Who knew?
But then, all at once, the music changes. A slow song floats on the air, old and bluesy, dispersing most of the dancers and leaving just a few couples behind.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Violet smiles up at me. Hopeful. Beautiful.
“Dance?” I blurt out, because apparently I’ve lost my ability to speak in complete sentences again. “That is, would you like to? I mean, I realize wehavebeen dancing, for quite a while, but I meant… Would you like to dance with me? Just us? For this song, specifically?”
Violet’s laughing again—a definite yes. With a relieved sigh, I sweep her into my arms and draw her close, one hand holding hers, the other resting on the small of her back beneath the fairy wings, leading her into a gentle sway.
“Fair warning,” she whispers, her cheeks pink. “I’m the worst dancer.”
“Literally not possible. The record for the worst dancer is held by a gentleman named Caronius from the thirteenth century, who once started a war when he danced himself right off a cliff and dashed his brains on the rocks below, which turned out to be the private beachfront property of his family’s mortal enemies, who happened to command their own navy. So take heart, mushroom. And know that if any wars are waged on account of your footwork tonight, I’ll defend you to the bitter end.”
That laugh again. The snort at the end. The follow-up apology laugh. “Thankfully, there’s no cliff nearby, but I’ve stepped on your toes at least ten times already.”
“You’re just getting a bit too far in your head about it.” I spin her once, then bring her back to me, closer than before. “I can see it in your eyes, love. The way you fixate on some point in the distance, your smile locked into place as if it’s been painted on.”
“Painted on?”
“Quite beautifully, of course. Just… not your real smile. You’re too nervous you’ll make a misstep and—mercifulheavens!” I tease. “What will the good people of Wayward Bay think if they discover their resident tea maven can’t dance? Won’t someone consider thechildren?”
“Says the man wearing women’s lingerie that barely covers his junk.”
“The point remains.” I spin her around again, dip her nearly to the ground, then bring her right back. The couple beside us claps, and Violet smiles again, a bit breathless, her cheeks that lovely shade of crimson that’s come to haunt my dreams. And my showers. “Close your eyes,” I whisper into her hair. “And just… just feel it. The soul of the music has its own mysterious language. You just have to open yourself to it.”
She groans but does as I ask, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against my chest, one hand on my shoulder, the other clasped in mine, and we continue our dance.
And my utter downfall. I knew it was coming. From that very first night under the street lamps, when I gazed into her eyes and made her laugh for the first time.
Tonight, she’s softness and light and magic in my arms, an angel who’s got no business dancing with the Devil, yet here we are, gliding across the dance floor in our own little world while the rest of the rotunda fades away. Right now, I’m aware of nothing but Violet, every detail in sharp relief, every nuance, every shade of color that paints her. The slight halo of frizz puffing out from her loose curls, tickling my nose as I breathe her in. The lemon-coconut scent of her hair. Her small hand on my shoulder, two fingers tapping out the beat of the music, as if she’s afraid she’ll lose count and miss that oh-so-crucial step. The swish of her dress as she follows my lead, slowly but surely losing herself to the soul of the music, just as I promised.
I’m so wholly captivated I don’t even realize she’s speaking until she stops dancing.
“I think the song ended,” she says softly, blinking up at me, flushed and happy. Breathtaking.
“I think…” I look around, see the other couples breaking apart. “Right. The song.”
The scent of burned sugar and bourbon drifts through the air, and once again her magic envelops me. Entrances me.Sheentrances me. I’m utterly spellbound, no more able to walk away from this than I can walk away from the task of unlocking her heart’s desire.
“Mushroom?” I curl a finger beneath her chin, gently tipping her face toward mine, our mouths so close I can taste the apple cider clinging to her breath. “I regret to inform you that despite our prior agreement, I suddenly feel an overwhelming need to kiss you.”
A soft gasp. The quickening of the pulse at her throat. The blush I love so much, a deeper shade of crimson, lovelier than the last.
“You do?” she whispers.
“Indeed.”
“Well. Since we’re confessing things.” She swallows hard, eyes glittering beneath the flashing lights. “Despite the agreement, I’m… suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to be kissed by you.”
My heart kicks into my throat. Throbs. Makes other things throb. “An odd coincidence indeed.”
“Maybe we can work something out?”
“I was thinking that as well, but I’m not sure what. We said this wasn’t a date.”
She nods vigorously, her wings fluttering. “We swore it.”
“What do you suppose we should do about this terrible conundrum, then?”
