Page 106 of Sterling Stone

His hand grabs mine, and I’m twirling underneath his arm. Spun away from him and then tugged back, lining us up hip to hip, my back to his chest. He dips his knee, and my body follows his lead, as we rock right then left. His arm is tightly secured around my chest.

We move like we’ve always been dance partners.

Like a couple who enjoyed a quiet connection in an empty bar once upon a time, and now we’ve landed here. In a crowded bar, but still acting like we only see each other.

Feeling as light as bubbles in champagne, I giggle as we finish the dance. Stone is a bit more rigid, less fluid than me. Stone and Taxi. We make excellent dance partners.

When the song ends, I’m still feeling a little high and lean heavily into Stone’s chest. “That was fun.”

He chuckles, a little breathless himself. “Sure was.” He gives me that sheepish smile I’ve grown to love.

Love? Is it really possible? Falling for him might be one of the easiest things I could ever do, and that scares me, like I told him. But that fear isn’t causing me to run, like he thought I might before we entered the barn, when panic danced in his blue eyes.

That buzzing sense of fear has me a little excited about possibilities. About the next season in my life. About him.

“Drink?” Stone asks, nodding toward the long length of the bar not yet crowded by the dance attendees.

“Absolutely,” I say, looping my arm with his once again, making it known to anyone who questions it that I’m with him. He is mine. And I’ve never laid claim to anyone in my life before.

When we reach the bar, Stone quickly makes eye contact with the bartender and points at me to place my order.

“Whiskey sour,” I say, wanting something sweet to match this dizzying sensation inside me. A warm hum. A crackling buzz. Just an all-over good feeling.

Stone orders a whiskey neat, then nudges my shoulder as we both lean against the bar. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“Where did you?” I chuckle.

“You’ve seen the dance competitions between my nieces and nephew,” Stone reminds me. “Zelle likes to rope me in, forcing me to learn the latest TikTok trend.”

“Oh, she forces you?” I tease, leaning into his arm near mine and staring at him over my shoulder. “She’s what . . . ten years old?”

“She’s eleven. And persuasive.” He smiles fondly. His nieces mean the world to him. Hell, his entire family means everything to me. He’s told me such, but I see it too in every sheepish grin and warm hug. He’d lay down his life for his family. In some ways, he already has.

Devoted. What a heady thought that he could be that devoted to me?

“What other dances has Zelle wrangled you to learn?” I ask, curious about more.

“A man can’t give away all his secrets,” he teases, wiggling his thick brows.

But I want them. I want all of him.

Our drinks are delivered quickly and Stone salutes me. “To the prettiest woman in the room.”

My cheeks heat, and I tap my glass against his, taking a sip of my drink as a snide, mountain-drawling voice comes from behind us.

“Well, that was some display.”

Stone and I both twist to see Emory Milton standing with Aunt Trudy beside her.

Trudy looks surprisingly well, but I know she’ll tire easily. She was rather excited to attend the dance, needing to get out of her house as much as I’ve needed to lately. She isn’t used to being cooped up any more than me, even if her travels only take her around this small town. Trudy misses her work as a real estate agent.

“Emory,” Trudy snarls under her breath at her short, blond-bobbed friend.

As witness to their friendship, one I still don’t understand, I’ve seen these two women in action. One poised and polished, and insisting on respect, while the other grounds the first, reminding her she’s as fallible and mortal as the rest of us.

“What?” Emory accentuates that drawl, like she’s from the deeper South, but also like she’s a teenager pretending she doesn’t know what she’s saying.

“You look beautiful, Tallulah,” Trudy addresses me, ignoring her friend. “You do too, Stone.”