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The San Francisco skyline sprawling along the eastern wall. An arch of silver and red balloons before a black-velvet drop cloth.
Save for a few very minor details—such as a full bar—it was an exact replica of the prom they hadn’t attended together.
“I had to recreate it from what I could find in old yearbook photos,” Samuel said, leading her toward the dance floor.
As they approached, she began to recognize some of the faces among the gown and tuxedo-clad crowd already populating the gymnasium.
Mason, very James Bond in all black, gave her a thumbs-up behind the back of a woman who could have fallen straight off fashion runway.
Charlotte, conspicuously pretending not to watch Mason and his date as she leaned in to say something to the bar attendant.
Marlowe and her fiancé, Neil, who lingered near the bar’s other end.
An assortment of other friends and colleagues that she suspected Kassidy would be joining at some point in the evening.
Samuel paused when they were directly under the disco ball scattering fractured lights over the walls and wood floor of the basketball court.
“Dance?” he asked.
“First dance?” she teased. “Or last dance.”
Samuel stepped closer, drawing her into him with his hand on her lower back. Mindful of the sling, she melted into him. Arms around his waist. Cheek against his chest. His chin resting atop her head like an anchor. A single point that solidified her place in the world.
“No dance will ever be our last dance, Arlie Banks,” he said.
With the galaxy of lights moving over and around them and the secret music of his heartbeat in her ear, Arlie knew it was true.
