Page 68 of Molt

“So I moved all the furniture out of the parlor.”

“Why?”

“Because you told me you couldn’t dance if anyone could see you.”

Something flickers behind my eyes. Not a memory. Almost.

“What song?”

“There wasn’t one.”

I frown.

“The phonograph broke.”

A smile pulls at my mouth. “So what did we dance to?”

“Me.”

“You sang?”

“Badly.”

I laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

“You shouldn’t. I was fucking terrible.”

“Did I dance?”

“Eventually.”

“With you?”

“Until sunrise.”

The image forms without permission.

A room glowing gold. Old furniture pushed against walls. August younger but not younger. Me. Not me. Bare feet. His hand at my waist. My head on his shoulder.

I blink. “Did we kiss?”

“Many times.”

“Did we...”

His eyes lift to mine. Heat ripples through the space between us. “Lenora.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Maybe I like watching you squirm.”

“You’ve always enjoyed it.”

“Have I?”

“Immensely.”