Page 88 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather hesitated.
This was a terrible idea.
But also—
Maybe that’s why she reached for his hand.
* * *
The Dashing White Sergeant was a whirlwind of movement and energy, and Heather was entirely out of her depth. Flynn guided her through the steps, his hand steady at her back, his laughter infectious every time she stumbled. “Ye’re doing great,” he said, catching her arm as she nearly missed a turn.
“I feel like a baby giraffe on ice,” she shot back, her nerves starting to melt away. The music surged, and Heather felt everywhere at once. The dance was a whirl of motion; she wasn’t thinking—not about Glenoran, not about the storage unit, and not about how she had spent weeks shutting herself off from everything that felt too much.
But Flynn’s hands were warm, his grip steady. The floor tilted beneath her, but he never let her fall. She laughed. Out loud. The sound felt foreign in her mouth. And Flynn? He was watching her—really watching her. Like he had just caught her doing something she hadn’t meant to do. Heatherhadn’t expected to like this.
She had told herself she wouldn’t. But Flynn made it impossible not to. And suddenly, she felt it. The way he was pulling her in without trying. The way this moment felt bigger than just a dance. The realization hit her like a punch.
Oh. Oh no.
She was in trouble.
“Better than a baby giraffe not trying at all,” he teased, spinning her around with surprising grace. By the end of the dance, Heather was breathless and exhilarated, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. As the music slowed, Flynn didn’t let go.
The pub buzzed around them, but in this moment, it felt silent. Flynn leaned in slightly, his breath warm at her ear. “Still thinking about running out the door?”
Heather’s pulse spiked.
She glanced up at him, half-dizzy, half-terrified. Of him. Of herself. Of whatever this was. Maybe. Flynn tilted his head, studying her. Like he already knew. Like he was waiting. Heather exhaled slowly. And for once, she didn’t run.
She glanced up at him, her pulse racing. “Maybe,” she said, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.
“Well, if you do, you’re going to miss the next dance,” he said, lingering at her waist.
Heather hesitated momentarily, her heart thudding as she weighed the choice. Maybe it was the warmth of the whisky or the energy of the music calling to her, but doubt tried to creep in for a fleeting moment. What if this was too soon? What if she wasn’t ready? But then she looked up—really looked at him. The way his blue eyes softened, waiting for her decision. The way he held himself still, not pushing,just… hoping. And suddenly, the fear wasn’t as loud as she wanted.
Flynn took her hand as The rhythm built, urgent and bright again, guiding her back onto the dance floor. The energy of the ceilidh wrapped around them, the rhythm of the dance infectious. Initially nervous, her feet unsure, but Flynn’s confidence grounded her. He moved with ease, his hand warm around hers, his steps light and assured.
“Dinnae fash, lass. I’ll lead,” Flynn said with a playful grin, his blue eyes twinkling. Heather’s breath hitched a little, her pulse quickening.
She nodded, her chest tightening. “I’m not… fashed,” she lied, trying to focus on the steps and not noticing how his presence seemed to fill all the space between them.
The dancers swirled around them, the energy contagious, the quick steps and lively tunes pulling her in. With each step, Flynn’s hand guided hers, his movements smooth but not rushed. They fell into a rhythm, and she felt herself getting lost in it. She couldn’t help but laugh at how they twirled and spun, the action making her feel lighter.
“You make it look easy,” she said, breathless.
“That’s the trick,” Flynn replied with a grin, his voice low and teasing. “Make it look effortless, even if ye’re thinking about tripping over yer own feet.” Heather chuckled, but it was hard to ignore how the back-and-forth banter had an undeniable effect on her—how the heat of his hand against hers and how he caught her gaze made her heart beat faster.
As the music swirled to a new, faster tune, Flynn gave her a quick wink, his smile turning a little mischievous. “Ready for the next spin?” he asked, his voice low, sending a little shiver down her spine. “Absolutely,” she replied, her words moreconfident than she felt. He pulled her into another spin, and it felt like the world faded away. The music, the people, the noise—it all blurred, leaving just the two of them moving in sync, the space between them charged with something unspoken.
Her heart was racing now; the dance was no longer just about the steps. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and suddenly, it was all too clear—how easy it was to be with him, how natural the connection felt. She smiled, breathless but exhilarated, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “See?” Flynn winked, voice warm but teasing. “Told ye you’d be great.” As the dance ended, he didn’t let go of her immediately. He looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers, a flicker of something there she couldn’t quite name. For a breath, the world around them seemed to pause.
“Ye’re good at this,” he said, voice low. “I don’t know about that,” Heather replied, still catching her breath, her cheeks flushed. “But it’s fun.” There was an intensity in his gaze, something quiet and serious beneath the teasing. “It’s not just the dancing, though, is it?” Flynn asked, his voice soft. The banter had been easy, but this—this felt different. She could feel the weight of his words lingering between them, a question neither had entirely answered. Flynn’s grin flickered.
His hand, firm at her waist, tightened just slightly. Heather barely had time to process it before he spun her, and— She slipped. Not literally. Emotionally. Just for a second. Long enough for her gaze to catch on his mouth. And Flynn noticed. His grip flexed. His blue eyes darkened. It wasn’t just a dance. It wasn’t just a ceilidh. It was something else—something she couldn’t name but felt in her heart, warm anddangerous.
She should step away. Right now. Right this second. Before it became something she couldn’t take back. Before she lost herself to it. Before—Heather sucked in a breath.
Oh, hell. Oh no.
