Page 82 of A Perfect Fit

“Just girl talk,” I admit. “We had a nice conversation.”

Jackson looks like he’s about to prod further but decides against it. “Come on. Let’s head back inside. Your favorite song’s about to play.”

A frown emerges on my face. “My favorite song?”

“‘Enchanted.’”

How does Jackson know that’s my favorite song? I don’t recall ever telling him.

“You told me when you were showing me your designs at your apartment the night of the reunion,” he explains, probably noticing the confusion on my face.

“Oh,” I breathe. That’s sweet of him to remember. “I … definitely wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Jackson reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. Warmth courses through me—a warmth I’ve never known and a warmth I never want to let go of.

As we reenter the ballroom, he turns to me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes bright as they gaze into mine.

The same butterflies I’ve been experiencing all evening return once more, but this time, I don’t fight them anymore. I let their wings spread, let them soar and fly freely.

“Isabelle,” Jackson says, voice breathless.

“Yeah?”

“Dance with me.”

The thought of dancing with Jackson makes me all giddy on the inside, like I’m a teenager in high school again. But it also makes me a little nervous.

“It’s been a while since I’ve danced, so I might be a little rusty,” I say, playing with my necklace.

He traces a finger down my cheek. “Then we’re going to have to change that.”

My heart flutters, and I don’t want to find an excuse anymore.

I want to dance with Jackson. I want to dance with him in my favorite dress, to my favorite song. I want to dance with him and pretend, even for one night, that I’m living in a fairy tale.

“Okay,” I let out.

A content smile stretches across his lips, revealing his dimples, and his grip on my hand tightens as he leads me to the dance floor.

With that, I find myself happily following the man I once thought was the biggest jackass in the world.

Chapter Twenty-Two

JACKSON

Irequested the DJ to play “Enchanted” when Isabelle went to the restroom. It’s a nearly six-minute song, and I plan on cherishing every second of it while I dance with her.

As the opening chords play, I grip Isabelle’s waist, my other hand clasping hers. Tentatively, she places her free hand on my shoulder, glancing up at me through her eyelashes.

The warm lighting illuminating the room shines a dewy, almost-fairy-tale-like glow on her face, and I think I could dance with the woman of my dreams all night.

Our bodies move in perfect sync as we slow dance to her favorite song, the soft material of her dress feeling tantalizing to the touch.

“You’re doing so well, Bella,” I murmur.

A light blush paints her cheeks. “Thanks.”

I chuckle. It seems like sassy Isabelle has taken a back seat tonight, and I’m seeing more of shy Isabelle. I love each and every one of these different sides to her.