by B. N. Hale
He tapped his pencil on his desk, considering whom he’d set up for his date next Saturday. Sara was an old friend, one he’d taken on several dates. They were in the same program and frequently studied for exams together. She was fun and flirty and whenever he had a free night he took her out. The following week was Melissa, a girl he’d met in the library. Two weeks after that was Jill, a recent graduate and a friend of a friend. She didn’t yet know his rules.
He didn’t kiss or hold hands unless he wanted to date exclusively. The rule came as a surprise to most of his dates, especially girls that were used to guys wanting much more. But for him the rule was essential, allowing him to avoid the inevitable complications that came with sex. He’d also been raised to believe that sex should be reserved for marriage. He recognized that the current culture viewed the notion as archaic, but he found the prospect appealing.
As he looked across his calendar his eyes were drawn to a day two weeks ago, Valentine’s Day. Blind dates were not uncommon for him, and many of his friends or former dates liked to set him up. But this had been different, and Kate lingered on his mind.
She was beautiful and clever, but she harbored a subtle courage he found appealing. She’d grilled him like a veteran police officer, her skeptical smile only serving to make her more attractive. She’d revealed a great deal about herself, but he wanted to know more, and normally when he enjoyed a date so much he asked the girl out again. This time he hadn’t for a simple reason.
She made him nervous.
Jackson appeared in his door and leaned against the frame while he ate his standard dinner, a bowl of cereal. Tall and athletic, Jackson played soccer, basketball, lacrosse, and pretty much any sport he could find. His girlfriend was just as competitive as he was, leading to both fun and fighting between them.
“Who are you going with this week?” Jackson asked.
“Sara on Friday.”
Jackson began to speak, nearly spilling milk down his chin. “Why don’t you call Kate back? We both know you like her.”
“And what makes you think that?” Reed asked with a smile.
“Because you haven’t called her.”
Reed swept his hands wide. “And that means I like her?”
“You’re afraid of her.”
Stung, he frowned. “You think I’m afraid? I date three times a week. I’m not afraid.”
“Then call her,” he said.
Reed picked up his phone and made to dial Kate’s number but hesitated, his finger on send. Jackson issued a triumphant laugh and turned away, returning to the kitchen to refill his bowl. Reed stared at his phone like it was a foreign object. With a sigh he looked at the calendar, to the 14th of February, Valentine’s Day.
Reed was a teacher’s assistant when he’d met Kate’s roommate, Marta. She’d heard of Reed’s dating habits, and approached him to go out with Kate. She’d been insistent that it be Valentine’s Day, which he usually took off from his dating hobby. But Marta had proved impossible to refuse.
“Are you a virgin?” Kate had asked halfway through the date.
He smiled, recalling her expression, the hint of a smile, the sparkle of suspicion in her eyes. She’d suspected him to be dishonest at first, thinking his words a ploy to seduce her. But he adhered to his first rule with absolute regard—even when she’d almost kissed him. Others had tried to, but with Kate it had been different. He’d wanted to kiss her.
He stared at her name on the calendar, the four letters scrawled in his nearly illegible handwriting. He recalled the date in his mind, trying to convince himself that he’d merely gotten caught up in the magic he’d been trying to create. But if that was true, why did she make him nervous?
Realizing Jackson was right, he released a sigh and sank into the chair at his desk. He was attracted to Kate, and that very reason stopped him from asking her out again. Shaking himself, he turned to the next few days, determined to cast Kate from his mind.
The doorbell rang and he leaned back to see who was there. The house they lived in was small and contained two bedrooms, each facing the living room. Adjacent to the living room was the kitchen and a bathroom on opposite sides. From his bedroom he saw Jackson open the door, still with his bowl of cereal in hand.
“Is Reed here?”
“Come in,” Jackson said, waving vaguely toward the bedroom and then raising his voice. “It’s for you!”
Reed put down his pencil and left his room, stepping into the living room to greet the girl. It took a moment before he recognized her as Kate’s roommate, Ember. Slim and short, she had fiery red hair and an intimidating gaze.
“Ember, right?”
The girl smiled, revealing gratitude that he’d remembered her name. But her expression bore a touch of mischief as well. She reached into her pocket and withdrew an envelope which she handed to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“An invitation.”
“An invitation for what?”
“How does it feel to be the one in the dark?” Ember said. She smirked and left, laughing as she shut the door.
Jackson poked his head into the living room. “What just happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Reed replied, opening the envelope.
He unfolded the paper to find an invitation. A slow smile spread on his face as he read it, and then reread it. In all his dating, he’d never once had a girl ask him on a date, and the prospect sent a thrill of excitement through his chest.
Reed Hansen
You are invited to a night in the past. Attire is semi-formal and your arrival is expected promptly at 6:00. Dance shoes are recommended.
Kate
On the back of the card was an address for a location downtown. He frowned, trying to recall what was there. Aside from a few gas stations and warehouses, the area was not the usual date destination.
“You’d better get ready,” Jackson said. “You’ve only got thirty minutes.”
Reed turned to find Jackson’s expression now smug. “You knew about this?”
“It’s possible a certain lady asked for my assistance,” he replied. “And who am I to resist?”
Reed leveled the paper at him in accusation. “You told me to keep tonight free so I could help you with your homework.”
“I did?” Jackson screwed up his face in mock confusion. “I must have gotten the nights wrong. I have a game with Shelby tonight.”
“Traitor,” Reed said.
Jackson smirked and used his spoon to point at Reed’s door. “I’d suggest you wear a button up and a vest.”
“You know what I’m doing,” he realized.
“I know nothing,” he said with a sniff. “You’d better get going.”
Reed plied him for answers, but Jackson merely ate his cereal with a smile on his face. Realizing he didn’t have time to wait for an answer, Reed hurried to his room. Then he looked at the invitation again, the words eliciting a thread of excitement. He had no idea what Kate had planned, and he wondered if this is what his dates might feel.
He dressed in black slacks, a vest, and the dance shoes he’d picked up for a date a few months ago. Then he cinched a red tie and stepped into the living room. Shelby had arrived while he was getting ready and she whistled at his appearance.
“Who’s your date this time?”
Nearly as tall as Jackson, Shelby was dressed in basketball shorts and a jersey for their intramural team. With brown hair and brown eyes, she was attractive and forceful, a combination that appealed to Jackson from the moment he’d met her—the night Reed had taken her out.
Jackson laughed as he laced his basketball sneakers. “She asked him.”
“Oh?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest. “Do tell.”
“Later,” Jackson said, standing up to kiss her. “Our game starts in an hour.”
“We’ll be here when you get back,” she said to Reed. “I expect full details.”
“I’ll dish like a teenage girl,” Reed said,
causing them both to laugh.
Reed grinned and picked up his keys. Slipping out the door, he strode to his Camry and coaxed it to life. Then he pulled out of his parking spot and drove to the highway, taking the exit to downtown Boulder.
The GPS on his phone brought him to a section of the city south of downtown. Just as he remembered, the place was nearly empty, with warehouses interspersed with the occasional gas station or market.
He found the address and pulled into a packed parking lot. At odds with the area, the people standing outside the building were equally as dressed up, with suits and vintage dresses in abundance.
He didn’t bother locking his car and strode to the entrance, threading his way through the older couples. The music wafting from the interior came from a different era, and he paused to examine the sign above the door.
The Big Band Ballroom
Intrigued, he passed an older couple and swung the door open, finding himself in a ballroom straight out of the 1950s. A full jazz band played on a stage while a collection of older couples danced with surprising vigor and style.
Grey-haired women rotated on the dance floor, their dresses twirling and spinning. Men in suits and ties caught their hands and lead, their feet skipping across the floor, never missing a beat.
Mirrors on the walls made the repurposed warehouse seem gigantic, and reflected the muted lighting to set a romantic atmosphere. Aged pictures hung from the non-mirrored walls, their black and white prints depicting dancing couples.
Then the woman singing on the stage spotted him and swept a hand to the band, cutting them off. The dancers on the floor came to a stop and applauded, but she waved for silence, and once the noise dimmed she pointed to Reed at the door.
“We have a new guest with us tonight,” she said, a smile spreading on her wrinkled face. “Reed, I presume? You’re right on time.”
All eyes turned to Reed, the shorter couples craning to get a look at him. One man cursed when his view was blocked, and his wife shushed him. Reed smiled and offered a short bow, and then swept his hands at the gathering of dancers.
“Can anyone point me in the direction of my date?” he asked.
“She’s already on the dance floor,” the elderly woman at the microphone replied.
She pointed to the bass player and he began to pluck the strings, setting a slow and inviting tone. The sax player joined in, and a moment later the rest of the band added their music. The couples began to dance and spin, their motions parting the way for Reed to spot a figure standing at the center of the ballroom.
Wearing a flowing red dress, Kate smiled when their eyes met. He’d thought her beautiful before, but this time she took his breath away. Her dark hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her dress, her shoes sparkling and sleek.
He grinned and made his way to her, weaving between couples dancing swing like they were in their twenties. Several of the men were old enough to be Reed’s grandfather, and they winked and gave knowing nods.
“Go get her, tiger,” one said.
Reed grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He reached Kate and she offered her hand. “I’m guessing you know how to dance,” she said.
“A fair assumption,” he replied.
“Then may I have this dance?”
“Doesn’t the guy do the asking?”
“Not this time,” she said, her smile positively wicked. “This time I’m in charge.”
He took her hand. “Do I get to lead?”
Kate’s green eyes sparkled. “I’ll allow it,” she said. “But only if you can sweep me off my feet . . .”
Chapter 2
Reed pulled her into a twirl and then set them into a basic swing. It had been some time since he’d taken a girl dancing, but he remembered enough to impress. What came as a surprise was her skill.
“Where’d you learn to dance?” he asked. “Most girls don’t know how to swing dance.”
She came out of a spin and wrapped her arm around him. “Here.”
“Really?” he asked. “When?”
“The last two weeks.”
He realized what she meant and raised an eyebrow. “When did you start planning this date?”
“February fourteenth,” she admitted. “At midnight. After you dropped me off. I wanted a second date but suspected you would have a full schedule, so I planned my own.”
“And Jackson?”
Her smile turned smug. “He was quite the willing accomplice.”
Reed pulled her into a spin and caught her back, dropping her into a dip. “How very devious of you,” he said.
She grinned, the expression betraying her nervousness. On the last date Kate had been reserved and suspicious, but apparently that was just a circumstance of her life. She’d opened up on the date, but he’d never imagined she could be so bold.
She’d thought of him a great deal in the last two weeks, planning a date and dancing to prepare. The knowledge that he’d been on her thoughts sent a thrill into his chest, the emotion heightened by the necessary contact of the dance.
“Have you ever asked a guy out?” he asked, pulling up from the dip.
“Never,” she said breathlessly.
“You’re a natural,” he teased. “And using my roommate against me was a masterful stroke.”
“I thought it was quite ingenious,” she said. “But it makes me wonder, how many more of your friends would be as willing to betray you . . .”
“Just how many dates do you have planned for me?” he asked.
“None,” she said, and rotated close enough to kiss. “Yet.”
He spun her out and laughed again, pleased by her response. And for several minutes they just danced, every turn offering a new vantage point to examine her profile. Their skill fell woefully short of the geriatric dancers around them, leading to many false starts and stumbles, but the mistakes prompted as much laughter as the flawless turns.
“Are there any other talents I should know about?” he asked.
She sniffed. “They await discovery.”
The comment was a tease, suggesting more time together. Reed fleetingly realized that when they’d been apart he’d felt fear, but now that they were together he felt an entirely different emotion.
Desire.
The realization caused him to miss catching her hand and they collided. They both laughed. Then he caught her hand and spun her again, pulling her into a more complicated maneuver, which failed spectacularly.
“I hope you don’t mind me taking a few pages from your handbook,” she said.
He caught her hands as they began anew. “Which ones?”
The music began to speed up, making conversation difficult as they twirled. For the first time she showed her inexperience, but gamely sought to follow his lead through the faster steps. She laughed at her stumbles but did not request a reprieve.
“Dinner, an activity, followed by a dessert,” she said.
“Did I miss dinner?” he asked, feigning alarm.
“You did,” she said, laughing as he ducked under her arm and paused on the beat, and then pulled her back in. “But don’t worry, I think you’ll like the rest of the evening.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked, catching her about the waist and pulling her close.
Startled, she squeaked in response, but he controlled her momentum and held her fast. The music ended and they stood inches apart, both breathing hard from the dance. He stared into her green eyes and, for an instant, did not retreat.
“You’ll just have to trust me,” she said.
Although he knew he should spin her away, he couldn’t resist the impulse to linger. Her arm was draped on his neck, their hands intertwined. The proximity necessitated by the dance bent his rules without breaking them outright.
“Same rules?” he asked. He shifted backward a step, making it clear what he meant.
“Same rules,” she said, and then smiled. “When you decide you want to date me exclusively, I�
�ll let you kiss me.”
He laughed and finally retreated, both from her and the spark of hope that kindled in his chest. As they separated he became aware of the scrutiny from the couples in the ballroom, many of which were dancing slow, their eyes on Reed and Kate. When they did not kiss there was an audible groan.
“Don’t miss a chance to kiss a pretty girl, sonny,” the nearest man said.
“That’s how he got me,” his wrinkled wife said.
“I’ll remember that,” Reed said.
Catching Kate’s hand, he guided her toward the front of the ballroom, where an alcove allowed weary dancers a place of reprieve. Momentarily empty, the alcove also contained a drinking fountain. They each drank and then sat on the bench.
Latticework arced above the bench, the wood containing twinkling lights that flickered like streetlamps on a foggy night. Pictures of dancers from a different age hung on the walls while an old saxophone hung between them.
“Where did you find this place?” Reed asked, gesturing to the ballroom in wonder.
“I thought you’d already know of it,” she said, clearly pleased she had managed to surprise him.
“Boulder’s a big city,” he replied. “But I’m still surprised I didn’t know about a fifties dance hall.”
“Brittney’s grandmother likes to come here,” she admitted. “My roommates and I schemed for hours until we came up with this idea. I knew how to dance but not like this, so I came for the daily lessons.”
“Without a partner?”
She swept a hand at the room. “I had plenty of partners. Once they realized what I was up to, they were more than happy to help. Charles gets a little handsy, though.”
She pointed at an older gentleman sporting a tie as wide as his head. He lacked a wedding ring and seemed to rotate through the other single women, his hand always sliding to his partner’s rump.
“You should have slapped him,” he said.
