Page 145 of Dancing in the Dark

He looks like he’s been in a fight against a monkey.

He didn’t win.

He wears his usual jeans and an unbuttoned shirt over a tank, except his shirt sits askew and the top of his left shoulder glistens in the moonlight. His badge hangs around his neck, but the badge itself isn’t visible. It rests on his back, the chain digging into his neck.

Most stunning of all is the crushed bouquet he grips tight in one fist, the crinkle of plastic timing itself perfectly with his indrawn breath.

He brought her flowers.

“Wait…” He sets his hands on his hips and heaves for fresh air, his golden-eyed stare latching onto the dozen others pointed back at him. He looks at Harrison and Alfred, the guards who won’t sit. It wouldn’t be proper. He studies the chairs set side by side, row by row, then up at the twinkling party lights Cato strung up for me.

He casts his gaze around the rooftop, scanning each fake flickering candle, then across to me and Mia.

Finally.

“Oh my gosh, Moo.” Panting, he straightens out and wanders forward. “Your debut recital, baby? This is all for you.”

“Fifi helped me make it.” Cautiously tugging her hand from mine and stumbling in his direction, she looks up at her father and trembles all over. “This is my stage, and we’re all in the dark together. So it’s not as scary.”

“I can see that.” He sweeps her up and buries his face in the hollow where her neck and shoulders meet, inhaling deep enough to make his chest expand. “This is so amazing.” Pulling back, he searches her eyes. “How silly of Daddy not to realize this was the stage you would shine brightest on? Oh, and I got these—” He brings the crumpled bouquet up. “For you.”

“Really?” She chokes out an excited gasp. “I didn’t even dance yet! I don’t deserve the flowers until after.”

“Nuh uh.” He plops a noisy kiss on her cheek. “You deserve flowers all the time. You never, ever have to earn them, baby. That’s not how this works. But…” He lowers into a crouch and sets her on her feet. “If you want me to hold them while you dance, I can do that. Or if you don’t even want to dance, that would be okay, too.”

“Fifi says I’m only allowed to dance if I want to. Never cos someone says I have to.”

Smirking, he peeks across at me and drops his gaze to my legs. To my hips. My stomach. Then back up to my eyes.

“Mmhm.” He looks back at her. “Fifi is usually right about all the important stuff. And this one… dancing…?” He tucks the same strands of hair I already tried to tidy. “This is something you should only do if your heart wants you to, baby. Only when you want to. And since I know your tummy sometimes feels funny when you think about this, but you don’t say so out loud, I want you to know that Mom would feel the same way.”

“Really?” She hugs her flowers tight against her chest. “She wouldn’t be mad if I didn’t want to dance?”

He cups her jaw. “Back when she was sick, she would get mad about that sort of stuff. She said those things because she was sick. But she’s not sick anymore, is she?”

She jerkily shakes her head.

“Exactly. So that means she would say the real things now. The truthful things. And I know she’d be proud of you for even trying.” He lowers his hand and gently taps her belly. “How does your tummy feel being on this stage? Do you feel nervous?”

Her sweet eyes shift across to her rapt audience. “A little bit nervous.”

“Good nervous?” he wonders. “Or bad nervous?”

“Good nervous. I’m gonna show you the recital we made up, Daddy.” She wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes tight. Extra tight. Groaning, grunting, harrumphing tight. Then she steps back and grins brighter than every flickering light we brought up here. “Me and Fifi practiced a bunch. And I saved you a seat in the front row.”

He glances back to the gap between Aubree and Cato. Then forward to me… standing on the outside. All alone. In an outfit I haven’t worn for an audience in… I don’t even know how long.

Exhaling a happy breath, he brings his eyes back to Mia and the poor bouquet crushed in her arms. “Can I just…” He carefully plucks a single purple lily from the bunch and trades it for a kiss on her cheek. “All the rest are for you, baby. But this one is for Fifi.”

Straightening his legs and broadening his chest, he stares down at his feet and meanders my way. Nervous. Unsure. Shaking. He stops close enough that his aftershave pulses in the air and tickles the base of my lungs. Finally, he brings his honeycomb stare up and gulps. “I’m sorry for being late. We got caught up with that case, and then…” He trails off and shrugs. “Had to run some errands.”

I accept the lily with trembling hands, choking out a strangled, whimpering exhale when I notice the string tied around the stem, and a stunning ring tied to the string.

“It’s not public,” he murmurs only loud enough for me to hear. “Because no one except Arch knows what I’ve just handed you. It’s not weird, because there isn’t a single fucking doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough for you. And the ring isn’t flashy and obnoxious, even though I know you’d rock a massive five-carat diamond and make it look almost as beautiful as you.” He inches closer and presses a delicate kiss to the corner of my lips. “I love you, Sera. I’m gonna keep loving you, and someday, if I’m really, really lucky, you’ll look at that ring and… ya know…” His cheeks glow a charming pink. “Put it on your finger. Doesn’t have to be today. Doesn’t have to be this week or this year. But eventually, you might decide you wanna make a family with me and Moo, and when that happens, you could put it on. When you do, I’ll start planning whatever wedding you like. Wherever. Whenever. So long as you, me, and Moo are there, that’s all I need.” He drops his hand to my hip and smiles that wolfish, taunting, teasing smile I get to witness on the good days. The days when the world isn’t so heavy on his shoulders. Then he lowers it and squeezes. “I also want it known I’m using every ounce of willpower I possess to not say inappropriate things about this outfit. I’m trying to keep this a family-friendly, wholesome as hell moment. But I’m also looking at this leotard and doing dirty, dirty things to you in my mind.”

“It was wholesome. For a minute, anyway.” I press my palm to the center of his chest and steer him back until his butt touches his chair. Laying my lily across his lap and a kiss on his lips, I pretend not to notice Minka’s face just a foot to my left. Or Cato’s leering stare on my right. “No touching the dancers, Mr. Fletcher.” Straightening my back, I bathe in the energy swelling in my blood and slide his ring onto my finger.

His eyes drop to the movement. His pulse thunders against the side of his neck.