Just Between You and Me

by Jenny B. Jones

  “This one goes on my shoulder.” He places it there. His other hand slowly slides to my waist, where it rests lightly.

  “Right. I knew that.” I want to go home.

  Mr. Mansfield calls out some steps, grabs his wife, and they begin to demonstrate a waltz.

  “Watch me,” Connor commands.

  “I want to watch the teachers.”

  He pulls me into the moves, and it’s all I can do to keep up.

  “Loosen up.” He shakes my arm. “Your limbs are too stiff.”

  “Are you through criticizing me or is there more fun to follow?”

  He leans close to my ear. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?” His smile could make a nun blush. “That’s okay. I’ll slow it down for you.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.” My head comes to his chin, and from this vantage point, I can smell the sweet spot of his cologne. Like I need another distraction.

  “Let’s practice that turn!” the instructor calls out.

  Oh shoot. Let’s not.

  Connor spins us around, and I trip over my feet, his feet, and our neighbor’s. He pulls me tighter to his chest and counts out loud. “One, two, three. One, two, three . . .”

  “So where did the veterinarian learn to dance?”

  “Summer camp.” He moves us effortlessly across the floor.

  “Math camp? No? Maybe chess camp?”

  The corners of his mouth twitch. “Nothing wrong with having different interests. I didn’t need the in-crowd.”

  “Is that what you told yourself every Friday night when you had the boys over for Super Mario and pizza?”

  “I had girlfriends.”

  “Inmate pen pals don’t count.” With a firm grip, he spins me again, and I hang on tightly to keep up. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “You should be paying attention.”

  “So what about now? A fiancée? Any ex-wives in your past?”

  “One ex-fiancée.”

  “Aw.” I curl my lips in a pout. “Did your Lord of the Rings– themed dates bore her?”

  He stops abruptly, and with a yelp, I’m dropped into a dip, forced to look straight into his eyes. “She got a grant to study nuclear physics in Ukraine, and we drifted apart.”

  Oh. So she was smart and stuff. She probably looked like the hind end of a schnauzer though.

  “We tried to make it work, but after Sports Illustrated called her for the swimsuit edition, we just never could sync our schedules.”

  It’s like Revenge of the Nerds.

  “And how about you?”

  His husky voice flitters over my skin, and I feel myself relaxing in his arms, moving with the music. “Um . . . What was the question again?”

  “Boyfriends?”

  “Oh, right. It’s complicated.”

  “It’s a yes or no question. And don’t forget, you started this line of conversation.”

  One, two, three. One, two, three. “I can’t say I’ve found the one yet. Dating’s very hard with my job.” And my personality. And my neuroses. And the fact that I’m still waiting for Orlando Bloom to show up at my door.

  “If you love a person, distance doesn’t matter. You move mountains to be there.”

  I watch the blue flecks in his eyes and see seriousness settle in. “You’re talking about Riley.”

  Beneath my hand, he shrugs a muscular shoulder. “Not necessarily. Just seems to me you live a pretty isolated life. On purpose.”

  I press my feet to the floor and stop. Connor keeps a firm grip on my hand. “I’ve already told you, whatever Allison said about me, you can take it with a grain of salt. No matter what the situation, she sees herself as the victim. So before you go believing every word she said, know that this is the same woman who told Riley she was stupid.”

  The fine lines on his forehead deepen. “That kid . . . I can’t imagine what she’s been through.”

  “I’m not the monster here, Connor. I’m doing the best I can with Riley, but every day I learn something new about her situation.” Or about her in general. “My sister kept her from me.”

  “But it wasn’t hard.”

  Okay, I’ll take that. “No, it wasn’t. But what was I supposed to do, track her across the country and demand to see my niece? My sister and I were never close friends. Allison rarely returned my phone calls. Pretty much made it clear in a hundred different ways that I was to leave her alone.”

  “She blamed you for a lot of things.”

  My heart does a shuffle step, but I ignore his curious expression.

  The instructors herd us all back together and begin teaching the foxtrot. Connor leads like he walked straight out of a Fred Astaire movie, and I can only bumble along. Pretty soon, my embarrassment is long gone, and all I can do is laugh.

  Harry Connick Jr. croons a song about love as Connor’s hand moves to my mid back. His knees brush my thighs as he forces me to walk backward.

  “Look at me instead of watching the teacher,” he says.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Quit trying to lead.”

  “Quit bossing me around.”

  He chuckles low and pulls me into a wide turn. I lose my footing and stumble, but he sweeps me tighter into his arms and keeps right on going, without a single comment as to my clumsiness.

  “Go up on your toes,” he coaches softly. “Glide with the music. Now we’re going to turn three times.”

  “Once was plenty.”

  “You can do it.”

  “I stink at this. It’s okay to say it. In fact, it’s okay to give up and take me home.”

  His chin angles down as he studies my face. “Are you giving up?”

  I huff out some air. “No.” Well. Yeah.

  “I guess the wild girl from high school has just gotten older.”

  A hot poker in the eye could not sting more. “Or maybe this is too tame for me.”

  He lifts a dark brow. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Perhaps I’m used to something more exciting than slowly waltzing across a dance floor. In fact, I doubt you could keep up with me.

  ”

  He throws back his head and laughs, a deep rumble that has me smiling. “I can go toe-to-toe with Maggie Montgomery any day.”

  My eyes narrow. “I doubt that.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Alarm bells clang in my head. “No.”

  “I’ll name the challenge. And you lamely attempt to beat me. If I don’t do it better than you or can’t go through with it, then I’ll babysit Riley one evening so you can have the night off.”

  The old familiar lure of the dare reels me in like a trail of hundred dollar bills. “And if you win?”

  His smile is chocolate–covered sin. “Not if. When.”

  “And if some freak twist of fate has you winning?”

  His eyes dip to my lips and back up. “You spend a day on the job with me.”

  I lift my chin. “Name it.”

  “Monday afternoon. Out at the lake. There’s a bluff we can jump off and then—”

  “No.”

  He stops dancing. He brings our joined hands in front of him. “You can’t turn down a challenge. That means I’ve already won.”

  “Pick another one.”

  “I picked the bluff. It’s not as easy as it sounds. It’s incredibly high and—”

  I pull my hand from his grip. “I need to go. Riley’s probably driving my dad nuts by now.”

  His eyes lock on to mine. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just pick another dare. Or maybe I should pick.” I force a playful tone into my voice. “You aren’t exactly the best judge of living on the edge. Why don’t you let me choose?”

  He watches me for one . . . two . . . three long seconds. “Okay. Throw down your best gauntlet.”

  I inhale and fill my lungs with air and relief. “I’m a little unfamiliar with what’s available. Give me twenty-four hours to research your options for total humiliation, and I’ll get back with you
.”

  “I better be impressed.”

  I pat his solid chest. “Doc, I was born to impress.”

  Like an invisible white flag has been waved between us, we put down our animosity and actually enjoy the rest of the dance lesson. Connor entertains me with stories, but hedges when I question him about his former fiancée.

  At ten-thirty, Connor puts the truck in park in my driveway and climbs out.

  “I don’t need you to walk me to the door,” I say, walking by his side. “This isn’t a date.”

  “Like I’d date you.”

  “And I’m not kissing you under the porch light, so you can just forget it.”

  He rolls his baby blues. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me all night.”

  “Only because you dance like you’re in the middle of a Tourette’s fit, and it was my only option to staying upright.”

  Connor stops at the porch, one leg poised on a step. “You lie through your teeth when you feel threatened.” His eyes make a lazy trail over my face. “What I can’t figure out is why I make you so nervous. I’m just a reformed math nerd.”

  “I lived through six bomb evacuations last year.” My laugh is girly and light. “And you think you make me nervous?” I give his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I don’t think so.”

  He captures my hand and holds it. Looks at it before releasing it, his thumb sliding over my palm. Did he mean to do that? But when I glance up, his face is a blank canvas of innocence.

  “Tell your dad and Riley I said good night.”

  His eyes are the most amazing shade of azure. Like the Atlantic ocean on a clear summer day. “Er, right . . . I’ll tell them that.” Clasping the cold metal of the screen door in my hands, I pull it open. “See you later.”

  He walks off the porch, only to turn around, still in motion. “It’s okay if you want to back down from the challenge. I won’t tell anyone your daring days are over.”

  My mouth lifts in a slow smile. “And miss the chance to see a grown man cry?”

  Later that night I slip into bed, rubbing my feet against the cool of the sheets and thinking about the evening. “She blamed you for a lot of things,” he’d said. There’d been something in his words, his stare—something heavy, intense, questioning.

  Just how much did Connor Blake know? What had Allison told him? With her mental state, it would no doubt be a whole lot of fiction.

  Yet I know . . . it couldn’t be worse than the truth.

  Chapter Twelve

  I still don’t understand why I have to go.” Riley checks her hair in the visor mirror for the tenth time.

  “Because it’s Sunday. That’s what you do.” I took a pair of scissors to her hair this morning. Evened it out a bit. “You go to church and learn about God.” That explanation sounded much better in my head. “Besides, you owe me for not outing you to your grandpa that you ran away. Again.”

  “I already told him.”

  I release a weary sigh. “It’s kind of hard to hold things over your head when you do responsible things like that.”

  I turn into the parking lot of the Ivy Lake Fellowship church. Beth assured me last night that it had a good kid’s program, as well as some contemporary worship music and a pastor who wouldn’t jump on his pulpit or put me to sleep.

  “There’s Beth and Mark.” I wheel in next to her white minivan and watch her two oldest pile out. Beth clutches the baby while Mark quickly grabs the hand of a two-year-old boy. And I can’t even handle a pet rock.

  “Do you go to school with her oldest?” I point to a tall girl in braided pigtails. “Josie, right? I think she’s the grade ahead of you.”

  Riley chews on her thumbnail. “I dunno.”

  “Guess you can meet her then.” I shoot her a look. “And no misbehaving today. I’m serious—give yourself just one day off.” Even the Lord took a day of rest.

  “Hey, girl!” Beth thrusts the baby into my arms. “Take Delilah for a sec, would you?”

  “Uh . . . okay.” I rearrange the squirming child and move a tiny hand away from my silver hoop earring. I watch her face for the coming tears. Babies do not like me. It’s a curse. It’s like they see me and get the instant urge to cry, throw food, or puke.

  “I gotta get a Kleenex for Dalton’s snotty nose.” Beth digs around in her gigantic diaper bag. “He’s been dripping green stuff for days.”

  “Ew.” Riley crinkles her nose.

  My friend catches up to her husband and hands him a tissue. “And I won’t even tell you what’s been going on at the other end.”

  Mark turns around. “She means Dalton’s other end. Not mine.”

  Beth introduces her oldest daughter to Riley. Besides a “hey,” my niece has nothing to say.

  “Josie’s going to take you to children’s church, Riley,” I say with a smile I hope is comforting. “I hear they have snacks.” I consider asking her to snag one for me.

  “I’d rather go with you,” Riley whispers as we reach the front entrance. “Please.”

  “We sing totally cool songs,” Josie says. “And the youth pastor is so funny. Come on. My sister Zoey’s coming too.”

  Riley gives me a look that will probably stick with me the entire church service, but I don’t cave. “I’ll see you after church.” I pat her back and bounce the baby in my arms. “And don’t take any samples out of the collection plate.”

  She rolls her eyes and trods forward, lagging behind Josie and her sister.

  “My girl likes you.” Beth tweaks Delilah’s nose, and the baby giggles and covers her eyes. “You go get us some seats while Mark and I check the kids in.” She takes Delilah back and points me in the direction of the sanctuary.

  I no more take my seat and open the bulletin before I hear my name. “Maggie?”

  My head shoots up at that voice. “Hey, Connor.” He hovers over me, immaculate in his pressed khakis and blue and white striped polo. Almost mature looking. “You go to church here?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Surprised that I’m in this church or surprised that I’m not one of Satan’s minions?”

  Connor gives me a half smile. “Why don’t you bring Riley by the clinic late this afternoon? She can check on her puppy.”

  “It’s not her dog, so don’t even put that thought in her head.”

  “I think it would be good for her to watch the puppy’s progress. She could even help. The dog wasn’t quite weaned yet, so we’re bottle-feeding her.”

  I stare into his tanned face and wonder at the weird butterfly sensation in my stomach. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

  “Connor?” Danielle Chapel walks down the aisle in spiked heels that could do mortal harm. She curls her hand around Connor’s arm. “Did you get us a seat?”

  He pulls his eyes from me to stare at the vision in a gray pinstriped skirt and tight black sweater. “Down front. Danielle, you remember—”

  “Yes,” she clips. “How are you, Maggie?”

  “Good. You?”

  She waves at someone across the room and ignores me. Is she his girlfriend? But he talked like he didn’t have one. Surely Danielle’s not jealous of the fact that I went to a dance class with Connor. This woman reeks of junior-high insecurity. And a little too much Chanel.

  “We better go sit down.” Connor gives my shoulder a brief squeeze. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I watch the two of them walk away, looking like the perfect couple. Not that I care.

  Now free of children, Beth and Mark slide past me into their seats. The worship minister takes the stage, and a ten-piece band blasts out the first notes of a worship song.

  Everyone stands up and begins to clap. This isn’t quite like my church at home. Not that I get to go there much. My job doesn’t really allow for much consistency. And we’re a little on the traditional side. Hymnals. Order. Routine.

  A man from the choir steps out front and wails some notes like he’s the Justin Timberlake of Jesus music. By the las
t song, some of the culture shock has worn off, and I try closing my eyes like Beth as a woman sings. The tune slows down, and I let each note of the piano and violin weave through my spirit like a gentle whisper from God.

  “I will be with you when you pass through the waters,” the woman sings, holding her Bible like she’s just giving melody to scripture. “And when you pass through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you.”

  The song wraps up, and I feel a sense of loss. I want to stand up and say, “Please keep singing. Please—just don’t stop.” God, the waters do overwhelm me. Sometimes I wonder where you are. And where were you when my mom died? When my sister went crazy. When I left home. Alone.

  A tall African-American man takes the stage. His navy suit sits on shoulders that could single-handedly power through the Cowboy’s defensive line. “What a great song. Thank you for coming today to the Ivy Lake Fellowship.” He tells a funny story about his young daughter fixing his hair in bows last night, and everyone laughs. I feel myself relax into the seat, letting go of some of the tension of an unfamiliar place.

  “I want to continue our series on fear. Last week we talked about David and all the near-misses he had with Saul. Can you believe how many times that poor guy thought his number was up?” Someone shouts an amen. “Today I want to tell you about three men in a furnace.” The pastor goes on to paint the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the men who defied the king and were thrown in the fiery furnace instead of just bowing down to a gold statue.

  “Who could blame them if they had caved in, huh?” the pastor asks. “Who doesn’t want to avoid the fire? The heat? Doing the right thing is often the last thing we want to do. And sometimes . . . the most painful. Can anyone here relate?”

  Hands go up all over the building. But not mine.

  The pastor walks the length of the stage. “What’s holding you back today? Every single one of us has fears. You know who eats that up? The enemy. He loves nothing more than to see you hanging tight to all those things you’re afraid of. You know why?”

  “Preach it!” the man beside me yells.

  “Because you will never, ever have the life God’s planned for you as long as you’re holding on to that fear. You can’t swim to shore if you never let go of that life preserver.” He walks down a few steps and stands level with the congregation. “Brothers and sisters, those guys walked into a burning furnace not knowing what was waiting for them. But they walked in knowing God was in control. Whether they lived or died, they had surrendered all they had and put their full trust in God. Do you have something to surrender today? Do you need God to meet you in the fire like he did those three men? Because sometimes you have to step out on faith into something that’s gonna scare you so bad, your hair’s gonna stand and you’re gonna be crying for your mama before God pulls you through the other side. Does anyone hear me today?”