“You are hovering near me with moral distress.”
“I do not want to grip too tightly.”
“You won’t.”
“You do not know that.”
“I do.”
He looks at me for a long second. Then his hand settles more securely at my waist.
My breath catches.
I put my hand on his upper arm because his shoulder is too high unless I want to look like I’m reaching for a ceiling fan.Muscle shifts beneath my fingers. His other hand holds mine. We move badly at first. Not disastrously, because Kauss has too much body control for disaster, but stiffly, cautiously. Then I step closer, guiding him with gentle pressure.
“Stop thinking so hard,” I say.
“That is poor advice.”
“Not for dancing.”
“I am attempting not to crush your feet.”
“I appreciate the restraint.”
“You are amused.”
“I am happy.”
That stops him more effectively than fear.
His eyes search my face. “Happy?”
“Yes.”
The music moves around us. Light paints red along his black scales, then blue, then gold. The bar noise fades enough that I can hear his breathing, deep and measured, though not as steady as he probably wants me to think. His hand at my waist grows less rigid. His steps begin to follow mine more naturally. He is still enormous, still intimidating, still watched by half the room in sidelong glances. But here, with me, he begins to relax.
Not fully.
Enough.
It is the most beautiful thing I have seen all night.
“I like this,” I say.
His thumb shifts slightly against my dress. “Dancing?”
“Being here with you.”
His eyes darken, and the air between us changes so quickly I almost forget the room around us. “I like being here with you.”
Simple words. Kauss words. No flourish. No performance. They hit harder because of that.
I smile up at him, and for one dangerous heartbeat, I imagine things I have no business imagining. Kauss at the bakery everymorning, not because of debt, but because he belongs there. Kauss at my kitchen table upstairs, too large for my chairs and too careful with my mugs. Kauss laughing more. Kauss sleeping somewhere warm. Kauss looking at me across years instead of weeks.
A future.
The thought terrifies me.
