Page 73 of That Thing You Brew
BARON & BARONESS VON SCHWANN
Xavier held on to me as I tripped on my skirt. I wanted to laugh and cry and cheer and—all the things. But most of all I wanted to dance with Xavier. We’d been working on a courante, and I prayed that would be the first song tonight to open the event.
We took our place at the edge of the dance floor. I looked around us for our family and friends. I spotted them at the tables close to the stage. Xavier had bought up three tables’ worth of seats.
We all bowed or curtsied as the king led the queen from their thrones down the steps of the stage to the center of the dance floor. The music began, and they turned, one step at a time, until they were facing the gate.
“It’s the pavane!” I hissed. “It’s super easy. Just follow the others, okay?”
“As you wish, milady.” He took my hand, and we stepped forward with the other couples. “They’re hopping.”
I giggled as we stopped just short of the center and a circle began to form around their majesties. “Just go with it!”
“I’ve no choice not to, milady.”
I laughed again, and it was over soon enough. We declined the queen’s invitation to dine on stage, something I’d dreamed about that didn’t seem nearly as glamorous or prestigious now as it once had, in favor of the seats we’d purchased with our loved ones. Many of them would join us at the chateau in a few weeks to celebrate my birthday and graduation, since playoff hockey didn’t stop for a proper party, as Xavier had called it.
Bless his heart, though. Xavier had flown into Colorado Springs for the ceremony after playing in a Round 2 game against Dallas and then had to fly back out again at lunchtime for a team meeting. Gabby and I had taken a later flight and then a rideshare to Addison Airport to meet up with Madison from the Coffee Loft in Tyler, Texas. She was a pilot and had taken one of her dad’s Cessnas to transport the toffee coffee ingredients. A secret hockey fan, Madison had been happy to trade the ingredients for a pair of tickets to the game.
The dance ended to resounding applause. True happiness, I thought, was loving and being loved by someone who loved you and the things you loved. Xavier didn’t have to understand my fascination with or affection for the Renaissance, and I didn’t have to understand his passion for a sport that was rough on its best days and straight-up violent on its worst.
But we loved each other, and that would never waver. We’d continue to support each other in whatever captured our hearts.
“Before we go to our table,” Xavier whispered, “how about we sneak out of here for a few moments for some kissing practice? I’m afraid I’ve been feeling a bit rusty.”
“Oh, you most definitely are,” I assured him. “That’s a brilliant idea.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we, then?”
I slipped my arm in his. “As you wish.”
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