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Chapter Nineteen
Gina
The Franklin Chamber of Commerce hosts the annual Christmas parade followed by a dance at the big red barn every year about mid-December.
This is where I ask suitor number three to meet me. Norman Fells turned out to be a no-go, Will Davenport flew the coop, and next in line was a man named Joel Miller. I know little about him other than he’s from Texas and owns property on a lake. My father seems to favor him, though I’m not sure this is a good sign.
The barn is crowded by the time I arrive, late on account that Daddy had a rough day. I wasn't going to show at all, but Mona called and agreed to sit with him so I could at least make an appearance. The man did come all the way from Texas, and the barn dance is usually one of my favorite events of the year. Not so much this year. It’s very likely Daddy’s last Christmas, and that has sucked all the joy out of the season.
I'm wearing a red sleeveless dress with a wide black belt to give the illusion of being put together, when really I wanted to call the whole thing off. The night is cold, and the barn is drafty, but the stars are bright, and somewhere inside is a man that has come just for me, so I push open the doors and step inside. In a sea of people, I see his tanned face and his white cowboy hat almost instantly.
I don't know how I know it's him, except that he's the only person in the crowd I can't place. This, and there's the gut feeling that he just might be exactly what I'm looking for. It’s a strange feeling, but the moment I spot him,I just know. There’s something about him. Something different from the men around here.
He’s the type of man who might look twenty when he’s thirty. He’s slim, with a large build, broad shoulders. Cinnamon-colored hair, clean shaven. Clothes fit him as if he goes to a tailor. His shirt is starched and pressed, his denim jeans the same.
He looks a little nervous.
I pace the long expanse of the dance floor, looking for the best place to stand so I can watch him. I stop near an interior door, the one closest to the stage, which puts me in the perfect position.
There's a swing band playing, and the dance floor is crammed.
Emily Davies passes him and his eyes follow her closely. She notices. He grins and sort of tips his hat in this funny way. Emily is pretty. Boring as hell, and not too bright, but he wouldn't find that out until later, and maybe, like most men, he wouldn't care.
Judging by the way his eyes travel up and down her body, cataloging every inch, I know I'm right. I get that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sort of defeat that never feels good.All right, stranger. Show me something,I wanted to say. And I guess he does. He stares at her as though she is his greatest Christmas present. I wait for him to make a move, but he doesn't.
Instead, he turns, and his eyes lock with mine as though he knew I'd be standing just across the room the entire time. He smiles at me. It's the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on a man, an expression that says,“Where have you been my whole life?”
But maybe that's just wishful thinking.
Either way, I’ve seen that look on men's faces plenty of times before.
I feel a warm glow in my belly as he crosses the dance floor, coming toward me. The kind that tells me I’m going to eat him alive.
I'm working out what to say when he says my name. “Gina, is it?”
I nod, rather sheepishly.
“I'm Joel.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. Playing shy, I avoid meeting his gaze directly.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“I'm glad you could make it,” he tells me, shifting so that I am forced to look at him. He smiles again, and it has a little more mischief to it.
His eyes are light blue, almost translucent. Not so easy to read. There’s a flash of recognition that makes my heart jump, though I can’t put my finger on just what it is.
He looks across the room, the corners of his mouth turned upward. “Dance with me.”
I don't even get the chance to answer. He simply takes me by the hand and leads me onto the dance floor.
The music changes, and the lights fade, and he settles into an exaggerated Southern twirl.
I love it, though I'm surprised to be dancing with someone who leads so well. Not someone my own age, anyway.
“I thought you were going to turn me down,” he says. “I was worried maybe you couldn't dance.”
“I didn't want to be rude.”
He smiles, a wicked smile. “That's sweet of you, but better to be rude than to be easy.”
