by Faith Potts
This time I’m the one who misses a step and nearly sends us both to the floor. Did he just suggest grandchildren? As in his and my grandchildren?
He clears his throat. “Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t…really…mean it like that. You know.”
I just smile and nod. Right now, I’m not sure if speaking would make this better or more awkward.
When the song comes to an end, we remain on the dance floor through the next half-dozen melodies, talking about random things and sharing plenty of laughter.
As a tune with a quick beat slows down, I step back from James, clapping softly. It’s getting late and the crowd is dwindling. Tired after a day of preparations, I start back toward the table which Mom and Mr. Harand have abandoned.
I’m to the edge of the dance floor when James’s hand captures my wrist. A slow song is starting up in the background as he makes a quiet request, his eyes gently seeking an affirmative response. “Once more?”
“Sure.” I allow him to lead me back to the dance floor, my heart pounding. How does this guy affect me so easily? And why?
We resume the same position, moving to the slow music. There’s now only five or six couples, in place of the previous fifty or sixty. Somehow it feels better, closer. We can talk without being overheard and dance without worrying about bumping into someone.
James surprises me by speaking and breaking the silence. “I think this would be more comfortable if I put my arm around you.”
It’s an invitation. Not a request, not even a suggestion, and certainly not an order. Just an invitation. A reassurance that he’s okay with it if I am.
I wait for a moment, breath caught, contemplating whether or not I’m ready for this. Honestly I don’t know, one way or the other. I want it, but I’m afraid to reach out and grab hold.
Across the room, I spot Uncle Joe sitting on a bench along the wall, suitcoat missing and necktie loosened. He catches my eye and smiles. And I’m instantly at ease. He approves of this, or he would do something about it.
I withdraw my fingers from James’s hand and rest my palm on his shoulder, sliding my fingers along his collar. His now free hand eases around my waist, slowly draws me closer bit-by-bit to his chest.
I avert my eyes to his face, and my heart trills at the look of question he gives me. His eyes ask if I’m okay with this, if I mind his closeness, even if I want it.
Giving him a little smile, I slip my arm further around his middle until we are close. So close he could kiss my forehead without moving if he so chose, and I could lean my head against him with the slightest effort.
“Alex,” James starts. “May I…” His voice trails off, and just as I start to ask him to continue, his lips meet my hairline.
I don’t dare breathe, don’t even move except to rest my head against the strength of his shoulder. He called me Alex. The use of my first name, in the place of ‘Miss Lorance’ or any number of absurd nicknames, did not go unnoticed. Or unappreciated.
He slowly draws back only to set his head on top of mine, again able to see the room and keep us from colliding with another couple.
“James Greene, did you just kiss me?”
His voice returns, husky and thick. “I think so. Did you mind?”
“No. I think I liked it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, unsure what should happen next. “Are there people watching us?”
“I don’t know; I’m not watching them.”
So much for depending on him to keep us from having a human collision.
Letting myself relax during the lyrical moment, I close my eyes and soak up the memory of this dance.
What is happening in this moment in time? On a dance floor with my head laid against a guy’s shoulder. A sweet, amazing guy who I just let kiss me, no less. Is this love? It’s sure a lot different than whatever I had with Drake.
One song fades into another and then another as we slow dance across the floor, my cheek on James’s shoulder. No words are needed as I rest against his shoulder, his hand on my back and his sure steps guiding us.
When one of the musicians steps up to the microphone to announce they’re finished, I’m tugged from the blissful moment. Glancing around as we step off to the side of the floor, I realize over half the crowd has left for home already. James maintains his hold on my hand as we pause in an out of the way spot. I look down at our entwined fingers, which proves easier than facing him.
“Alex…”
Lifting my gaze to his face, I can’t escape the uncertainty and painful hesitation in his eyes as he studies me carefully, glancing away and then back to me. “Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”
I swallow before answering, tightening my hold on his hand and recalling how special I felt in his arms. “No, not if that kiss meant what I took it to mean.”
A slight smile lights his face, somewhere between a joyous grin and a mischievous smirk. “It did.”
“Hey, James!” A shout comes from across the room, and we both turn. As I watch Brian parting the remains of the crowd and coming toward us, James squeezes my fingers.
I can hardly focus on the words exchanged as Brian tells James they’re ready to leave, joking that he’s going to miss his ride.
“I’m right behind you,” James assures him, turning to me. “Thank you for tonight, Alex.”
Alex… “Thank you, James. I had a wonderful time.”
He nods, releasing my hand and jabbing his own in his pocket, lingering. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at church tomorrow. Goodnight.” He tosses the parting over his shoulder as he turns to go.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, still in awe of this night and all it’s held. Just standing there as he ambles away and ducks through the side door toward the parking lot. Looking so confident and sure of himself, I could cry, remembering how far he has come.
But as soon as he’s out of sight, I bolt. Thankfully the women’s bathroom is vacant or I might have been tempted to duck into the other one and hide out.
Locking the door behind me, I squeeze my eyes shut and lean against it. Oh, God, help me to seek Your will in this. I don’t want to mess up again.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
After crossing the parking lot, I crawl into the backseat of Brian’s pickup and wedge into the corner next to Lester’s wheelchair. Why it’s not in the back, I may never know. Up front, Brian and Lester laugh and cut up, but I can’t find the words to join them.
The memory of a pretty lil’ therapist in a blue dress, with her head on my shoulder, consumes my thoughts.
A lull comes in the conversation as we roll through the downtown district, amidst a sea of tail lights.
“James is awful quiet tonight,” Lester says much louder than necessary.
“Nah, he’s lovesick,” Brian throws in, glancing over his shoulder. “You should have seen him with Miss Allie when I walked up, even after they danced for like three hours. I’m not sure any gal is worth that kind of torture.”
“Alex,” I toss back.
“Huh?” Brian looks at me in the rearview mirror—and nearly swerves into oncoming traffic. Maybe I should have hung around at the venue awhile longer and caught a ride home with Joe and Gloria.
“Her name is Alex, not Allie.”
“Oh. That’s all you got to say?”
I fall silent, ignoring the chuckles. I have much to say, but not to these two love-ignorant jokesters.
“Yup,” Lester says as if it’s decided. “Definitely lovesick.”
Let them make of it whatever they will… Tonight was amazing.
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
Hidden away in the bathroom, I cry until the tears run out and I give myself a headache. Suppressing the hiccups that have found me, I move to the sink and wince at the face staring back at me. Makeup smudges and puffy red eyes aren’t very becoming.
I pull my hair back and splash cold water onto my face. With a handful of paper towels, I wipe what remains of the makeup from my
cheeks and eyes. Not that it does a lot of good. One glance in the mirror or down at my dress and I start crying all over again.
“What is wrong with me?” I mumble to my reflection. “I never cry.” And the worse part is, I can’t even give a title to the reason behind the tears.
A soft rap comes at the door before I have time to decide on my next step of action. “Alex dear, are you still in there?”
Aunt Glory. Perfect.
“Coming!” I skirt around the sink and unlock the door.
My aunt’s eyes light up when she sees me. “Oh, I was afraid something was wrong.”
I lean back into the bathroom to toss the wad of paper towels in the trash can before accepting her hug. “Can we talk?”
“Of course, dear. Want to find Joe?” Gloria asks, brushing my hair back out of my face with a tender finger.
I smile, still sniffling. She knows me too well. “If he’s not too busy.”
“Never too busy for you.”
With her arm around my waist, we stick to the sides of the room. Most everyone has gone home and those who remain are helping with clean up. Spotting Uncle Joe helping two other guys fold the tables, I point him out, and Aunt Gloria calls him over. We sit in folding chairs under the stairwell to the storage loft above and wait for him to join us.
I have to smile when I see him approaching, shirt unbuttoned halfway down and sleeves rolled to the elbow. I can only imagine how much arm-twisting it took for his bride to get him into that suit in the first place.
“Lexie, what’s wrong?” He drops to the chair next to mine and hooks his arm around my shoulder. “Has James gone home? I hated to break y’all’s moment, but the musicians were threatening to charge me if they played a minute past ten o’clock.”
Still shuddering from my first cry, I lean into his hug, safe in his embrace. “Brian and Lester were leaving, so he caught a ride back with them.”
Uncle Joe sits there, holding me, watching me with a gentleness in his eye. Gloria sits on my other side, rubbing my arm with a mother’s care.
Mother. My mother—the last one I would consider going to with this.
“So how do you feel about tonight?” Uncle Joe finally asks. “Don’t lie to me and say you didn’t feel anything. I saw the way he held you on that dance floor.”
“Oh, Joe…” Tears crowd my eyes. “I’ve never felt so special in my entire life. Do you think he cares, too?”
Joe chuckles under his breath, exchanging a knowing look with his bride. “Yes, Lexie. He cares—I can see it.”
The reassurance stills my heart. Straightening, I glance from Joe to Gloria and back again. “I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, but I question if we’re right for each other. I’ve messed up so much, and he needs someone who will be there for him and won’t let him down. What if I can’t be that person? What if I don’t even deserve him?”
Elbows on his knees now, Uncle Joe reaches over and takes my hand in his, his other hand reaching toward his wife. Uniting us. “Let me put it this way, Lexie. You’ve messed up, James has messed up, and you’re both going to mess up a whole lot more. But neither of you can expect the other to carry the full load. It has to be a mutual share.”
Chewing my lip, I wipe my eyes again, knowing he’s not done yet.
“Here’s something for you to think on, something that I think you’re afraid to consider because you don’t feel like you’re good enough.” A pause, almost as if he’s whispering a prayer before speaking it. “What if you do deserve him?”
Chapter Thirteen || James
As soon as I walk into church on Sunday morning, I know that something is different. I’ve felt it in my heart since last night, but the sight of her smile, even from across the room, is the assurance I need.
Waving goodbye to a girl with a baby on her hip, Alex crosses the carpeted foyer to meet us. The side door opens as she passes and the breeze flutters her skirt. Skirt… I don’t even try to hold back my smile.
“Good morning, fellows.” She may be addressing our entire threesome, but her eyes never leave mine.
“Morning.” Pretty girl, I mentally add.
“Well, if it isn’t the star of the dance floor.” Brian jabs his elbow into my side and grins at Alex. “Pretty sure it’s this jarhead you’d rather talk to, so I’ll be a gentleman and leave you be.”
Coloring pink, Alex glances from Brian back to me. “I wouldn’t object.”
“I can take a hint,” Lester drawls, daring to wink at Alex as he rolls past, following Brian into the sanctuary.
I watch Alex as she speaks to a family in the crowd, bending down to hug the little kids. When they walk on past, she turns back to me with a playful smirk. “Are you going to talk to me or not, Semper Fi?”
Grinning, I nod toward the sanctuary. “May I sit with you?”
“I’d like that.”
Alex leads the way down the center aisle and turns into a row near the middle. “Is this good with you?”
“Sure.” Does she think I really care where we sit, or is she having as hard of a time as I am coming up with something to say?
Once seated, I twist to better view her face and gauge her response. This awkwardness has got to be banished before the service starts. “I know you always have Sunday dinner with Joe and Gloria.”
“Yeah…” The green in her eyes is entirely too mesmerizing to be safe.
“Joe invited us over to help clean up the leftovers from last night. So maybe after lunch, we could spend some time together. Aside from therapy, I still need someone to keep me in line.”
“I’d like that, James.” She smiles, averting her eyes from my face, oddly shy. “Does this mean we’re official?”
I grin, reaching over to touch her hand just as the song leader steps up to the podium. “I hope so.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| Alex
A little further, little further… I take another step back, bounce off my toes, and swing at the shuttlecock. It sails above the netting strung across the side yard at the apartments—and continues right over James’s head.
“Nice one, Alex!” Lester calls from the edge of the lawn, where he chats with my aunt and uncle and Brian, who are seated in camp chairs.
I watch as James traipses off to the bushes around the side of the apartments to find the game piece. “Maybe too good.”
“A tad high, honey,” Uncle Joe coaches—looking like a typical retiree, kicked back with a glass of lemonade in hand. “Who’s going after it if you wham the next one onto the roof or into a gutter?”
“Not me!” James calls from his position, head first in a bush.
Growling in jest, I toss my racket to the ground, duck under the net, and cross the grass to aid my fellow in his search. After church, I hurried home with one goal in mind—change clothes and head over to see James. We ate lunch with the others, volunteered to clean up the kitchen—resulting in an almost-water-fight—and eventually wandered out here to where Brian had set up a badminton net for no apparent reason other than to see if it was in ‘decent shape.’ That guy and his garage sale findings are borderline weird.
“Aha.” Mumbling to himself, James backs out of the cedar bush, birdie in hand, just as I reach his side.
“Find it?”
“Mhm. Despite your violent whacking abilities.” He winks at me, tossing the game piece into the air and catching it as we wander toward our discarded rackets.
I roll my eyes. “Very funny.”
“Or would that be disabilities?” He scoops up his racket from the grass, using it to bat the shuttlecock into the air. “Ha! And we thought I was the disabled one.”
“I don’t.” Staring back at him, I can nearly see the words turning over in his head as he processes them. His eyes meet mine, suddenly solemn, and he stops juggling with the racket. The birdie lands on my foot.
We stand there a moment longer, unreadable words passing through the air. Just when I’m about to ask what
on earth he’s not saying, a smirk appears on James’s face and he bends over to collect the birdie.
“Better get back to your side of the net, Lil’ Miss Therapist. I’m gonna beat you yet.”
|| ~* || ~* || ~* ||
|| James
“Hey, James, you got a minute?”
Pouring milk into a bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter, I glance up at the sound of Joe’s voice. “I was wondering who Lester was talking to.”
Sauntering into the room, he spins around a chair from the table and takes a seat. “Yeah, I need to talk to you about something. Two things, actually.”
“Sure.” I put away the milk, wondering what on earth this is about. I’m accustomed to seeing Joe on Tuesday nights, for group counseling—not at seven o’clock in the morning.
Jostling my bowl when I set it on the table, I grimace and grab a napkin to wipe the milk from my hand.
Joe chuckles. “You look like you’re sleepwalking, son.”
“Pretty much,” I mumble, flopping into the chair across from him and grabbing for my spoon. “I stayed up until two o’clock talking to your niece, and then I woke up at five and couldn’t fall back to sleep.”
Joe doesn’t speak for a minute, while I shovel cereal into my mouth and avoid his gaze. He knows exactly what I mean when I say I couldn’t sleep.
“Dreams?” he finally asks, his voice low enough that no one would hear—even if someone else were in here to eavesdrop.
“Yeah. First time in weeks.” Another load of soggy flakes goes into my mouth—prolonging the time until I have to speak again. Not that Joe will question me, but I’m still unsure as to the purpose of this visit.
“Speaking of Alex, we went out to Cardini’s last night, like we do every Monday.”
I nod—Alex told me about this Monday night routine, that originated when she broke up with what’s-his-face.
