Page 40 of Already Callin’ You Mine

I spin around, eyes landing on a still frazzled and exhausted looking brunette. Taking a moment to drink her in, I revel in her simple beauty, even when looking like she could collapse at any moment. Something about her sings to me, making me want to take her in my arms and tell her it’s all taken care of.

I turn the music down, but not off, letting “Somewhere With You” still play in the background as I step toward her.

“Being unwilling to do Cupid’s wobble on video is different from not dancing at all.”

“The Cupid Shuffle and the Wobble are two different dances,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. “And neither would be what you would be doing in the video.”

“Still not a fan.”

Presley nods, walking fully into the kitchen, her gaze scanning the scene.

“You cleaned?”

I shrug. “Felt like I should make myself useful. And the last thing you need to worry about right now is the dishes.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Silence takes over, the two of us standing and staring at each other. I need to do something. Make a move of some kind. I just don’t know what.

Kenny fades, slipping into “Chasing Falling Stars.” Apparently Dustin Wild’s got my back.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” Presley’s face scrunches, her recoil sending her a half step backward.

I hold out my hand, like I’m Leonardo DiCaprio in that meme, sans coupe glass. Seconds pass, feeling like forever as I wait for her to react. To slip her hand in mine so I can pull her close.

“Dance with me.”

“You didn’t want to dance with me before.”

Before. As in high school. Prom.

My gut wrenches. She’s right. Sorta. It’s what she believes—because it’s what I said.

Time to make up for it now.

“Dance with me, Presley. Please,” I plead softly.

Breath hitching, Presley gently takes my hand, stepping into me even more, her skin soft against mine. I close my hand around hers, my other arm snaking around her waist, landing on her lower back and drawing her in. I can feel her shuddered breath ripple through her body, the two of us pressed together leaving only enough room for a whisper.

I move us in time with the music—slowly, carefully—letting the soft, easy melody surround us. This is the kind of song that was created for one reason, and one reason alone—holding that special someone close.

Exactly what I’m doing.

“Who’s Socks?” I ask, keeping us on beat.

“Otis’s favorite stuffie. A little panda bear whose coloring makes him look like he’s wearing socks,” she answers, looking at me like I just asked her to run away to Narnia. “How’d you…”

Her head whips over to the counter, an exasperated sigh following almost immediately.

“Did you hear everything?”

“Not everything. I did catch that Little Man is already a stranger danger expert and taught Socks everything he knows.”

Presley giggles. “He did. Now if only he would practice what he preaches. My threenager is really working hard at figuring out his independence, and what he can and can’t get away with. He’s also a bit of an escape artist, and short of putting an actual leash on him, keeping him by our sides is sometimes easier said than done. Overall, I can’t complain though. He’s a good kid.”