Page 75 of Promise

“Thought race car drivers didn’t like rust,” I tease again, the joke coming out shaky because I’m suddenly nervous to be in Dart’s arms. It isn’t that we are in public. It’s that I’ll be so close to him.

Hand in his. Chest to chest. Hips to hips.

He slides one hand around my back, pressing me even closer. My breasts brush against his warm T-shirt. He bends a knee, forcing me to follow his lead. And our hips move in tandem. The rhythm is familiar. His hold . . . like he’ll never let me go.

I’m a little stiff, so Dart takes my hand and sets it around his neck. He slips his now free hand to my hip. We feel even closer. His heart races beneath my other hand. The back of his neck is damp. His forehead is almost against mine.

“Hold onto me, Forever,” he whispers, his breath brushing my lips.

“I don’t want people to think I’m clinging to you.” The words come out in a rush. A river of panic. Not that I care what people think, but I don’t want to look like I’m clinging to the man who broke my heart.

Dart stills. He lifts my chin and meets my eyes. “Then let me cling to you.”

He scoops his hand around my back again while the other one slips around my nape. We look like we’re embracing more than dancing. Dart picks up that subtle sway again and hums in my ear, emphasizing certain words in the tune.

Home. Never leaving. Love.

“Dart,” I whisper, finding I’ve melted against him, becoming one with him.

The bounce of our hips. The jut of our knees. The heat of our chests.

His fingers dig into my short hair, and my nose runs along the collar of his T-shirt.

I lower one hand for a belt loop on his hip. His hand spans my back.

We cling to one another.

Before I know it, the song ends. People whistle and cheer for Petty’s performance, but Dart and I are in our own little bubble. The one we used to find even in a bar full of people or among our closest friends.

Just him and me.

It’s all I ever wanted.

He tips his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes, breathing in his familiar pine scent mingled with the heat of the day.

The hand on my back runs up my spine. A shiver reverses down it. My flesh pebbles. My limbs feel loose and heavy, relaxed.

Dart cups the sides of my neck, tipping back my head with his thumbs beneath my chin.

My mouth waters, anticipating a kiss like I did the other night against the fridge. My heart is beating so fast, it eclipses the next song Petty sings.

Then a throat clears next to me.

Turning my head, I gasp, “Mom.” I pull back from Dart, like we’ve been caught kissing on the sofa in a dark room after curfew. Only Dart doesn’t let me go. His hand still cups the back of my neck.

“Why don’t you let me take Mirabelle tonight?” She presses a kiss to Mirabelle’s head. “Give yourselves a break.”

I blink, the mist of Dart’s nearness clearing. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

I don’t dare look at Dart for some reason and continue my argument. “You’ve worked all day, and you still need to take down your booth.”

“Oh, I have help for that. Plus, I need some Mirabelle and Mimi time.” She peppers Mirabelle’s cheek with more kisses.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. Of course I trust Mom. She has an extra infant seat in her SUV and a portable crib at her house, plus a stock of diapers and a change of clothes.

Dart makes the decision for me, for us. He steps toward Mom and stamps a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Mary.”

Mom winks. “Go. Have fun. And breakfast tomorrow.” Then she rushes off with Mirabelle in hand, leaving me in a position I don’t trust.