Chapter 10
ten
WESTON
MARCH 12
According to the town’s social media account—the Hollow Hub—the Enchanted Hollow Ceili dance is a long-standing town tradition.
Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I finally climbed down the rabbit hole of this place and all the lore and history surrounding it. Like most of Texas, it’s a melting pot of culture. They don’t hesitate to honor all the places that make Enchanted Hollow unique.
I even learned that eleven Irishmen died defending the Alamo. Definitely tucked that away for the trivia night—Riddles and Rounds—tomorrow night, just in case I need it.
Not that Bridget would be surprised, but I’m kind of excited for tomorrow’s festival day: Luck and Legends Day. There’s a whole Irish Immigrant exhibit at the town hall, and while I do love to collect random facts like some people—Bridget—likes to collect mugs, I’m just eager to tuck away a little more about my heritage.
Honestly, most history intrigues me.
Like right now, I’m fighting the urge to pull aside an elder and beg for stories about The Enchanted Ballroom, the dancehall where all the dancing is going to take place tonight.
Like most everything here, the weathered wood planks and tin roof that comprise the exterior is full of charm. But when you step inside? That’s where the real magic is. I can feel it. Lights dangle from the massive wood beams that criss cross the ceiling. I can only imagine the people that have danced here, smoothing the wood in some areas to the point that you can barely tell where the edges meet.
The wooden walls have carvings of mythical creatures, vines and tree branches almost racing toward the focal point of the whole building: the mural behind the stage where an Irish group is already churning out music. An enchanted forest with deep and vibrant colors, framed by shimmering drapes of blues, golds, and silvers.
It’s like a dream.
“There’s things hidden in there,” Bridget says.
I tear my eyes away to look at her. “You caught me staring?”
She wipes at imaginary drool at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got a little something here.”
“You’re funny.”
“But seriously—owls, foxes, wolves, bears. It’s like one of those I Spy photos but they’re so well blended it’s a true challenge.”
The music is lively, almost impossible to resist. It’s thrumming through my veins, almost begging for me to go out on the dance floor. But I’m not going without Bridget.
As soon as the song ends, the lead singer announces they’re taking the first round of volunteers to teach the Ceili dance to, and I tug Bridget along.
“We’re volunteering as tributes,” I tell her.
She squeezes my hand and tries to pull me backward. “Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You scared?”
“You should be!” she cries as we continue forward. “Weston, I am not good at this.”
I stop and she practically runs into my back. With a chuckle I turn so I can see into her eyes.
“You’re too focused on doing it right . Nobody is getting a sticker for being best in class here—it’s just for fun.”
Her brow furrows in response, which seems to be a knee jerk reaction for when she tries to do something that she might not excel at. She talks about her sisters like they hung the moon, so I don’t think they were ever the problem. But this seems bigger than Andrew. I wonder who fed her these lies about herself.
I hope she eventually lets me all the way in so we can break down those limited beliefs so firmly planted in her head.
“I might look stupid,” she whispers.
“You could never. But if you look around, no one else seems to care about what they look like. Focus on the smiles and the joy.” I lift our grasped hands and adjust so hers is on top, pressing my lips to her knuckles.
Her eyelashes flutter as a breath stutters out. Good, I’m having the same effect on her that she’s having on me.
Maybe we’re on the same page for once.
I’ll take it, however long it lasts.
“Do you even know how to do this?” she asks.
“I told you when we met that I'm an excellent dancer.” I tug her forward again, making our way through the crowd to the dance floor.
They’ve already started with the first group so we’ll have to wait until the next round. Which is fine. We stand off to the side, watching as couples fumble through the moves, laughter lifting over the cadence of the caller on stage and the music in the background.
I’d have missed most of this if Bridget hadn’t showed up. Feeling sorry for myself and my injury when the whole town is out here celebrating things bigger than me and my problems.
And I’d have missed all the memories I’m collecting.
“Honestly, I thought you were hitting on me,” she finally says.
I chuckle because I can see why she’d think so. I was. “Can’t both be true?”
Her mouth drops open. “I told you I was engaged!”
“ After I told you I was a good dancer.”
Bridget shifts and I take another moment to appreciate how she looks tonight. She’s wearing a long dress, sort of berry colored. It’s a deviation from all the green she’s been wearing but it’s still a gorgeous color on her, highlighting the green in her eyes.
One of my favorite features, next to her mouth. Which matches her dress tonight. I’m seeing why Louie was so heavy. And why Maximus is much more fitting—he’s hauling around a whole kingdom inside there.
“I’m sorry—I still don’t think the Cupid Shuffle counts. We learned line dances in elementary school. It proves nothing.”
Oh I’ll prove something, all right.
Before I can say another word, an older woman bustles up to us. “You two are adorable! They’re about to start the next round—let’s go!”
We’re swept into the chaos of people finding spots on the floor, and another older lady sweeps by, putting Bridget directly in front of me in her line.
“Don’t you dare step on my feet!” she yells with a smile on her face.
“Don’t steal my line!” I shout back.
Bridget tips her head back in a laugh and the music starts, sweeping us into a whirlwind of spins and footwork.
Turns out, I should’ve listened a little better when Bridget warned me.