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She smiles, completely oblivious to the fucking war going on inside me, and puts her hand in mine, the drinks totally forgotten.

I pull her closer, my free hand settling on her waist as we start to sway.

She looks up at me, dark brown eyes sparkling and full lips curved into a smile, her warm body pressed against mine.

Abso-fucking-lutely breathtaking.

I swallow and pull her a little closer until her head rests against my chest because if I keep looking at her, I’m going to lose this fucking battle and taste those lips.

She has no fucking clue that she’s the girl in that story and I’m that damned tree.

The music changes into something rhythmic and happy, the beat picking up so fast that Nora’s head snaps toward the speakers.

“Tarantella!”

Suddenly Chiara is beside us, and Nora lets go of me to grab her hand. The two of them run toward a startled Lexy, hook their arms through hers and drag her onto the dance floor before she can protest.

Nora and Chiara immediately fall into the rhythm like they’ve done this a thousand times, arms lifting and hands moving with the music as their feet step and cross quickly over the sand. They circle each other, skirts swaying around their legs, laughing while Lexy tries and completely fucking fails to copy them.

Nora grabs her hands and shows her again, slower this time, but Lexy gets about three steps in before she messes it up and Nora throws her head back laughing.

The warmth spreading through my chest has nothing to do with the August night.

I’ve read thousands of romances and even more love poems. I thought I understood what all those authors were trying to say, but maybe reading about something and feeling it are two completely different things because...

Fuck.

She takes my breath away.

Barefoot in the sand, white dress moving around her legs, dark hair wild in the breeze, cheeks flushed as she laughs so hard she can barely keep dancing.

Then her eyes come up and find mine.

An evil little smirk forms on those full lips.

Oh no.

Two seconds later, she’s in front of me, grabbing my hand.

“No.”

“Come on, Grumpy!”

“Nora.”

She pulls.

I let her.

Because that smile...

Yeah. I’d probably do just about anything for that fucking smile.

She shows me the steps, exaggerating them while I mimic her movements, and it doesn’t take long before I get the gist of it.

I usually avoid this shit. Large crowds, loud music, bodies too close, bumping and pressing into each other. Usually it’s enough to make me want to find the nearest exit, but my eyes stay glued to hers as we move and spin in circles, and the way she moves her hands and feet has me mesmerised.

There have to be eighty, maybe a hundred people on this dance floor.