Page 53 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Just as I’m about to reply with another boat pun, “Days Like This” by Van Morrison comes on, and the mood in the room shifts. All the singles flee the dance floor, heading back to the bar to top off their drinks.

I catch Oliver looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

“What?” I ask.

“Interested suitor, nine o’clock," he says, nodding to my left.

I follow his gaze and see a frumpy twenty-something in a red polo shirt and stained khakis staring at me as he crosses the room in our direction.

I am not in the mood to be polite to some guy who looks like he’s never heard of laundry detergent.

“Oh, God,” I groan, casting my eyes desperately around the room for Laurel. She and Mr. Boat Shoes have sidled into a corner and are whispering softly to one another.

Damn it. She looks happy. I can’t make her leave; not after the day she’s had. And I’m sure as hell not going to abandon her here when she’s with a stranger.

But if this other guy is headed my way, I need a diversion. Quickly.

“Time for you to repay a favor. Come here.” Without thinking, I grab Oliver’s hand and yank him toward the dance floor.

Surprise flashes across his face, but he doesn’t pull away.

His hand is really soft, and the fact that I’m noticing makes me blush.

“What favor is that, exactly?” he asks quietly, blue eyes intent on my face.

I stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear, partially just to avoid the eye contact that’s making the room lurch. “I saved you from Rachel and her friends. After partially causing the problem in the first place, but still. Now it’s your turn to help me.”

Realization hits, and he closes the remaining distance between us, putting his other hand on my waist as he pulls me against his chest.

My breath catches in my throat.

“There you go,” he murmurs next to my cheek. “Now that guy’s checking his phone in the middle of the dance floor, trying to look busy.”

My free hand slides up to Oliver’s shoulder. “Thanks,” I breathe, all too aware that we’ve started dancing, that his hand is on the low of my back now, that his cheek is touching mine.

“This has always been my favorite Van Morrison song,” he says after a minute.

I pull back to look at him. “Mine too, actually.”

But it’s too tight a space, here in the inches between our faces, to have a conversation. His eyes are right there, and I accidentally look into them before I remember I shouldn’t. I tear my gaze away and look down, inadvertently lingering on his mouth.

I think he notices, because he shifts uncomfortably. “So, tell me more about your job search.”

I will my brain to come back to earth and remember who I’m dancing with, and why this isn’t the time to be getting flustered. “Um, I applied to something in Springfield the other day.”

“Nice,” he says, offering a measured nod. “School librarian?”

I shake my head. “Nah, city library. Head of children’s services.”

“That seems like the perfect job for you,” he replies.

“I guess so.” I shrug a little.

“You guess?” He pulls back a little so he can peer into my face.

I manage a wry smile. “I’m surprised you don’t think it’s a problem for me to take a job away from a native Springfieldian.”

“Ivy, look,” he begins, but I cut him off.