Page 5 of A Dance with His Angel

“I’m trying not to, but I can’t help it.” My cheeks ache from how hard I’m smiling. “I’m in love.”

Isaiah blows out a tired breath, leaning into his seat and throwing his arm over the back of Eden’s mother’s chair. “That was fast. Think she’ll accept?”

“Not right away, so I won’t ask yet. Her mother is wary of me, as she has every right to be, so I want to court her first.”

Isaiah suddenly leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he balls his hands together. “How do you know so soon?”

I shrug. “It’s just a feeling I have. An intuition. Meeting Eden…it was like staring at my twin soul. Like being shot through the heart with Cupid's arrow. Fate.”

“I don’t know, man. Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Isaiah rises when the ladies return. “Well, good luck to you,” he says, clapping my shoulder.

“And you as well,” I say, cutting my gaze to Bailey, who looks to have been crying, entering through the venue’s back door.

Isaiah sighs. “Thanks.” He makes a beeline to the opposite end of the room, disappearing before Bailey spots him.

Once the ladies have finished their dinners, I reluctantly pass Ivy back to her mother to fetch my own plate and a slice of wedding cake for each of us. We don’t speak much, and the tension the ladies returned with hasn’t abated.

Though my heart squeezes in my chest, I eventually ask Eden quietly, “Am I making you or your mother uncomfortable?”

Instead of answering me, Eden lifts my spirit when she tells her mother, “Martin and I are going to dance again.”

Her mother, whose name I’ve since learned is Rebecca, nods and cups a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. She stands when we do, shouldering her gold purse. “I’m going to head home. Call me when you want me to pick you up,” she says, reaching for Ivy.

Eden shakes her head, tightening her arms around her sleeping daughter. “It’s ok. I’ve got her.”

After a beat of silence, Rebecca nods. “Ok. Call me,” she reminds Eden, kissing her cheek. She casts me a look that saysyou’d better be on your best behavior, then takes her leave.

With Ivy carefully cradled between us, Eden and I dance slowly, no matter how upbeat the songs may be. I can’t keep my hands off her. Eden’s breath fans my neck when she lays her temple on my left shoulder as the night grows longer.

“Why did you name her Ivy?” I whisper so as not to wake her daughter.

“Green is my favorite color,” Eden says with a shrug, then kisses her daughter’s crown. “And she’s my favorite person. It just felt right.”

I file that tidbit away for the future.

“Since you never answered, how do you know James? Do you work together?” she asks.

“Yes, though I’m in a different department. We crossed paths a few times at in-person meetings, and I overheard his phone call making plans for a game night he was hosting. I played the same RPG, though I didn’t have a group of my own once I left college, and in a wholly opposite fashion, I introduced myself. Found out we had more in common. He invited me next time he hosted, introduced me to Isaiah, and the rest is history.”

“So you’re a huge nerd like James and Isaiah?”

The comment would have been a gut punch, since I was bullied relentlessly for being a “geek” and “huge nerd” as a kid—not to mention all the unoriginal jokes about my hair color—but Eden’s tinkling laughter, charming smile, and the fact that she pokes me in the ribs tells me she’s only lightheartedly teasing. If I’m reading it right, she might even think it’s cute.

I release some of my insecurities, returning a small smile. “Yes, a huge nerd.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Really?” I cough. “I meant, thank you.”

“Maybe I’ll actually come to the next game night, now that I know you’ll be there.”

My breath stalls in my chest, and my hands tighten on her waist. Eden blushes, my voice dropping an octave, when I say, “Please. I would love to see you again.”

Her feet must be aching by the time only a handful of wedding guests remain, and we’re the last ones dancing, still getting to know each other. My feet are as well in my new, stiff brogues. Yet neither of us complains. Nor do we part, even when all the soft venue lights are turned up to signal that the reception is over, until a staff member tells us it’s time to go.