“All this from a man who won't even let his assistant choose his coffee order?"
"That's different. I’m not a fan of being told what to do.” Then suddenly, a memory surfaces unannounced - Amanda in my childhood kitchen, telling me I was impossible to reach, that my walls were too high. That she couldn't love someone who wouldn't let her in. "Coffee is about standards. Dancing is about..."
I trail off as Ariana relaxes into the movement, trusting me to lead, and something in my chest tightens.
"Dancing is about what?" Ariana prompts.
"Partnership," I say finally.
"Très bien!" Madame Rousseau calls. "Much better! Now you move like swans in love, not penguins with espresso!"
Ariana nearly trips again. "We're not?—"
“Dance partners?”
“Exactly.” But her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “I am curious, though, Mr. Reeves. Any reason in particular you decided to show up here?"
"Because if I have to sit through one more blockchain pitch, I might need dance therapy myself."
She grins. "That bad?"
"Worse." I guide her through another turn. "This morning, someone actually tried to sell me on 'NFTs for enterprise resource planning.'"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." We move in perfect sync now, her body relaxinginto mine. “Personally, I think he was just trying to distract from his company's terrible quarterly earnings."
"By inventing crypto buzzword bingo?"
"By—" I stop as she executes a perfect spin, her body brushing mine as she returns to frame. "By, uh..."
"You okay there, Reeves?"
"Fine." I clear my throat. "Just... assessing your form."
"My form?"
“Yes. I like to keep an eye on your…form.”
“I’m sure you do.” She's close enough now that I catch a hint of vanilla beneath her perfume. "And what's your professional opinion?"
"That you're trying to distract me."
"Is it working?"
I'm about to do something extremely unprofessional when Madame Rousseau claps sharply.
"Magnifique!" She beams. "Though perhaps we save the passionate gazing for after lesson, non?"
We spring apart like guilty teenagers.
“Sure,” Ariana straightens her top. "Very professional gazing. I mean dancing. I mean?—"
"Same time tomorrow?" I cut in smoothly.
"Connor..."
“For dance instruction." I retrieve my jacket. "Can't have you traumatizing any more teachers before the wedding."