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Jackson, ever composed, leads me toward the dance floor with a reassuring smile. The music sways with a timeless rhythm, beckoning us to join in.
I hesitate. “No, Jackson. I haven’t danced in years. I wouldn’t even know what to do with this music. And what about your cane? How will you dance with it?”
He leans the cane against a table. “I’m not going to use it. There’s no way I can actually waltz, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still dance.”
He extends his hand to me, a silent invitation to embrace the moment. With a deep breath, I place my hand in his, letting the melody guide us onto the dance floor. The world around us blurs. The other couples don’t matter, their movements irrelevant. It’s just Jackson and me.
We keep it simple. My arms wrap around his neck and his hands are around my waist. We move slowly in a circle as others flow past us, making graceful turns.
"I may not be able to keep up with you," he says.
I nod and look up at his deep brown eyes. "It's okay. Just lean on me if you need."
Halfway through the song, he missteps, grunting in pain. “You ok? We can stop.”
“No. I’m fine.”
I whisper in his ear. “Lean on me.”
A shiver courses through his body.
He drops his arms and stops dancing entirely, looking lost for a moment. “I’m not used to relying on people. I am usually the one in charge.”
“Just for tonight. Let me take the lead. We’ll never talk about it again.” I put my finger to my lips then touch his.
His body relaxes as he steps closer, taking a deep breath. This time when he wraps his arms around my waist, he pulls my body tight to his. I feel his taught chest muscles through his shirt, and I definitely don't mind it.
After a few moments, he shifts his weight delicately on me for support. I adjust my stance to help him move smoothly. Though our bodies aren’t aligned perfectly, we find a natural rhythm to the music.
The longer we dance, the more I feel his body relax, as if he’s letting go of control. Focusing on him helps me forget that I didn’t want to be out here to start with. Now I don’t want this dance to end.
"You’re doing so well."
"Thanks to you.”
“Remember,” I whisper, “nobody needs to know.”
His dimples are on full display.
Why do I always notice them?
"Look around,” he says.
I scan the room. My chest tightens when I see a circle of people recording us with their phones.
"I thought we left the paparazzi at the door."
“People will always find a way.”
I sigh. “I really don’t like being the center of attention.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so used to it that it doesn’t affect me anymore.”
He moves his hand up and down my back, creating goosebumps everywhere I can’t control.
He must be doing it so this looks real to the onlookers.
His hands rest back where they started. “Don’t worry. It will all be over soon.”
