Page 82 of Stay this Christmas
“You have reached your destination.”
“Seriously?”
She looked way too pleased with herself. “Yup. This is one of my biggest fears.”
“Line dancing is your biggest fear?”
I mean, it made sense. Line dancing was the worst.
“Not line dancing—doing something embarrassing in a public place.”
I found a spot in the gravel lot but made no move to leave the car. In the light of the dash, I caught the way her smile strained just a bit in admitting this. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand.
“I don’t like people watching me when I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said. “I don’t like feeling like I look stupid.”
“Harper, you never look stupid.”
She shot me an unimpressed look. “Doesn’t change how I feel about doing it. Out of all the scary things I could think of, the idea of coming here and dancing freaked me out most.”
I gave her hand a squeeze. “You know, you already conquered a fear on the climbing wall.”
“That was an accident, though. I didn’t know I’d be afraid of heights. And I wouldn’t say I conquered anything that day.”
“You conquered me.” No such thing as too much anymore.
She squeezed my hand right back. “But I’m not afraid of you.”
Wasn’t too sure about that, but I liked how confident she sounded. I glanced in the rearview toward the loud honky tonk and neon lights. Several beer logos flashed in the windows, and I could just make out movement inside. Born and raised in Texas, I’d managed to have a pretty good streak without line dancing. Looked like that record was about to end.
I sighed. “All right, Harps. Let’s do some boot-scootin’.”
* * *
If I hadn’t been convinced line dancing was really Harper’s fear when we were in the car, I had no doubt as we stood at the fringes of the crowd in Fool Hearted Memory. She scanned the place as though expecting to find someone filming her, and we hadn’t even stepped onto the dance floor yet. When she wasn’t checking for critical observers, her attention zeroed in on the dancers moving in unison on the huge dance floor, looking both intrigued and repulsed.
Pretty clear all skill levels had representation in the mix. A lot of the dancers looked like they came here every night, exuding confidence as they progressed through the choreography. Others, though, were just as green as Harper and I, laughing as they stumbled over the steps and turning at the wrong time. I even spotted a group of gray-haired women who might have been right at home at Fiesta Village, kicking up their cowboy boots along with the rest.
I could understand her concerns, though. The sheer number of people watching the dancers from the bar and the tables around the dance floor made me hesitate putting a toe on those wooden boards, too, and I wasn’t a guy who normally cared what strangers thought.
“You ready to give it a try?” I asked, my mouth right up against her ear so she’d hear me over the loud music. We’d already watched through several songs, and I figured she’d had all the learning by watching she could realistically get for the night.
Her mouth curled down as she tried to follow an especially complicated move. “There’s no beginner wall here.”
“You’re going to have to dive in sometime, Harps.”
Maybe I was being pushy, but pretty sure that was part of the reason she’d let me come. Encouraging her along used to be a skill of mine, but I typically encouraged her to do things I actually liked. Tonight was purely for her.
“Fine. Next song, we’re getting in there.”
I held my hand out to shake on it. “Next song.”
She laughed but shook my hand, her eyes darting back to the dancers as though she could memorize every last step before the upbeat song ended.
The song died out, but was replaced by a slower melody. The line dancers dispersed and coalesced again, some retreating to tables to sit the song out, others returning with partners to sway under the dimmed lights.
I leaned closer to her. “We did agree to dance to the next song.”
A smile curled along her mouth, her sauciness returned.
