“Don’t tell me all the Crimble Mountain boys are blind?”
She stirred ice around with her straw. She was probably meant to say something equally coy or flirtatious back.Something clever. Bryony would know what to do, would have a quip or, at the very least, a well-timed giggle. And she’d smack Luna silly for missing her cue like this! But Luna’s brain had turned to mush. She simply wasn’tprepared. Not for a man of such proportions,leaningtoward her like that. With his eyes all green, and his dimples all dimpling, and . . . and . . .
“I lived with my aunties, you see,” she murmured.
“Ah! That explains it.”
“Explains . . . what?”
“The buttoned sweater. The promises of prayer.” Ward chuckled again and tipped back in his chair, all easy grace and power. “Yup. You’re a fresh one, Luna Talbot, and no mistake. Fresh as a sweet little daisy.”
The music started just in that moment, a welcome distraction from her blushes. Luna turned to the dance floor, fixed her gaze on the musicians. They struck up a boogie rhythm, one she instantly recognized from her housemate’s thaumatic radio: “Don’t Care Tonight.” The lyrics were scandalous (she’d heard her housemates singing them at the tops of their lungs on the nights Mrs. Boggs was out), but the rhythm was infectious. A shout immediately went up from the festival-goers, and couples flocked to the floor.
Ward tilted his head to one side. “Do you dance?”
Luna, realizing her foot was tapping, quickly set down her lemonade. “Oh, maybe.” She held up her thumb and finger, close together. “A very little.”
“Good enough for me!” Ward stood and offered his hand.
Luna gaped. “My sandwich?”
“It’ll keep.”
“My unicorn?”
He laughed. “I doubt anyone’ll try to steal it. But if they do, I’ll come down on them with the full force of the law. Got it?” He winked.
Luna blushed. Because of course she did. Blushing seemed to be her default state in this man’s presence. But she let him pull her to her feet and lead her out onto the dance floor. She would have thought a man his size wouldn’t be much of a dancer, but . . . she did see that teacup vision of him. He was dancing then, and very gracefully too. With her. In a ballroom.
Perhaps—and her cheeks burned all the brighter just to think it—her story with John Ward was only just beginning.
She concentrated on her feet. Ward was a wildly enthusiastic dance partner, and she was soon laughing out loud at her own attempts to keep up. “You’re amazing!” he shouted over the blare of trumpets.
Objectively, she was not. But it was nice of him to say so.
He gave her a spin, first out, then in, catching her around the waist. Her cherry-print dress swirled, her little worn-out pumps clipped smartly, and she felt carefree. And pretty. Just like an ordinary young woman, enjoying her youth, without a worry in the world. No room for reality out on the dance floor. Here, she could pretend all her future lay before her, not a dark cloud in sight.
The song ended just as Ward turned her and dipped her backwards so far, her hair nearly brushed the ground. Luna gasped for breath. She didn’t think it was possible for someone like her to dance like this!
Ward helped her find her feet, his hand still at her waist. “Luna Talbot,” he said, “you can, in fact, dance more than a little bit!” He held up finger and thumb and widened the gap between them significantly.
The music started again, another lively beat. “Hey!” Ward whooped. “The ‘Something Borrowed Boogie Balloo.’ Now we’re cooking with gas!” He began to shimmy his shoulders and snap his fingers, and Luna wished she dared take off her cardigan and tie it around her waist. That one dance had overheated herenough! But Ward’s enthusiasm was infectious, and she couldn’t resist taking his hand. He whirled her back, forth, then out again.
Much to her surprise, she found herself suddenly facing a complete stranger, who took her hand and began twirling her in much the same way. Momentarily shocked, she glanced around, and realized that everyone was changing partners.This must be the “something borrowed” bit,she thought, and went along with it, spinning from one partner to the next in quick succession. There were old men and spotty teen boys, and she was half-convinced that one of her “borrowed” partners was Bryony’s dock worker from earlier in the day (his suspenders seemed familiar). She didn’t really know the steps, but as long as she spun out and in again, vaguely in time with the beat, she could kind of make up whatever happened in between.
Her fifth time changing partners came, and she spun out, extending her hand to take hold of whoever would claim her next—only to find herself face-to-face with Mr. Grimm.
She stopped.
He stopped.
The song and dancers continued to boogie on without them, while they stared at each other in mute surprise.
“Where’s Bryony?” Luna blurted.
“Erm. Somewhere out here,” he replied.
“Oh.”
