Page 159 of One Wild Wish

There was a time joking about my tendency to embody different personalities would have chafed. A reminder I used to search for stories that weren’t mine. Any tale but that of being the second-hand kid abandoned by his mother, the teenager who’d been unsure what kind of man he should be.

I still valued the manners cowboys like my old boss, Bill, had inspired. I’d never tire of losing myself in a classic musical, watching love conquer all. But I liked who I’d become, an amalgamation of these experiences. Especially with Ainsley as my leading lady.

The music shifted, some remixed pop song that had the girls squealing. Gwen and Rachel snatched Ainsley from my grasp and disappeared into the crush of bodies on the dance floor. I settled against the bar, next to Jimmy. A glance at my watch told me my song would be on in fifteen minutes or so, and my stomach bottomed out. This was probably a stupid idea. There were a couple hundred people here, easy.

My lessons this week had been good. Irina was a great teacher, keeping things light and fun as she reinforced the basics I’d learned as a kid. But there’d been no audience those nights, no friends to laugh at us, no woman I’d been hoping to impress.

I took a lengthy pull on my beer.

“Looking kind of green,” Jimmy said.

“Might have done something dumb.”

“Care to share?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

He didn’t push, and I searched for the girls but couldn’t find them in the growing crowd.

“Where’s Emmett?” Jimmy asked.

I finished my beer and plunked it down. “No idea. I asked him to come tonight, but he was moody. Could barely get a word out of him.”

“Did he end up dating Cameron?”

“Not sure. Why?”

He sipped his wine. “I was at The Blue Door last night, and Cameron seemed…subdued. I asked what was up. He said something about falling for the wrong guy, but I didn’t know if that was your brother.”

The intel gave me pause. Emmett was generally upbeat. Having him blow me off earlier hinted at something being wrong, but I’d had a dance to focus on and a dinner date with Ainsley’s family looming. No time to force him to talk. I added that to my to-do list, along with convincing Tessa to wrap up our divorce, telling Ainsley I was madly in love with her without scaring her off, and getting my woodworking business off the ground. Piece of cake.

I searched for the girls again, still no luck, but my phone buzzed. An email from Tessa greeted me: Talking sounds good. Why don’t I come to you this time? I’m free in a couple weeks.

I’d consider that a win. I replied for her to pick the time and day, then I caught sight of the girls. A couple douchebags were dancing too close, moving closer. Jimmy kicked off the bar, face darkening as he zeroed in on the same scene. Before we could make a move, Ainsley flipped around and said something to the tallest man. I was no lip reader, but there was no mistaking her sass and bite as the men raised their hands and slinked off.

Hot and badass—that was my girl.

“She’s awesome,” Jimmy said.

“I know, man. I know.”

The music shifted then, the song I’d asked the owner to play strumming through the sound system. The dancing ceased, people unsure what to make of the mellow tune. Heart in my throat, I strutted toward Ainsley as the opening notes to Lighthouse’s “You and Me” blanketed the room.

18

Fifteen letters for the interlocking ridges and grooves that join adjacent wood boards.

Or when your boyfriend busts out his inner Fred Astaire and sweeps you off your feet.

T O N G U E A N D G R O O V E

Ainsley

My face felt flush, my armpits a tad dewier than ideal in my vintage dress, but totally worth it after dancing with the girls. I also wasn’t ready to call it quits. But the funky pop mix blended into a romantic song. The kind of music that had me wanting to close my eyes and sink into my lover’s arms. Not Rachel’s or Gwen’s arms.

A tap on my back had my shoulders bunching toward my ears. Some players didn’t know how to take no for an answer. They also didn’t know who they were dealing with. Evil glare in place, I swiveled. “You must not value your nuts, assho—”

Except he wasn’t an asshole. He was Owen.