Page 82 of Second Dance
I slid the dress over my head and felt like an actress or a princess—someone glamorous who didn’t live in leggings. As I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror, I had to admit it felt good to remember what it was like to wear something elegant and hope it ended up on the floor by night’s end.
When I stepped out to the living room, Alex placed his hand over his heart. “You’re stunning.”
Suddenly shy, I blushed. “It’s a perfect fit.”
“I’d say so.” He crossed the room to me, cupping my face in his hands. “I wish the designer could see what perfection looks like—both the woman and the dress.”
He kissed me then and I forgot all about the dress. It was only Alex I craved.
For dinner, we asked for a table on the garden terrace. The dining patio stepped down in narrow tiers, with stone pavers, boxwood hedges trimmed like ribbons, a vine-draped pergola threaded with small lanterns. Music from a piano drifted from somewhere inside. A server poured us tantalizing white wine, cold and crisp.
Under the table, Alex’s foot found mine. The casual intimacy of it sent a little thrill through me.
Courses came and went—heirloom tomatoes with basil, halibut with lemon and thyme, a tiny citrus sorbet that melted on my tongue. Between bites, his fingers played with mine on the tablecloth, tracing lazy circles on my palm that made it hard to concentrate on anything but his touch.
Later, when the plates were cleared and the garden had gone the color of tea, he reached into his pocket. His hand emerged with a narrow velvet box, and I noticed the slight tremor in his fingers as he set it on the table between us.
“I have something for you,” he said, his voice lower than usual.
My heart kicked. “You’re going to spoil me.”
His thumb brushed over the velvet, his eyes lifting to mine. “I plan on spending a very long time spoiling you.”
The words hung between us, weighted with promise. I opened the box with unsteady hands. A tennis bracelet lay nestled in cotton, diamonds catching the lantern light.
“Alex.” My breath caught. “It’s gorgeous. But?—”
“Let me put it on you.” He stood and came around to my side of the table, drawing me gently to my feet.
He took my hand, cradling my wrist in his palm. His fingers worked the delicate clasp with surprising dexterity, but what undid me was the brush of his thumb against my pulse point—a touch so tender it made my throat tighten. When he finished, he didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted my wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss there, right over where my pulse hammered.
“Perfect,” he murmured against my skin.
Heat bloomed under his touch, racing up my arm and spreading through my chest.
He tugged me closer, slipping his arm around my waist. “Come on. Walk with me.”
We left the terrace and wandered into the garden, where the path curved between rose bushes and the air smelled of jasmine. His hand stayed warm and solid at the small of my back.
“Is this real?” The words escaped before I could stop them. I turned to face him, reaching up to touch his jaw. “Because it feels like a dream.”
He caught my hand and pressed it more firmly against his cheek, then turned his head to kiss my palm. The last of the daylight caught in his eyes, turning them amber and impossibly warm.
“It’s real,” he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” My voice came out barely a whisper.
“Promise.” He pulled me against him, one hand sliding into my hair, his forehead touching mine. “You’re stuck with me now.”
I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, steady and strong. “I can live with that.”
His lips curved. “Good. Because we’re going to have a lot of nights like this. Years of them.” His hand tightened at my waist. “We put the kids first, of course. But not at the expense of us. Because someday they’ll have their own lives, and we’ll still have each other.”
The thought of decades stretching out ahead of us, full of moments like this, made my eyes sting. “It’s hard to imagine life without Grace with me every day. But knowing you’ll be there?” I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “It makes me look forward to the future instead of dreading it.”
“The fact that you were single when I found you again …” He shook his head slowly, his eyes searching mine. “I still can’t believe it.”
I was waiting for you, I wanted to say. It’s always been you. But the words lodged in my throat, too raw, too revealing. Instead, I pulled him down and kissed him, trying to say with my lips what I couldn’t yet say out loud.
