Page 51 of Lost Love on 6th Street

I blush. “Stop that.”

He does not, promenading around me and looking me up and down. While insistence is normally something I don’t like in a man, I like it in Luke. He pushes me. Not in a bad way. He makes me get out of my comfort zone. And it feels good to go out of my comfort zone with him. He makes me feel . . . capable. Like all I need to do is reach out and take it rather than wait for something to claim me.

“She’s a cowgirl,” Luke remarks once he stops in front of me again.

My shoulders fall. “I still feel silly.”

“Okay, well—” Luke runs his hand along my shoulder and places it against the nape of my neck. In control. I love it. “We’ll take a shot of whiskey, get you on the dance floor, and then you’ll forget you ever felt silly at all.”

I groan, but I let him guide me inside.

The place is packed with people dancing. At the back of the room is a stage where a band is already in full swing. Fiddle and guitar, an upright bass. There’s a sign overhead that reads vehemently, “No Line Dancing,” which makes me laugh because I thought that’s what I was in for.

The floor is large, but eventually transitions from wood to tile toward the bar area where the non-dancers and those taking a load off can congregate. There are also a few pool tables with people waiting in the wings to snatch them up as others finish their games. Neon signs advertising different beers line the walls.

As promised, Luke gets us shots. Two for me, at my request. The whiskey burns so good going down and I get that lightness in my head almost immediately. When Luke asks if I’m ready to take the floor, I know I’ll never be ready, but I’m definitely more ready with two shots of whiskey in my system.

He takes me by the hand and leads us to an open patch of floor where the two of us can bob and linger until I get my bearings since stopping is expressly forbidden.

“Okay, you’ve got rhythm at least,” he says.

“I’ve been to a few school dances. Bar Mitzvahs . . . weddings . . .” I say, watching a couple plodding past us with serious expressions.

“You know how to two-step?” he asks.

“I know both of those words!” I say with a smile.

Luke’s lifts his chin and laughs, allowing me to see most of his face without the brim of his hat shadowing him. “Let me teach you.”

Objectively, a two-step is easy. Subjectively though, not everyone is taught two-stepping by a guy they’re totally obsessed with. The liquor in my system is a double-edged sword. It makes me less prone to self-consciousness but also makes me stupider, especially with one of his hands tucked under my shoulder blade.

I’m surprised that I am not the only one who might have two left feet. The floor is filled with people who seriously know what they’re doing, sure, but there are also young, fresh-faced couples who don’t know what to do with their gangling bodies and those who have the spirit but not the technique.

It makes it easier to enjoy the music and the man in front of me and just . . . give in.

After a spin around the floor, or more of a walk, Luke grins at me. “You ready for a spin?”

“Wha—” Before I get the question out, he whips my arm up and I have no choice but to follow the motion lest I want to sprain my elbow. I’m not nearly as graceful as some of the other women on the floor as they spin, but I manage not to fall on my ass.

Luke pulls me back toward him just in time for me to admonish him. “Luke!”

“Sorry, that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. Bad form,” he says with a fake grimace.

We idle in our place rather than traversing the floor again. There is a pull inside me, inching me closer. No one warned me that the brim of a cowboy hat was kind of like a circle of safety. Who needs to leave room for Jesus when you’re afraid you might knock your hat off if you’re too close?

“Who taught you to dance?” I ask.

Luke looks away. “You won’t laugh?”

I furrow my brow. “When have I ever?”

His blue eyes flicker back to me. My chest warms.

“My dad, he—” He laughs at himself before he continues. “He made me practice with my mom.”

“Made you?”

“Yup,” Luke answers, popping the ‘p.’ “No child of his was going to be a slouch on the dancefloor. Especially not his son. A woman can get away with anything if she has a good partner.”

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