Page 3 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

But tonight, I’m calling on my namesake, channeling my inner spitfire, reaching deep for bravery that, since the breakup, I’ve been worried I might have lost for good.

He studies me, repeating my name. “Viola?”

“That’s it,” I tell him, tell myself. I am Viola tonight. Bold and brave.

As he peers down at me, a lock of fiery hair falls down his forehead, into his eyes. Eyes that watch me, curious, kind. It feels so natural, to reach up before he can and brush that hair back from his face. My fingertips hum at the sensation of his warm skin, his cool, silky hair. His eyes slip shut at my touch, like this feels as good for him as it does for me.

“And who areyou?” I ask quietly.

“Will,” he breathes, as I tuck his hair behind his ear and notice an earplug wedged in it. I’m inordinately delighted that it’s hot pink.

“Will,” I repeat. I find myself smiling as I look at him, putting the name to his face. It suits him.

His eyes slide open as my touch lingers in his hair, curved around his ear. His cheeks turn the same color as his earplugs.

“Does it bother you?” I ask him, tracing the shell of his ear. “The noise here?”

He stares at me for what feels like forever. A swallow works down his throat. Our dancing slows to the faintest sway. “Yes,” he finally says.

“I get it,” I tell him, smiling. “My sister has similar feelings about sound; well, for her it’s more complexity of sound than noise level, but…”

My voice dies off as I peer up at him.

Want to go somewhere quieter?I almost ask. But then I pin my lips between my teeth, biting back the words. Because this is all I’m allowing myself. A dance, then done.

“You have a sister?” he asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

I smile. “Two, actually. No brothers. What about you?”

“No brothers, either,” he says. “And four sisters.”

My smile deepens. “Four, wow! Hmm. I can totally see it. You have strong ‘brother of many sisters’ energy.”

Will’s mouth quirks again at the corner, like it did when heheld out a hand for a dance and I gave him a whiskey glass instead. “ ‘Brother of many sisters’ energy?” he repeats in that low, quiet rumble. “What does that mean?”

I bite my lip. My cheeks are hot. It’s impossible to explain what I meant, when I’ve just met him, only that there’s something so comfortingly gentle about him, even in all his imposing, intimidating physicality. He justfeelslike a man who grew up surrounded by women, who’s learned how to make them feel seen and safe.

I can’t tell him that. That’s not what you tell a hot stranger you’re just sharing a dance with.

“Forget I said it.” I grimace, scrunching my nose, self-conscious. “I talk too much when I drink whiskey!”

“I…” His grip tightens faintly on my waist. “I like how much you talk.”

My heart’s spinning like a top in my chest, butterflies swirling in my stomach. Our eyes hold as the music starts to soften, the refrain slowing. The song drawing to a close. Not so much a sign from the universe, but a reminder—this has to end.

“I should go,” I whisper.

I hate the words that just came out of my mouth. I hate that I know they’re right. I hate that I know I need to leave before he says another sweet thing, before I let myself get swept away.

I can’t stay here anymore, pretending to be someone who doesn’t have so much work ahead of her, acting like the woman I’m going to see in the mirror when I get back to my Airbnb cottage isn’t a messed-up Juliet who’s got a life to put back together, a heart to heal.

Will’s grip flexes on my waist, then travels slightly up my back. It’s so tender, so sweet. I lean into it, one last indulgence, before I press up on tiptoe and wrap my arms around his neck. A hug goodbye.

“Why?” he asks quietly against my cheek.

I hesitate a beat when his hands wrap around me. For a minute, we just stand there, locked in a lingering hug goodbye. “I’m sorry,” I whisper against his cheek.

As I sink down onto my heels, he holds my eyes, his hands’ grip softening on my waist.

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