Page 38 of Time for You
“Then we shall wait until the ladies return, and it will be your turn.”
Daphne shifted uncomfortably, Henry’s bright-blue eyes burning into her. “What did Vibol get you?” she asked, very unsubtly changing the subject.
“An India pale ale.”
“Ewww. Those are gross and way too bitter,” Daphne said, wrinkling her nose.
“I find it delicious,” he said primly. “Tastes like home.”
Daphne had another moment where the enormous weight of Henry’s situation slammed into her. Absolutely nothing around him was familiar, even the drinks. It must be so confusing and disorienting, and half the time she treated him like an annoyance. “I’m sorry we can’t get you back yet,” she said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up sadly.
“You are blameless in that, my lady.”
Rather than her usual surge of irritation, her stomach clenched. Out on the dance floor, Vibol was now draping Michelle’s arms around his neck, and Ellie and Brittany were heading back toward the booth, sweaty and laughing.
“Everything okay?” Ellie asked, looking shrewdly between them. Daphne nodded and busied herself taking a sip from her martini while Henry studied a couple at a table nearby over his IPA. “Okay then, your turn, Granny.”
“Henry has to go, too,” Brittany announced. “Really experience twenty-first century life by grinding it out on a dance floor.”
“What does that entail, exactly?”
“She means dancing,” Daphne said. She took another sip and felt the warmth of the alcohol spread through her, softening her limbs.
“I haven’t learned your dances,” he protested.
“Nothing to learn, you just sorta—bop.”
“Bop.”
“Just look out there—no one knows what they’re doing,” Daphne said.
“That isn’t very comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Daphne said and stood up. The alcohol was making her feel reckless, or maybe it was just the way Henry eyed her low-cut shirt. She’d borrowed it from Ellie, and it hung down in a vee to just between her breasts, a style far more daring than she usually wore.
Henry swallowed hard and stood. “I hope—I cannot be as intimate as that, my lady,” he said, nodding toward a couple who were back-to-front with hands roaming and groping.
“I wouldn’t want you to be,” she said. She almost held her hand out for him but changed her mind at the last second. “Don’t worry, we don’t need to touch.”
“I trust you,” he said solemnly, and there went the pack of butterflies in her stomach. Again.
Daphne bit back her smile and, feeling his eyes heavy on her back, walked out onto the dance floor. Henry followed, looking adorably nervous. Vibol and Michelle glanced over, cheering in welcome, and the song bled from one song to another, this one a bright, poppy hit by a female singer. Daphne was admittedly not the best dancer, but she felt brave as she spun to face Henry.
“Just find the beat,” she explained.
“How do I do that?”
“Just, uh, listen for it?” Daphne started moving back and forth—bopping, as she’d said—and Henry watched, copying her. Soon enough, he figured it out and grinned proudly.
“What’s the song about?” he asked.
“Being a, um, dancer who takes her clothes off?”
Henry’s eyes grew wide, and she couldn’t help but laugh at him. “This world will never fail to surprise me,” he said, shaking his head, but he was smiling broadly. “It’s fun, though. She sounds ... happy.”
Daphne was going to say something else, maybe tease him a little, but her two left feet got the best of her and she tripped, lurching abruptly forward. Henry caught her by the elbows almost automatically, setting her upright and then dropping his hands as if he’d been burned.
And he wasn’t the only one—where he’d caught her still tingled, as if he’d singed her through the thin fabric of her shirt. It was the most deliberate contact they’d had since she had patched him up after their accident, and Daphne was abruptly all too aware of how much she wanted him to touch her again.
