Page 45 of Single-Minded
I will not ask West to dance tonight.
I repeated that to myself to the beat of Harper and Max’s special song and forced my gaze back to the bride and groom, managing to only glance at West a couple dozen more times before the end of the song.
Afterward, Kemp and I went to the bar for a cocktail for me and a soda for him, as he was not only driving but on call for the fire department. Normally at weddings, I stuck to wine, but to battle the heat during the outdoor cocktail hour, I’d gone all in on the specialty frozen cocktails. I didn’t usually find frozen drinks to be overly potent, and I’d downed two of them to cool off, only to discover the bartender was generous with the liquor.
Between those and the glass of wine with dinner, I was happily buzzed as we watched Danny, Max’s son, dance first with Max and Harper, then with Max’s mom. He was the only little kid here, and from what I understood, his grandmother would take him home soon. He seemed to be almost as smitten with Harper as Max was.
I briefly wondered what it would be like to have a man as visibly in love with me as Max was with Harper. That wasn’t something I’d pursued before or even thought much about. It seemed more like fiction than real life.
As I watched the newlyweds, I had a hard time imagining ever giving myself over to love so completely, so trustingly. I wasn’t sure I was wired for that.
Even as I had that thought, I couldn’t deny there was a part of me that longed to be the girl on the other end of adoring, loving stares like Max showered Harper with.
“How do you feel about dancing?” I asked Kemp as the special dances ended and guests crowded onto the floor when a Beyonce song started.
“I feel good about it,” Kemp said, smiling down at me with that boyish smile that I was certain won him as much female companionship as he could ever want. “You think you can keep up?” He nodded to the dance floor.
I finished the last of my drink, grinning widely. “Try me.”
He turned out to be a good dancer, so we danced our fool butts off for a dozen or so songs straight, then took a break for hydration in the form of another colorful cocktail that was more potent than expected.
Word was out about my coffee shop, and I fielded a lot of questions about when I was opening, whether I was hiring, and if I planned to serve food.
“I cannot wait,” Piper Elliott, the owner of Oopsie Daisies, said. “Literally two doors down from my apartment and business. You’re a goddess.”
“You must be my soul sister,” I told her, laughing. “I can’t believe no one’s opened a coffee shop before now.”
“We have plenty of bars, just no java,” Jewel, Piper’s cousin who was a manager at Humble’s Pizza, said.
Kemp came up to me and said, “I promised Anna a dance. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. You’re a free man,” I told him.
Anton, who I’d met a few times, joined us in time to hear my response. “In that case,” Anton said, “would you like to dance, Presley?”
“Sure.” I finished the last of my drink and joined him, then went through a handful of dance partners that weren’t my date and were not, thank you very much, West Aldridge.
West
I didn’t know which made me crazier—Presley dancing with Kemp Essex for ten songs straight or Presley dancing with six different guys in a row after Essex.
Luke and I stood near the bar with a group of guys that included my boss, Levi—who was Max’s best man—shooting the shit and avoiding the dance floor. I wasn’t a big dancer, didn’t enjoy dancing, particularly anything upbeat, but I apparently couldn’t get enough of watching Presley dance.
The way her body moved in that silky-looking peach dress with the slit up her thigh was tantalizing and teasing, becoming freer and looser the longer the night went on and the more cocktails she downed.
All of which was none of my business or concern, so why the hell couldn’t I keep my eyes off her?
As I stood near the wall, I hoped to make my frequent gawking at the dance floor look more like casual glimpsing as Luke, Finn, and I discussed baseball, the Fourth of July, and how the dryer-than-normal summer was affecting their businesses.
My vantage point of the whole dance floor allowed me to notice when Kemp deserted Olivia London in the middle of a song, then interrupted Presley, who was dancing with some out-of-towner I didn’t know. She excused herself and walked off the floor next to her date, listening intently as Kemp spoke to her. With a wide grin, Presley said something to him, then hugged him. The bastard put his arms around her waist and hugged her back.
In a flash, Kemp headed to the door and left without fanfare or a word to the bride and groom. I realized he must have gotten an emergency call. I couldn’t imagine what other reason a guy would have for hurrying out of a date with Presley.
It wouldn’t be cool for me to rush over to her now that her date was gone. It also wouldn’t be smart. I’d managed to keep my distance for nearly two hours so far. She was my client, not my friend.
I excused myself and went to the dessert table for a handful of mixed nuts and a bottled water. Rosy McNamara and Dotty Jaworski cornered me to ask for the inside scoop about Presley’s coffee shop.
“I’m not feeding your gossip mill,” I told the sixty-something ladies, grinning. I’d known Jagger’s mom since early childhood and Ms. Dotty for nearly as long. “You’ll have to ask the owner.” I didn’t know what was public knowledge and what wasn’t.
