Chapter Twelve
What the heck was he thinking? What normal intelligent human being invites a girl to dance to swing music with a bum hip?
Maybe he was not as smart as he thought, but it was too late to back out now.
Her hand in his, a smile on her face as wide as the Mississippi, smart or not, they were going to dance.
And he was going to do his best to make his grandmother proud.
“Let me apologize up front for stepping on your feet.” Her nervous smile was more intoxicating than a bottle of Kentucky’s finest bourbon.
“I have faith in you.” There was no way he was going to tell her that he was scared to death he’d be the one stepping on her feet.
The sounds of the famed Glenn Miller tune “In the Mood” filled the air.
Randy and Julia were already swaying and swinging to the song with more energy than he’d expect from someone celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Few people dared to step on the wooden floor.
Clearly most people were definitely smarter than Aiden. Here went nothing.
His hand rested firmly on her waist, the other gripped her fingers tight enough to direct, loose enough to allow free movement.
It only took a few moves for her to get the rhythm.
When he spun her out, pushing at her waist, then tugging her back in, she wound into his grip, their chests bumping, and her wavering smile shifting to full-blown laughter.
She was enjoying herself. And so the heck was he.
When the song came to an end and the next tune started, they continued holding hands, and as if they’d been dancing together as long as Randy and Julia, the two of them spun and twirled and to his delight, his hip didn’t seem to be slowing them down.
He might pay the price for overdoing it in the morning, but right now, his plan was to enjoy every single moment.
“Okay,” Colleen huffed as the song slowed, “you may be doing great, but I need to sit.”
“Of course.” He had to bite back a delighted grin when she followed him from the dance floor without ever letting go of his hand.
It made no sense, and yet, it mattered—a lot.
A whole lot. To his chagrin, his cell phone buzzed.
Alice Sweet. Can you pick up a dozen croissants from the little French bakery down the street from the dress shop on your way home please? ”
Home. That word jumped out at him. The Sweet Ranch definitely felt like home.
Which, of course, made no sense for a guy from the Bronx used to shared driveways, postage stamp sized back yards, and neighbors close enough to pass a cup of borrowed sugar through the kitchen windows.
Glancing at the time, as much as he hated to even think it, never mind say it, they probably should start their way back to Honeysuckle.
“Something wrong?” Colleen’s smile slipped, concern filled her eyes.
He shook his head. “No. It’s Alice. She wants me to stop and pick up croissants from a bakery on our way home.”
Colleen’s eyes closed for a moment longer than a blink. “That bakery is phenomenal we’d better hurry. I forgot Alice is waiting for her dress. We should probably start back.”
More slowly than he’d moved the first time they hauled him out of the hospital bed and over to rehab, he pushed away from the table, reached for Colleen’s purse and pulled her chair out.
He was going to miss the fun they would have had dancing longer.
They’d barely made it outside the building when they bumped into Abigail Fine—literally.
Shoo Shoo, Abigail’s beloved Pomeranian, ran circles around Aiden’s feet, barking as if the man had just stolen a t-bone steak out from under her. Abigail chased after the fluffiest dog Aiden had ever seen, gathering her dropped purchases as she moved.
“Let me help.” Colleen stretched to intercept the fleeting pooch who took that moment to stop racing around, snarl, and when Colleen went to grab the dog, Shoo Shoo snapped at her. “Oh.”
“She’s very sensitive.” Abigail reached for the pup, her purchases forgotten.
Colleen shifted her attention from the dog to the items scattered on the floor.
“You like to bake?” Helping Colleen clean up while Abigail cooed at the furball in her arms as if she were a human baby, Aiden couldn’t help but notice the woman had enough packets of yeast to bake bread for the whole state.
“Bake?” Abigail couldn’t have looked more confused if you’d mentioned she had a third eye on her forehead.
“The yeast.” Aiden waved a hand over the remaining packets on the ground.
“Oh that.” The laugh the woman let out was somewhere between ‘bless your pea picking stupid heart’ and ‘I’ll get you my little pretty’, either way, Aiden was still waiting for an answer as he tossed the last packet into a paper bag.
“Abigail makes wine,” Colleen supplied, having put all the remaining scattered items into a large canvas tote.
“Honeysuckle wine.” The way her chin lifted in the air he expected to hear the words ‘for the King’ to follow. Or at least a prominent president.
Not sure what to say, he glanced in Colleen’s direction.
“Wins the blue ribbon at the county fair every year.” Still cuddling the poofy dog close to her chest, Abigail grinned like she’d won the Irish Sweepstakes.
“They have a ribbon for honeysuckle wine making?” He had to ask.
“Actually,” Colleen pushed to her feet, waited for Abigail to place the pooch on the ground and handed her the bag, “it’s a craft section for homemade beers and wines. One year old man Hutching entered his homemade bourbon.”
“Didn’t stand a chance against my wine.” Abigail raised her chin higher.
“Some of the best local craft beers have come to be from the blue ribbon winners.”
“I see.” Though he had no idea how anyone got away legally with participating without a liquor license, who was he to ask questions.
If Colleen had ever had more fun spending an afternoon with a man, she couldn’t remember who or when.
And she was absolutely positive she’d never danced with anyone as good as Aiden.
The way he nudged her out and back and around, she knew what he wanted her to do and was positive he made her look almost as good as Ginger Rogers.
Though she doubted Aiden would appreciate being called Fred.
“Who taught you how to dance like that?”
Taking the freeway turn off for Honeysuckle, Aiden shrugged behind the wheel. “Sort of a group effort.”
“Excuse me?”
He chuckled. “My grandparents on my dad’s side were the music lovers, but my grandparents on my mom’s side were the dancers in the family. Growing up, we lived in the second floor apartment over my grandparents’ apartment. My Aunt Mary and Uncle Al had the third floor apartment.”
Brows furrowed in thought, Colleen tried to picture where he grew up. Three families in one house.
Her expression must have been telling the way Aiden chuckled.
“Where I grew up, there were lots of massive Dutch colonial houses. By the time my parents were born, most had been converted to multi family homes. And it was pretty common for several generations to live in the house. Made it easy for family togetherness but still allowed for independence. It also didn’t hurt when it came to Sunday supper, all anyone had to do was head down to the basement. ”
“That was your mom’s parents?”
He shook his head. “No, Sunday dinner was at my dad’s family home. The Italian side was big on massive tables, hoards of people, and enough food to feed all of the Bronx. Their house was two doors down.”
“Two doors?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “That’s how Mom and Dad met. They grew up together, became high school sweethearts, married, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“All right. But how did learning to dance become a group effort?”
“I’m pretty sure my Grams started dancing with me as soon as I could walk. Some days, when all the cousins were around, the place was a regular dance-athon. My cousin Frank was a natural. By the time I got to junior high, my grandfather taught me how to lead.”
“That’s why I knew what you wanted me to do?”
He nodded. “Yep. Slight shift at your waist and you should know if I wanted you to go right or left.”
“I did. And then when I was out there on my own, a tug of your fingers brought me back. A few times, I could feel you nudging me the other way with the hand at my waist.”
“My grandfather would be thrilled to know his efforts weren’t wasted on me.”
“Not even a little. It was fun. Really fun.”
“Enough to do it again?” His one brow rose high on his forehead and his lips curled up in the sweetest grin. Anyone watching would think he’d made an indecent proposition.
Even knowing he was only asking about dancing, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’d like that.”
“Then it’s a date. We’ll come back next week. Saturday night good for you?”
She came within inches of nodding yes when she remembered. “That’s the fundraiser festival. It’s all day and then the dinner party with the silent auction is the grand finale.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “Then the following Saturday?”
Her head bobbed so fast she was surprised it hadn’t snapped off. “Looking forward to it.” Though at the rate he was improving, she wasn’t sure there’d be many more Saturdays for dancing. That thought made her sadder than it should have.
“So,” he turned onto Main Street, “about your new therapy office.”
“The garage?” Not that he could be talking about anything else.
“I’d like to start right away.”
She shifted in the front seat of the car. “I don’t think you should—”
With the raising of his hand, he cut her off. “Helping isn’t up for discussion or debate. I can do what you need and help get your started on the right foot. So to speak.”
“While I’d love to say yes—”
“Great, then we agree.”
Tugging on her seat belt, she twisted a little more. “I did not say that.”
His smile spread. “But you will.”
“Rather cocky, aren’t we?” She bit back a smile. It was actually kind of nice having a competent man stepping up to help.
Pulling into the driveway of her house, he put the car in park, undid his seat belt and without a word, exited the truck, circled the hood and opened her door.
“That which I do well, I do. That which I don’t do so well, I delegate.
Of course,” he smiled and extended his hand to her, “there’s not much I don’t do well. ”
That had her laughing out loud as she climbed out of the car. “In other words, I’m going to get my practice up and running sooner than later whether I like it or not?”
“Yeah,” he bobbed his head, “that about covers it.”
Her cheeks tugged hard at the corners of her mouth. A girl could really get used to this guy. Really.