Page 88 of Shadow

So tonight, walking into the community center, watching her in that green dress talking to Ruthie—Asher had realized something terrifying.

He’d stopped noticing these things for operational reasons.

He noticed them because he liked her. Really liked her.

Coming downstairs every morning after his shower had become his favorite part of the day. Not because of the operation.

Because Daphne would be there. Making coffee. Humming off-key. Ready to coordinate breakfast with practiced ease. Ready to make him laugh with some dry observation.

“Asher! Daphne!” Renee waved from across the room. “Come get some cider! It’s Mark’s family recipe.”

Daphne glanced at him.

He shot a look at Destiny, then Roger, and nodded.

They moved through the crowd together, her hand still resting on his arm. Light touch. Comfortable.

People stopped them. Said hello. Complimented Daphne’s dress. Asked how they were settling in.

“Your mom seems happy here,” Craig said, gesturing to where Destiny was laughing with Ellen. “Good to see them out.”

“They needed this,” Daphne said smoothly. “Fresh air. Socialization.”

“And good for you two. Date night.”

Date night. Right.

The band shifted to something slower. A country ballad. Couples moved onto the dance floor. Swaying. Close.

Destiny appeared suddenly. Burgundy dress swirling. Face flushed with excitement. “They’re playing my song! Come on, we have to dance!”

She grabbed Daphne’s hand. Pulled her toward the dance floor. Daphne looked back at Asher, something of panic on her face. “Hey! Partners!”

The word zinged him, and he found himself on his feet, following.

The dance floor was crowded. Bodies moving together. Ellen and Craig. Mark and Renee—Mark moving carefully, still recovering. Dean and Julie. Older couples who’d been married fifty years.

Destiny pulled them into the middle. Started swaying to the music. Elegant. Graceful.

Daphne stood there. Uncertain.

“I don’t really dance,” she said.

“Everyone dances,” Destiny insisted. “Just follow the rhythm.”

Asher moved closer. Held out his hand. “May I?”

Daphne looked at his hand. At his face. Something flickered in her expression.

She took his hand.

And Asher pulled her close.

His right hand on her waist. Her left hand on his shoulder. Their other hands clasped between them. Standard dance position.

Except there was nothing standard about the way his heart started pounding.

“I really don’t dance,” Daphne said quietly. She was close enough he could smell her shampoo—something clean and floral. Close enough he could see the freckles across her nose.