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She cuts me off, “No buts. My favorite Bible verse is about dancing—You have turned my mourning into dancing. It’s in the Psalms. You can look it up. There’s more, ones about having a time to mourn and a time to dance. Anyways, the point is that it’s not a sin.” She’s not smug about it, but she is confident.
My mouth falls open. I’m shocked to learn she reads the Bible and knows what it says. She doesn’t seem like that type of girl. Color bleeds up my neck as I realize how harshly I’ve judged her.
“Well, I guess maybe…I was wrong then.” My voice is hesitant, embarrassed at my own unfair assumptions.
She laughs, a bright, delightful burst of color in the dark room.
“Okay then, Farm Boy. So, are you gonna ask me to or what?”
She starts walking toward the dance floor backward, eyes lit up. My feet follow of their own accord.
“Well, I will…but I don’t know how.”
The upbeat song ends. I didn’t even notice that Kenna and Dan had drifted to the other side of the room. A slower tempo starts to pour over us, isolating us from the other couples. I haven’t heard much country music, but I instantly like it. We only listened to hymns at home.
She’s on the edge of the floor where the couples have slowed down to a gentle sway. Her eyes are drawing me in to her, lashes fluttering. My hand stretches out, and she takes it, leading me out.
The music is enveloping us as she takes my hand and places it on her small waist. Hers reaches up to grip my shoulder. Our height difference is usually almost a foot, but with her heeled boots, our faces are closer. She guides our feet, mumbling the count of the two-step. I stumble several times over her feet.
“You sure do smell nice,” she comments, looking up at me.
“Oh yeah? You smell like green apples.”
I lick my lips, and her smile fades as she watches the action. She looks away, lowering her lashes.
“It’s just my shampoo.”
“I like it.”
She’s playing with the collar of my shirt. My arms instinctively pull her closer, nudging her just near enough to not be touching. It’s difficult but necessary.
“It reminds me of an orchard back home.”
Her mouth parts a little as our gaze meets again, but she doesn’t speak for a while. Her eyes never leave mine.
“I, uh…thanks for the ride. I think I forgot to tell you that.” She bites down on her bottom lip, blinking.
“I’d really like to drive you again, if you’d allow me to.”
“I won’t stop you, but I’m really okay on my own.”
Her voice isn’t annoyed, but she sounds indifferent. If she won’t let me drive, I’ll have to try walking her home. If I have to prove that I’m serious, I will. She could get hurt out on the streets at night.
I won’t be able to sleep, knowing she’s out there alone.
“What days do you work?”
“Let’s talk about something else. Do you work?”
She can’t change the subject like this. I feel an animalistic need to protect her, and the strength of it scares me. Slowly releasing a breath, I tighten my hand on her waist, reaching it toward her lower back. I’ve finally gotten the steps down because of how slow she’s set our pace.
“Yes, I work at the Tillery Street Plant Nursery.”
“What? You get to work with plants all day?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Please tell me it’s awful and you hate it. Or I will die of jealousy.”
“You should meet me there sometime. Lately, we’ve been getting all the seasonal shipments of trees.” And I need to keep seeing you even though I know you’re not good for me.
She groans, the sound increasing my heart rate. “I would love to, but it’s too far to walk.”
