EIGHTEEN
“To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.”
Jane Austen - Pride and Prejudice
“Hiding out, Celery Stick?” Miles appeared suddenly at my side later that night. I was sitting at a table in the lodge, looking out at the crowd of dancers. Miles waited for no invitation and settled into the chair beside me. After our big gingerbread win, I had gone back to my cabin to shower and get ready for the dinner and barn dance. They called it a barn dance, though it was located in the lodge.
“Are you just worried your dancing skills will pale in comparison to mine?” He looked at my face, and his brow immediately furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
My eyes were on Mom and Russ on the dance floor, acting like lovestruck teenagers. Russ dipping her and kissing her neck was disgusting enough, but the way she laughed like a fourteen-year-old girl with her first crush made me physically ache. I couldn’t help but wonder if my mom ever thought about all of the nights dancing in the kitchen with my dad. Though my dad hadn’t been much of an adventurous soul, he’d had a romantic heart. There were so many nights when Chloe and I would pretend to gag as he zipped her dramatically around the dining table, kisses loud enough to drown out our squeals. Did she remember that? I wasn’t sure how a person’s emotions dealt with two loves in one lifetime, if that was truly what Russ was to her. People seemed to do it all the time, but my mind couldn’t grasp the sudden change. I could feel Miles following my gaze.
“Your mom looks happy,” he said after a long moment.
The last thing I needed was for Miles to tell me how wrong I was to feel what I was feeling, so I just said, “Yup. She does.”
He looked at my face again, but I refused to meet his eyes. He leaned back, his arms folded and his long legs sprawled out in front of him.
“How long have they been married?”
“Four months.”
He nodded, looking at the happy couple slow dancing to “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” “And how long since your dad passed away?”
I drew in a quiet breath, surprised at the hotness in my eyes. I widened them, forcing the sting to retreat. “It will be a year next week.”
The air grew thick around us—almost stifling. I felt him considering me, but I remained a statue, my gaze a blur of Russ and Elaine.
“It happened right after Christmas?” His voice was incredulous and soft, like a whisper feathering across my skin.
I couldn’t move or speak to acknowledge him, a dam inside of me threatening to burst. But there was nothing else to say, and he must have known that, because for the first time since I’d known him, he didn’t press me for anything else. So, we sat there for a long while, shoulders touching, staring at the whirl of laughter and people around us.
“Wanna dance, Olive Oil? For old time’s sake?”
I blinked up at Glenn’s sudden arrival in front of us. He was holding his hand out toward me, waiting for me to take it. My body tightened at the thought of dancing with him. Good manners had me wondering if I should say yes, but I had no desire to deal with Glenn right now.
Miles wrapped an arm around me, his fingers caressing the top of my shoulder. “Sorry, man. She was just about to dance with me.”
Glenn chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Olive’s loss. Again.” He gave me a pointed look that gave the impression he was trying to play off his very honest thoughts as a joke but ended up failing miserably. He walked toward the drink table where he proceeded to lean against the wall with folded arms, wearing a carefully crafted bored expression.
“Maybe I had the shoulder thing all wrong. It’s kind of hot,” Miles whispered into my ear.
I leaned forward immediately. His arm fell loosely to his side while he laughed. “Not for you?”
It was hot, but he wouldn’t hear that from me.
He stood and turned back to face me, holding out his hand. “Alright, I guess we gotta dance now. You ready?”
I stared at his hand warily.
“I could go grab Glenn, if you’d prefer,” he whispered. His fingers wiggled, indicating I should allow him to pull me up, which I did, but when I went to remove my fingers from his hand, he only held mine tighter. I knew he was supposed to be my boyfriend tonight, but watching my mom felt like a punch in my gut. I didn’t want to act anymore. I was too disheartened to care about much at the moment. But I could see Glenn and his parents on the other side of the room, watching us, so I forced myself to snuggle up tighter against Miles’s side and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. A handful of other couples were dancing around us. I was grateful Russ and my mom had sat out and were currently laughing with another older couple from a neighboring cabin.
Once on the floor, we turned to face each other. My head barely topped his shoulder. My limbs felt heavy and unsure. I had gone dancing with roommates in college a couple of times, and that had been enough for me. My body didn’t know quite how to move to the beat, but thankfully, the song was slow, and Miles didn’t seem to be an expert either. I held my other hand out, expecting this to go how I was taught in middle school, with my right hand in his left and our other hand at the waist. Miles must have missed that school lesson.
His lips twitched, but he ignored my hands. “I didn’t realize you were a ninety-year-old woman, Carrots.”
Without warning, I found myself pressed completely against his stomach, his hands circling my waist with nowhere for mine to go except up—to those dang shoulders again. My fingers clung to his muscles there, feeling them move every so often as he led us in a very slow sway across the room. My chest was literally smooshed against him, and I wondered if he could feel my pounding heartbeat. I tried to gather my wits and bring us back to some sort of safe ground.
“If we’re going to be fake dating, can your fake girlfriend request that you stop all the vegetable tray references? Even if it’s just for one blessed week?”
“Well, you can sure try, Celery Stick.”
I shook my head, a smile sneaking across my lips as I felt the weight of the night slowly leaving my body.
“Alright,” Miles began, “the mistletoe make-out is the last thing to cross off for tonight.”
“It did not say make-out.”
He pulled away to stare down at me, his eyebrows furrowed in mock confusion. “Pretty sure it did.”
“Miles.”
“Pickles.”
Both of our noses wrinkled.
“Too far?” Miles asked.
“Yeah.”
“My bad. Anyway, let’s plan our make-out—"
“Kiss,” I insisted, swallowing hard. I had been hoping that particular bingo square would have been blown up and sunk by another battleship by now. But perhaps I was thinking of a different game.
He leaned down conspiratorially and whispered, “There’s mistletoe everywhere. Should I just set you down on top of the table and go for it? Should we do it in front of Glenn?”
Fire heated my face. I felt light and giddy at the same time I felt my walls go back up. It felt so wrong to be talking like this with him. I didn’t understand how he could be so casual. In two more weeks, our next semester would start, and we’d be back to normal at school, him still annoying me but, this time, with kisses and dances and touching between us. It wasn’t good for anybody.