the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  The entire week I flip-flopped on whether to cancel Hart’s cooking lesson on Saturday. By Friday afternoon I felt pretty confident that I had my crush under manageable control. Plus, I needed to test myself to see if I could be around him without falling for him.

  Every nerve in my body tingled as I pulled into the driveway. Staring at the house, I filled my lungs with steady breaths in hopes of calming the jitters. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I finally mustered up enough courage to get out and unload the car. I took the bags with the gift and the surprise up first, setting them by the door. With my purse and tote slung over my shoulder, I grabbed the other two bags loaded with groceries and headed up the steps. I inhaled one last deep breath and pushed the doorbell.

  Within seconds the door swung open revealing Hart in a pair of well-worn jeans and a crisp white T-shirt with matching socks. He must have just taken a shower because his hair was damp. The way the T-shirt stretched across his chest had my body throbbing in areas I didn’t even know existed. Add to that how happy he looked to see me and I was a goner.

  So much for distance. Epic fail.

  Butter slipped out the door, her fluffy tail swishing back and forth as usual.

  “Hey, sweet girl.” I squeaked.

  Her big snout nudged at my leg a couple of times until the lure of something greater caught her attention. She tentatively sniffed the bag with Hart’s gift and then plunged her head all the way in.

  “Butter. No.” Her floppy ears bolted from the bag, bouncing back into the house without argument. “Hey,” Hart said, his eyes were lit bright blue.

  “Hey.” Gushed out of me. “Are we still on for the lesson? Because if this isn’t a good time or you’re tired from the day we can always reschedule . . .”

  “Br . . .”

  “Don’t feel obligated to go through with it if you don’t feel up to it.”

  “Brys . . .”

  “I mean, it’s no big deal. I can go back home. I only live fifteen minutes away and everything will keep in the fridge for several days . . .”

  I was well aware of my sudden onset of verbal diarrhea but it was beyond my power to stop it.

  “Bryso . . .”

  “I was going to call you and check to see if you were still in the mood. Then I remembered I didn’t have your phone number.”

  Reaching out, Hart grabbed my wrist. “Bryson!”

  My body jerked with electricity as his skin touched mine.

  “Breathe, Bryson.” My chest visibly collapsed. “I was running a little late and just got out of the shower.”

  “That’s okay, I can wait until you’re ready.” I didn’t move.

  The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin. “You can come in. You don’t need to stay out on the porch.”

  I shook my head, my face pinching together at my stupidity.

  “Let me help you bring some of this stuff in.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Hart cocked a golden blond eyebrow at me and I knew immediately there was no need to argue. Since I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, I handed over the grocery bags to him and picked up the others. Holding one bag and placing the other in his lap, he headed toward the kitchen with me following close behind. Butter poked her head around the corner spying on us. While Hart hoisted the bags onto the counter, I sat mine off to the side, keeping them out of the way until I was ready to reveal what was inside.

  “Was there anything left in the store once you left?” He teased.

  I started unpacking the groceries. “A couple of things.”

  Our audience quickly lost interest, trotting away and curling up on her bed in the corner.

  “How much do I owe you for all of this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bryson . . .”

  “This is my treat.” I insisted. “Unless of course you don’t want to bother with it. You can be honest. I won’t be upset. I was going to call you but I didn’t have your number . . .”

  Hart grabbed my elbow, bringing a halt to the unpacking and the babbling.

  He looked up at me with soft eyes. “You already told me that.”

  My cheeks flushed with warmth. “Sorry.”

  “First things first. You’re staying. Hand me your phone.”

  He held up his hand. I placed my phone in the center of his palm. As he entered his number, Hart’s gaze darted from me to the phone. A second later his cellphone on the coffee table rang.

  “Now, you can explain why you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

  A knot formed in my stomach as I returned to the grocery bags. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

  “Bullshit.” Hart wrapped his fingers around my wrist, pulling me toward the living room area. “Sit,” he said, indicating the large gray leather ottoman. I sat, bringing us eye-to-eye. “Talk to me.”

  His expression was full of concern, not anger. I didn’t want to lie to him but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. So I settled for somewhere in the middle.

  Tearing my gaze away, I said, “I thought I was being a pest. You know, dropping by your office every day and bothering you with my problems.”

  He stared at me for a long time, trying to figure out whether I was being honest.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, you can believe what you want.” I was going for nonchalance but it sounded more defensive.

  “When you didn’t come back after the interview, I assumed it didn’t go well. The next day I roamed the halls, hoping to see you. I even glanced in Will’s room. I was concerned about you.”

  This guy was killing me.

  A pang of guilt hit my chest. I should have stopped in his office the next day and told him. I looked up. My fingers itched to run down his chiseled jawline. Balling my hands into fists, I pressed them into my thighs in an effort not to act on my urge.

  “I’m sorry.” I paused and contemplated my next words. “Hart, my life is in a bit of a mess right now and it’s going to get even messier once the divorce starts. I like being around you and your friendship is very special to me. But I don’t want to intrude on your life or put you in the middle of anything.” My gaze dropped as I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice.

  I had never felt as vulnerable as I did in that moment. My emotions had been all over the place since the first day I saw Hart at the pool. I’d been overthinking and letting other people get in my head. Trying to distance myself was a bust. Seeing him after four days just intensified my reaction. I wanted him in my life in some capacity. If that meant I had to ignore my feelings and his arrangements, then I’d just have to suck it up.

  Placing his index finger under my chin, he tilted my gaze up to meet his. “You’re not intruding. I like having you around too. And your friendship is very special to me.”

  I wasn’t aware tears had flooded my eyes until I felt the trickle of water down my cheek. My hands flew to my face. I was so embarrassed. The mood was too heavy and needed to be redirected.

  Wiping the tears, I said, “God, it must be my time of the month.”

  An insulting chauvinistic cliché but effective.

  Deep laughter burst out of Hart. “You’re something else.”

  “Okay, enough of this Hallmark Lifetime Kumbaya stuff.” I raked my hands over my face one more time, catching any stray dribbles before slapping my thighs. “And by the way, I got the job.”

  As if coming in for a hug, Hart leaned forward, then stopped. His eyes flashed with hesitation. Placing both hands just above my knee, he gave each a squeeze followed by a slight rub. My skin was burning through my jeans. Seriously? Did he actually think a knee squeeze ‘n’ rub would be less arousing than a hug?

  Dimples popped on either side of his mouth. “Congratulations. I knew you’d get it.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to have you in my corner.”

  Someone. I should have said it’s nice to have someone in my corner.

  “It’s an awesome corner to be in.” His gaze dr
ifted down to my lips as his thumbs glided back and forth over my knee.

  I tried to clear my throat. Thank god the abrupt noise caused Hart’s gaze and hands to fall away.

  Wiggling in my seat, I said, “We better get to the lesson.”

  “Yeah. By the looks of that haul you brought, I got a lot of learnin’ to do.”

  Standing, I held up my index finger. “But first . . .” I walked to the kitchen, reached in the bag from Bake House Bakery, and returned to Hart’s side. “Ta-da!”

  A big grin along with confusion broke across his face. “You got me a cake? For what?”

  “At first it was just to celebrate your tournament win. Now it’s pulling double duty with my news.” When he didn’t respond my nerves kicked in along with more babbling. “I’m not very good at baking so I got it from my favorite bakery. I didn’t plan it out very well. They were slammed and weren’t able to decorate it. I ended up doing it myself. The orange and black Reese’s pieces are supposed to make it look like a basketball.”

  Glancing down at the cake a sudden wave of embarrassment hit me.

  I put the lid back on the box and said, “It looks awful. Like a kindergarten art project but it’ll at least taste good.”

  “I can‘t believe you did this.” He looked genuinely moved by my small gesture.

  “We don’t have to cut into it tonight. If you’d rather share it with your team or someone else. It’s only a nine-inch cake, so it wouldn’t feed everyone but I could get you a bigger one. I wasn’t sure what flavors you liked so I went with classic vanilla cake with buttercream frosting.”

  Touching the side of my leg, Hart looked up and caught my gaze. “Stop talking. Vanilla’s my favorite. I hate chocolate. And I’m only sharing this with one person.”

  “Me?”

  A chuckle rolled out of him as his head shook. “You are something else.”

  “In a good way, right?”

  His expression turned serious. “In a perfect way.”

  Flutter.

  Tingle.

  Flutter.

  We simultaneously stammered incoherently as we pulled our gaze apart.

  Rolling into the kitchen, Hart said, “Let’s cut into that bad boy.”

  I placed the cake back on the counter. “Oh no. You get cake after the cooking lesson.”

  “You’re gonna be a hardass about this, aren’t you?” He teased, slouched in his chair.

  “I promise it’ll be fun.” I finished unpacking the ingredients. “Okay, first I’ll need . . .”

  “Hold that thought.”

  Grabbing a wine glass from the cabinet and bottle of red from the countertop rack, Hart poured me a drink.

  “A man after my own heart.” I inhaled the aroma before taking a sip.

  “I may not know how to cook food but I do know how to heat things up.” He winked.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth trying to stop the spew of wine. “It almost rained red wine up in here.”

  While I continued getting everything ready, searching for pots, pans, and utensils, Hart headed over to the stereo. Within seconds the surround sound filled the room with a smooth and silky male voice I didn’t recognize. The style was different from today’s auto tune pop music. It reminded me more of old school R&B.

  “I like it. Who is that?”

  “Leon Bridges, “So Long,” Hart said, getting a beer from the fridge.

  From the first time I saw him, I pegged Hart as a hard rock/heavy metal kind of guy. I remembered how shocked I was at prom when he knew the song we danced to was, “The Way You Look Tonight” by Tony Bennet. Hart was unexpected, then and now.

  The combination of several sips of wine and the slow sexy music had my hips swaying as I unwrapped the Italian sausage. Reaching for the large pan, I caught Hart staring, the bottle of beer hovering in front of his lips. The image of me crawling into his lap, his arms sliding around my waist, and our lips pressed together had me heating up. As I bit down on my lower lip, Hart’s gaze followed. His chest pumping harder with each second that ticked by.

  I blinked, forcing my attention back to the task at hand. “We better get a move on or we’ll starve.”

  Hart cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  “While I uncase the Italian sausage, I need you to dice the onion and fine mince the garlic.”

  “I recognized the words sausage, onion, and garlic in that sentence.”

  “Wow, you really are a virgin.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He took another swig of beer.

  I pulled out my set of knives from my tote and grabbed the bamboo cutting board near the stovetop.

  “You travel with your own knives?”

  “Chefs always work with their own knives. Not that I’m an actual chef.”

  “You are, you just don’t have the title yet. And remind me never to piss you off.”

  Holding up the onion, I instructed. “You’re going to peel and medium dice this.”

  “I think I can handle that,” he said, putting down his beer.

  I handed over my chef’s knife. “Be careful with this, it’s ridiculously sharp.”

  “Ah, you care about me.”

  “Blood would ruin my knife.”

  As I finished getting all the meat out of the sausage casing, I gave a sideways glance at Hart. He’d gotten the onion peeled and was slicing it into big chunks. I stopped what I was doing and washed my hands.

  “You’re doing a good job.” My eyebrows drifted up my forehead as I plastered an encouraging smile on my face.

  “You’re a liar.” He teased and handed me the knife.

  “We are gathered here tonight to teach and learn.”

  Leaning in, I placed my hand over Hart’s hand holding the onion. The air around us shifted. The side of my arm brushed against his, causing his body to jerk. Hart rolled his shoulders back and forth in order to shake off his reaction.

  “Curl your fingertips under just a little bit so you don’t cut them off. Like this.” Pressing gently, I guided his hand into position. “Take the tip of the knife and slice about a half inch in.”

  “Like this?” He fumbled a little as he stabbed the onion.

  Reaching across his chest, I placed my other hand on top of his hand holding the knife. His lips were only a hairsbreadth from my cheek as he peered over my shoulder. The clean scent of his freshly washed hair was intoxicating.

  “More like this.” I was like his shadow as we made the first cut together. “Got it?”

  “I think I need you to show me again.” His voice was even deeper and raspier than usual.

  We repeated the movement.

  “One more time,” he whispered.

  Out the corner of my eye, I glanced at him grinning. My knees were on the verge of collapse. I was two seconds away from melting into a puddle on the floor. If Hart didn’t get it this time, I was going to have to cut the onion myself.

  He turned toward me, which put his lips right at my ear. “Last time. I promise.”

  I applied slight pressure to his hand, making the final slice into the vegetable.

  Straightening up, I said, “I think you’ve got it.”

  He looked up at me with those damn sexy blue-gray eyes. “Can I work for extra credit?”

  I put all my effort into ignoring his flirting. “Once you finish that, you place the knife parallel and slice through, giving you a nicely diced onion.”

  He followed my instructions and finished. “Do I get an A?”

  I glanced at his work. “A-plus! Now peel and dice the garlic into tiny pieces.”

  “I’m on it, teach.”

  As Hart made quick work of the garlic, I finished with the sausage. I drizzled a little olive oil in the pan as it came up to temperature. Once the oil was heated I tossed in Hart’s perfectly diced onion and garlic. Using a spatula, I pushed the ingredients around the pan while sipping wine.

  Hart grabbed another beer from the fridge. “Exactly what are we making?”

&n
bsp; “My famous spaghetti sauce.”

  “Why don’t you just buy it in the jar?”

  “Shut your mouth, man! There’s no substitute for making it from scratch.” I grabbed the plate of sausage and dumped it in the pan, breaking it into small pieces with the spatula. “Smell that.” I waved my hand over the pan, spreading the spicy aroma around the room. “It’s happiness, joy, and contentment all at once.”

  “You really love cooking.” He smiled.

  “I do. It makes me feel cozy and warm.” My face scrunched up realizing how silly my words sounded. “It’s stupid, I know.”

  “No it doesn’t. It sounds like a lady who’s found her passion in life. What other passions do you have, Bryson?”

  “You’ll have to stick around and find out.”

  Maybe I need to slow down on the wine sipping.

  Once the sausage was done, I drained it and set it to one side. I then tossed the ground meat in the same pan. As the meat cooked, I grabbed the big bag that had Hart’s other surprise.

  “I’m about to introduce you to your new best friend,” I said, pulling out the box with the new crock pot in it.

  “What?”

  “This is your new crock pot. I got it in stainless steel since you seem to love grays and blacks.” I beamed with excitement.

  “Bryson, you didn’t need to do all this.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my friend.”

  “I’d be your friend even if all you knew how to do was order takeout.”

  I turned to place the gift on the counter and to hide my flushed cheeks. Hart was being sweet but I had the feeling I’d let my eagerness take over and stepped out of bounds.

  A large hand on the small of my back caused me to look in Hart’s direction. “Thank you.” We exchanged smiles. “So, what am I supposed to do with that pot of crock?”