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In some parallel universe, the unsuspecting version of Mira who lived there fell straight over, taking one for the team because this Mira in this universe was somehow able to tell him, “We’re hand holders, I think.”
“Is that all?”
“And maybe,” she swallowed a literal bowling ball, “we dance.”
His smile—the kind that got women kidnapped in all the true crime shows her mom liked to watch—lit up the entire bar. “Yes,” he said. “We definitely like to dance.” Looking out at the empty bar, at the empty dance floor in front of the jukebox, he asked, “But don’t you think we should practice? So I don’t accidentally step on your toes?”
She didn’t believe he’d stepped on another person’s toes once in his life. Not that it changed her answer. “That might be a good idea.”
“Mira, I amfullof good ideas.” Before she could respond to that little nugget, he said, “I’ll go pick us a song.”
While he strode toward the jukebox with purpose, she let her gaze trail across his straight shoulders, down the lines of his back to the tiny pleat where his shirt was still tucked neatly into his pants, pants that looked soft and expensive and made her fully appreciate what a skilled tailor could do for a man’s ass.
The lights from the jukebox painted him in red and blue and pink, highlighting the silver in his hair until he glowed like a neon sign. After pressing his finger to the screen, he turned to her, hooking that same finger, neon-sign Cole blinkingCome, Come, Come,in the darkness.
She slid out of the booth, giving into his pull while “Drive” by the Cars started playing. “I love this song too,” she said when she reached him, taking his outstretched hand.
“Of course you do.” His fingers closed around hers, his arm sliding around her waist, palm warm on her lower back. He brought her close, but not too close, their bodies barely touching, her breasts pressing so faintly into his chest she was tempted to take a deep breath just to get more contact.
“Is this how we’d dance?” he asked, his toes nowhere near endangering hers.
“I think”—she let go of his hand to slide hers over his shoulder, curling her fingers around his neck—“we might do it like this.”
Slipping his hand up her back, urging her deeper inside the circle of his arms, he said, “Sometimes we do this too.”
So carefully, making sure he wouldn’t notice, she turned her head and inhaled. He smelled like the sea, sunny and sweet and a little salty—
“And sometimes you sniff me.”
Shit.
“And sometimes,” he said, nestling his face into her neck, “I sniff you back.”
When he inhaled, her eyes rolled up behind her lids, her internal moan so loud it was indecent.
“But we still haven’t answered one very important question.”
“The one about ponies?”
If she was only allowed one single word to describe his answering laughter, it would have beensultry. “No, Mira. Not the one about ponies. The one about how we met.”
“I guess that is pretty important,” she said, forcing her vacationing nervous system back on the clock. “Flannelfest makes the most sense.”
He pulled away, his eyes wide when they found hers. “You were at Flannelfest?”
“Cole, everyone within fifty miles was at Flannelfest.”
“I must not have seen you. Because if I had, I would have remembered. I would havenoticedyou.”
Tiny fireworks exploded in her belly. “I noticed you.”
“You did?”
“I think your hair was longer then,” she said. “It curled a little under your snowcap.”
“I was in my scruffy, stay-at-home grandpa era in January. I’ve cleaned up since then.”
“I kind of liked it long.”
