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“You might just have to prove it to me,” she replied.
Zander’s eyes sparkled as he looked at her and then stood up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking around the fancy restaurant. All around them, tables of finely dressed women and men were barely whispering, laughing politely, and eating fancy finger foods very properly. Zander and Rachel already stood out a bit in Rachel’s flamboyantly orange dress and Zander’s penchant to talk a bit loudly.
Zander hadn’t realized the restaurant was actually quite high-end, and neither had Rachel. They’d laughed a bit about it after ordering enough wine to make it all seem okay.
Now, though, the patrons were looking at Zander as he held out a hand to Rachel. “Dance with me,” he said, grinning, only looking at her.
Rachel felt her face burn. Sure, she was used to being in the spotlight—but not like this. This wasn’t the kind of thing she did.
“This music isn’t really dance-worthy,” she whispered. “And I’m on crutches.” The soft music playing sounded like elevator music mixed with a dash of funeral dirge. Not quite the thing to slow dance to or any kind of dance to, and the restaurant didn’t seem to think dancing should be part of the dining experience, judging by the atmosphere.
“We can make it work,” he assured.
It was crazy and childish. They were respectable—or semi-respectable, the crowd around them would argue—adults who didn’t just get up and dance in the middle of a fine restaurant. Did they? And Rachel didn’t, in fairness, dance with any man, anywhere.
But looking at his eyes alight with mischief, Rachel found herself saying yes instead of no. There was something about this semi-nerdy yet semi-crazy man who brought something to life in Rachel. He was the quirky to her quirky, and the nerdy humor to her own.
So she took his hand, and he helped her onto her crutches.
“How’s this going to work?” she asked, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes burning her back.
“Very carefully,” he whispered, but his hands on her waist as she set one crutch down, leaning on his shoulder as they swayed to a made-up rhythm in their minds. “We just won’t be pulling any Footloose moves.”
“Or West Side Story. Or any semblance of dancing in reality,” she teased.
He just kept swaying, not taking his eyes off her, adding a little West Side Story snap for good measure. Rachel couldn’t help but laugh.
“I feel like this could be a super romantic moment if I weren’t on crutches,” she spewed as the whole room melted away and she stared into Zander’s eyes as they attempted to sway.
“It still can be. Who says what romance has to look like, right? And if nothing else, I’m sure we’re giving these people something to talk about.”
Rachel grinned, shaking her head. “Your brother would be proud,” she said.
“Not really. If my brother were here, he’d probably rappel from the ceiling or something equally as crazy. But hey, we’ve all got our strengths, right? I’m not completely square.”
“I see that.”
“I know, look at me, being all risqué, dancing in the middle of a restaurant.”
“You mean hobbling about,” she quipped as he pulled her a little closer.” For a moment, she looked up at him, his lips close enough to hers to feel his breath on her face. Her heart throbbed in her chest, and she held her breath as she thought for a second he had turned his head just a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit.
For a second, Rachel Winters thought this was going to be the moment her heart careened into his, that it was all over, and that her promise was going to go right out the window. She thought her heart was going to become the unabashed property of Zander Riley, no matter how much she wanted to deny it.
But right before Rachel prepared for a kiss she both wanted and didn’t, someone cleared their throat right beside their table.
“Um, your food is ready. Shall I just set it down?” the waiter asked, giving them a judgmental look that said they clearly should take their seats or just give up on the restaurant all together and head somewhere more suitable like fast food.
“Oh, perfect,” Rachel responded, offering her charming smile.
The waiter wasn’t buying it.
They pulled apart slowly, Zander helping Rachel to her seat.
“So, where were we?” she teased as she eyed the plate of ravioli in front of her. It was a small enough portion to be an appetizer. Her stomach growled in response.
“I think we were talking about how we should scarf down this appetizer and then go get some real food. I’m sorry, I thought this place would be perfect, but, well, to be honest, it’s not really my cup of tea. I’m more of a burger and fries kind of guy.”
