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The kid inclined his chin, his dark eyes flickering with something that could be interest…or could be plans for choking her for asking him to dance. “All right.”
“Great.” Mary Paige held out her hand, praying she wouldn’t tremble. Inside her stomach rocked because she really didn’t want to dance, but she damn sure wasn’t going to stand by while everyone treated these kids like a circus act. If Malcolm wanted community, someone had to reach out. Might as well be the woman he’d talked into being his Spirit of Christmas. It was sorta in her contract that she “get down on it.”
“I’m Mary Paige.”
“I’m Darian.”
He didn’t say anything else. Merely moved to the dance floor, where a few of the younger crowd twisted and wove, dangling drinks from their hands as they did their best to do the song justice.
When they reached the floor, Darian started moving, his body fluid and graceful. He looked cool as he slid on the floor, hips loose and pants miraculously staying up. Mary Paige channeled her inner Chaka Khan and let her body move. She wasn’t a great dancer, but she had moves in her repertoire that said, “I ain’t no slacker.”
Darian smiled as she lifted her arms above her head, executing a perfect dip with just the right amount of wiggle.
“You good,” he said, appreciation in his eyes for the dorky lady with surprising rhythm. Okay, she tripped often and sometimes ended up on her rump, but she could shake a leg, butt, or shoulder when called upon.
“Try and keep up,” she teased as she gave him her back and dipped her shoulders, allowing her backside to shimmy toward the floor before turning and gyrating up to near standing.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” Darian said, snapping his fingers, his head bobbing with the beat.
Mary Paige laughed at herself, and for the second time that night she felt good about what she was doing. It wasn’t the tilt-a-whirl with Brennan, but it felt satisfying to toss the unspoken rules of social behavior out the window. Darian’s velvety laughter washed over the crowd, most of whom allowed themselves to also shed their inhibitions. Seconds later the dance floor was more than half filled with shaking, shimmying and some out-and-out white-boy dancing but all in good fun. No one looked uncomfortable.
Malcolm and Judy bobbed by, each doing the proverbial shoulder dip and shuffle that lacked in style but proved their enthusiasm. Malcolm gave her a knowing smile she took to mean thank-you.
By the time the song ended, and the band had launched into a zydeco-sounding version of “Brick House” several of the other members of the Hope and Grace House were on the floor, partnering with young women in short dresses and older women wearing more matronly dresses replete with sequined jackets and silver hair. All were smiling and the party finally felt festive.
Mary Paige grabbed Darian’s hands and pulled him toward Creighton, who had been standing on the fringes watching with affected boredom. “Do me a favor and dance with my friend Creighton.”
Creighton looked like she might take off at a full sprint. “Huh?”
“Ain’t no favor.” Darian said smoothly.
Creighton’s mouth snapped closed, and a little smile twitched at her lips. She moved off with Darian, who, even though he was a good eight or nine years younger than Creighton, was good-looking and a skilled enough dancer to make a woman feel flattered.
Mary Paige fanned herself and headed toward the bar for a ginger ale. She’d downed the first itty-bitty cup and was working on a refill when Brennan appeared at her side.
“Well, you really are Miss Merry Sunshine, aren’t you?”
“Figure your family is paying me to knit rainbows and crap sunshine. Have to earn my pay.”
“I see you even made yourself feel better about Creighton, too.”
She looked hard at him. “Maybe you should make Creighton feel better about Creighton.”
“Maybe you should climb off your high horse and stop casting judgment on others. You don’t know anything about me and Creighton.” His words were angry, and she wondered if she’d ever thought he had any inkling of kindness in his ice-water veins.
“No, I don’t. And that’s a good thing to remember.”
For a moment they were both silent—Mary Paige reaffirming in her mind she needed to stay away from a man who treated people like tools, and Brennan thinking…well, she didn’t know what he was thinking. And wished she didn’t care.
“Your shareholders and moneybag friends aren’t looking too uncomfortable now.” She jerked her head toward the dance floor, still angry, wanting to rub his nose in his mistaken truth.
His gaze found hers, and in his eyes she saw a flash of admiration before he shuttered his emotion. “Yes, a relief. Look, I hope you realize I have nothing against helping a bunch of kids from the streets, but this isn’t the place to drag them in and make them trot around like a ring of ponies.”
“You think that’s what your grandfather intended? To parade them about and make them feel out of place so he could feel good about himself?” Disbelief shadowed the irritation in her voice. Brennan obviously couldn’t see the forest for his big-ass ego and misplaced idea of his grandfather’s objective.
“Of course not, but others might view it as such. The goal tonight is to raise money, not change the landscape of the city by forcing people to—”
“Do you hear yourself?” She glared at him. She hadn’t felt so angry, so out of her league in understanding a person, in so long. How could he not see getting one’s hands dirty was the best way to bring about change? “Writing a check is all well and good, but it’s not enough. Changing the world, creating a better place for all God’s creatures, only happens when people’s hearts are changed.”
