She turns to me, smiling warmly. “Wonderful. So are you looking to learn how to dance for a special occasion? A wedding, perhaps?”
I laugh nervously. “Oh no. This is just for fun.”
“She’s being shy,” Ben breaks in. “We actuallyareconsidering a modern take on a line dance for our wedding. Thought it’d be fun to get all of our guests out there, shake things up a little. Isn’t that right, honey?”
I slow-blink at him, the smile frozen on my face.
“She’s a bit nervous, all those eyes on her, you know,” he says to Clara in a confidential tone. “I thought taking this class might boost her confidence.”
I willkillhim.
Clara beams, totally under his spell. This must be a new record—he’s charmed her in under ten seconds. “That’s just lovely! This is a great way to overcome stage fright. If you have any questions as you go along, just ask,” she says, patting my arm. “And if you schedule a private lesson, we could put together a routine specific to your wedding song.” She raises an eyebrow at Ben, totally bypassing me, the inept half of this duo. I take offense on behalf of shy brides everywhere.
She flashes me an encouraging smile before going to greet anothercouple. As soon as she’s a safe distance away, I seize his hat and attack him with it. “You are dead to me.”
He shushes me and makes an unsuccessful grab for his hat. “Don’t let Clara hear that or she’ll think our engagement is on the rocks.”
A few more couples trickle in, about ten of us in total, before Clara starts the class. “Country-western dancing is all about having fun. It’s informal, the music upbeat and traditional Americana. It won’t be as complicated as some of the dances we’ve learned in recent weeks.” Ben shoots me a wide-eyed look, like we’re already in trouble and behind on the syllabus, and I have to stifle an unladylike snort. “If any of you have ever been to a honky-tonk before, you’ll probably recognize some of the dances we’ll be doing tonight. The Texas two-step, the western promenade, and some line dancing.
“I applaud those of you who wore the traditional clothing tonight,” she continues, eyeing us approvingly. “Many of the dances incorporate heel and toe taps, so that will be an advantage for those of you wearing boots.”
“She loves us,” he whispers to me.
“She lovesyou,” I whisper back.
Clara takes the class through the paces for the two-step, offering us pointers as we practice with our partners. After a few minutes, she announces it’s time to try it with music. She glides to the stereo and a moment later I hear the opening strains of Tim McGraw’s “Just to See You Smile.”
I gasp and clutch Ben’s arm. “Can you believe they’re playing this so—”
The words aren’t even out when I catch the look on his face: mouth open and eyes wide in a phony display of surprise. Understanding slams into me.
“Youplannedthis?”
“Guilty.”
I gape at him in disbelief as he laughs, clearly delighted by my reaction.
“You look like you’re having an aneurism.”
He loops my left arm around his neck and grasps my right hand in his, pulling me close so we’re in position and ready to start.
“You’re very pleased with yourself,” I manage.
“Guilty again.”
“So is this what dating you will be like?” I ask, shy all of a sudden.
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know. Full of romantic crap like this.”
He barks a laugh as we start shuffling our feet. “I have a theory,” he says, dropping his mouth to my ear so I can hear him over the music. “You say you’re not a romantic, but I think that’s just because no one’s ever done it right.”
I’m overcome by a foreign emotion at his words, happiness and fear colliding in my chest. It’s like the final piece of myself I’ve been holding back breaks loose, dropping into the sea like a melting iceberg. I burrow into his shoulder, not wanting him to see the wild spectrum of emotions parading across my face. He seems to recognize that I’m having a moment, and to his credit he doesn’t tease me about it, just holds me tighter as we whirl around the room.
After the two-step, Clara teaches us the Cotton-Eye Joe line dance, a traditional square dance, and finally a promenade to end the class. Ben proves to be a great dancer, prompting me to wonder if there’s anything heisn’tgood at. He spins and dips me, even when the dances don’t call for it; steals kisses whenever Clara’s back is turned; twirls me all over the dance floor, placing proprietary hands on my back, sides, and neck. It can’t be a coincidence that both dates we’ve been on have required himto put his hands all over me. We don’t stop laughing for the full hour, and by the end my cheeks hurt from smiling. I like to think our good humor rubs off on the other participants; at any rate, we only get a couple of warning looks from Clara when we get a little rambunctious with our boot slaps.
When the class is over, we stumble into the night air, sweaty and crowing about our stellar moves. We’re both starving so we duck into the first restaurant we see, a fifties-style diner a few doors down. It’s the kind of place with an eighteen-page menu, but we still order burgers, fries, and ridiculously large milkshakes and eat like teenagers during a growth spurt. There isn’t a lull in the conversation for two hours. It’s just a guy and a girl on a first date—the best first date in the history of first dates.
