focus on finding a seat in the back, but the girls and their spouses gather in the front row as if it were reserved just for them. Anticipating me making a run for it, Bree wedges me between herself and Fletch.
With a slight grumble, I get my bearings and find the location of the nearest exit, just in case. Then I spot him by the side wall, where he can see everything but remain just out of the spotlight.
Smart. I’d probably do the same thing if I weren’t here with friends who attract attention like flowers attract honeybees.
The hypnotist takes the stage. He’s a pleasant-looking man in his fifties with a friendly smile that suggests we should trust him.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to what I promise will be an unforgettable start to your new year. I’m Lucian Little and I defy you not to be amazed and astounded by what you’re about to experience.
You won’t witness wizardry or trickery tonight, but perhaps a miracle or a bit of matchmaking magic. ”
The crowd applauds politely. Bree is practically bouncing in her seat.
“Please understand that hypnosis is all about belief,” Lucian continues. “Belief in the power of suggestion, belief in the connection between mind and heart, belief in possibilities you might never have considered. Who here believes in the impossible?”
Hands shoot up around the room. Not mine. Bree is so enthusiastic that she nearly thwacks me in the face. Fletch seems less inclined to participate. Thank goodness someone has good sense.
“Wonderful! Now, I’ll need a volunteer. Someone open to new experiences, willing to trust the process, and most importantly, single.”
That last one catches me by surprise. Then again, Lucian did say something about matchmaking.
Before I can object, before I can even process what’s happening, Bree’s hand shoots up again.
Pointing at me, she calls, “My friend Nina! She’s perfect! She’s focused, successful—she can even decorate elaborate wedding cakes—and she’s unattached!”
Every head in the room turns toward me. Including, I notice with horror, the one belonging to those intense green eyes from across the room.
“Bree Darling,” I hiss under my breath, “For that, I’m issuing a thirty-day Busy Bee pastry ban—”
But the hypnotist is already approaching, waving me toward the stage. His smile is warm and encouraging. “Nice to meet you, Nina. Would you be willing to help me demonstrate the power of belief?”
The audience watches expectantly. Bree is grinning like she just solved world hunger and all of my problems at the same time. And in my peripheral vision, the guy with green eyes is definitely paying attention. Jitters rush through me.
Lucian guides me toward the stage.
“I don’t really believe in hypnosis,” I admit.
“That’s perfectly fine,” he says kindly.
I’d also like to state for the record that I’m only doing this to be a sport and not disappoint my friends, but keep my mouth shut.
“Tell me, do you believe in the power of suggestion? In the way our minds can surprise us when we let our guard down?”
I think about bread dough, how it transforms with time and patience and the right conditions. “I believe in yeast and butter temperatures and exact measurements.”
The crowd chuckles, and my cheeks get warm. I tell myself that it’s probably the stage lighting and not because everyone is staring at me up here, including him.
“Fair enough. What about love, Nina? Do you believe in true love?”
Lucian holds my gaze, but it’s different from how the guy on the dance floor and I looked at each other. It’s almost like Lucian is peering past my skin and skeleton and into my brain, whereas the guy with green eyes was seeing my heart.
I have the vague awareness that thought sounds a lot like something Bree would write in one of her romance novels.
But the question catches me off guard. My voice softens without my express permission. “I want to believe in the kind that lasts. The kind that chooses to stay.”
The slight hitch as he blinks catches my attention as if he noted my distinct choice of words. I want to believe. Words I didn’t anticipate saying, much like choosing a word of the year rather than a resolution.
Rise.
Look at me, I’m already rising to the occasion and playing along. New Year’s goals crushed!
He continues, “Do you someday want to fall in love and get married?”
I can almost feel the entire room go silent as they lean in to hear my answer. Meanwhile, my head is full of chatter—the promise to my father, his and my mother’s failed relationship, and everything I’ve been led to believe because of that.
But a small voice, from deep inside, rises above the rest. “Yes.”
Lucian smiles approvingly. “I want you to look out at this crowd and tell me what you see.”
I scan the faces looking up at me—friends, strangers, couples holding hands, single people hoping for connection. And there along the wall, those green eyes are on me. The trench between his eyebrows isn’t stern exactly, but it’s far from the flirtatious expression he wore while we were dancing.
“I see people hoping for something impossible to happen,” I say honestly.
“Perfect. Now, Nina, I want you to focus on my voice and think about what’s possible in your life. Plausible. You mentioned something about baking.” He speaks smoothly, soothingly.
Suddenly unable to tear my gaze away from Lucian’s, I tell him that I run a bakery.
He says, “Now, keeping your focus on me, draw into your senses. Tell me what you hear, feel, smell.”
“I’m in a room full of people bathed in cologne and perfume—” But I occupy a quiet place inside where I sometimes hear something like Bibi’s encouragement, her rebukes, and answers to questions that are more complicated than what’ll happen to a chocolate cake recipe if I add coffee.
“Good. Remain here with that experience, the lived reality surrounding you. But now we’ll travel deep inside.
Let yourself imagine what it would feel like if something truly impossible happened in your life.
Something unexpected. Something that challenged everything you thought you knew about yourself. ”
Lucian’s voice is tranquil, hypnotic in the most literal sense.
The room seems to soften around the edges, like folding together the dry ingredients with the wet while making cake batter.
The last thing I register clearly is those green eyes in the audience, and the strange thought that maybe believing in something unpredictable wouldn’t be the worst way to start a new year.
As Lucian continues to talk, the world goes foggy, and everything fades to golden warmth.