Page 75 of Find My Way Down to You

The tide in my chest is replaced by a tiny fire. A memory catching like flint.

I skipped prom. Junior and senior year. I couldn’t even stomach helping Max dress shop for either of them. My mom did her best to encourage me. She promised to buy me a suit and drive me and even wait outside in case it was too much.

Anything to get me out of bed.

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she swore.

It was. One of many I was supposed to experience with London.

That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Watched horror movies for hours. It was better to be scared of fake monsters than the real ones living inside my head.

I blink away from the memory.

Cary continues to wordlessly study me.

“What kind of dancing happens at these things? Waltzing?Some weird, fancy tango?” I laugh nervously. “Should I watch some instructional videos—”

“Your hand.”

I blanch. “My what?”

“August,” Cary says, patient in a way I’ve never seen him. “Give me your hand.”

That’s when I notice his own. Outstretched and lifted. Waiting on me.

I shake my head, then say, “Are you serious?”

He flexes an eyebrow. A definitiveyesin his eyes. His hand never drops, suspended in midair.

Exhaling dramatically, I slide my palm against his. He guides my other hand to his shoulder. Then his fingers rest lightly on the small of my back.

“There’s no music,” I tell him.

“Of course there is.” His head bends. A rich sweetness wafts off him. His lips brush my ear. “Just listen.”

All I hear is the knock of my heart against a bone cage. My stilted inhales. His slow, steady exhales. But when I truly focus, clear notes cut through the noise. Outside, the sea sings.

“Follow my lead,” Cary instructs.

He steps left. I sway with him. Backward, to the right, forward. Another step, then repeat. We turn in tiny easy circles to the rhythm in the distance.

Cary moves like the ocean. Natural, fluid.

I rock like a ship in a storm.

“Wow,” he breathes out. “You were right.”

I furrow my brows. “About what?”

The fringes of his mouth lift. “This is your first time. You are…What would Henri say? Tragic?” He pretends to think. “A hot mess?”

Mortified, my eyes start to lower. His fingers tighten on my back. The move pushes me closer to him.

Softly, he commands, “Do not look down.”

Despite the flare in my stomach when our hips brush, I half growl, “I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

“I will not let you fall, August.”