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My lips brush his shirt.
“Since the first time I held you at La Mer, nothing has ever felt the same,” he confesses. “When I set foot inside the warehouse in LA, I didn’t picture you on stage. It was you dancing with me.”
“My dancing is mostly hips. You probably know how to ballroom dance.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Only the basics. Waltz, foxtrot, rumba…”
“Of course you do,” I murmur, laughing. “I tried to take a class at school. I could barely shuffle. But I’m done apologizing for it,” I declare.
That’s the biggest difference in the last year. No more pretending to be something I’m not.
Harrison brushes his lips across my temple, surprising me. “Good. Because I’d rather shuffle with you for the rest of my life than waltz with anyone else.”
