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Carter yawns then adjusts his legs so that one knee is now touching mine. Almost immediately, a stink bug lands on his pants where his legs meet mine. I flick it off but my hand remains on him – kind of resting, kind of squeezing.
My eyes follow his, down to where my hand is, then he meets mine again.
“So what’s your verdict on the day?” he asks.
“It was great.” I smile. As I say it, I realize just how much I mean it.
“What was your favorite part?”
I have to think about that one. By the time I’ve rambled through my answer, Carter has moved all the way up to my end of the sofa. I like how our limbs and hands keep touching.
The alarm I set to remind us of dance class blares. His face falls and I feel just as disappointed as the look he gives me. I don’t want to leave this comfy spot.
He gets up and offers me a hand. I take it, pull on it to rise and we set off for our class without letting go.
Our hands are still linked when the ballroom class is called to attention. The instructor’s exuberant voice directs us to practice a box pattern individually. The men step forward and the women have to step back.
Carter and I are the first to ace the box pattern, and the instructor is pleased. He abandons the stragglers briefly to give us more instruction.
“Wonderful, fabulous posture, you two. Now face each other.”
We do.
“Now let him raise his left hand, and you darling, meet it with your right.”
Our hands find each other again.
“Now let him put his right hand against your shoulder blade, my dear. This way he can lead and steer the dance, and you must allow him.”
Carter’s big palm spreads over my shoulder blade. I lean back into him and wish I didn’t have on such a thick sweatshirt.
“I’ll need you both to rip your eyes away from each other. Look over her right shoulder, and she’ll do the same to yours. Perfect, and remember the posture.”
I try to elongate my neck and keep a straight spine. When I feel his fingers rub small circles into my back, it’s jelly again. My head whips towards his.
I wonder if I missed something the instructor said. I’m quickly corrected.
“No, this will distract her and now she is drowning in your eyes again. Keep your hand firm on her blade and eyes where I told you. Now dance.”
Carter begins to glide us across the floor as the instructor counts us on. His hands are firm and I let myself melt into the dance. When the instructor turns back to the other partners, he drops his hand down to my waist.
“That’s not my shoulder blade.” My gaze is still trained over his right shoulder.
“I know, but the small of your back feels better.”
I glance at him and when our eyes meet we pause for a second. My heart bounces around in that short space. I squeeze his hand and nod.
The instructor is back in our vicinity.
“Look at this synchronicity. I didn’t even tell you to start waltzing in circles but look at you. Your feet were made to dance together. I see why you married her.”
I bite my tongue. At the end of the class, we promise we’ll be back and head out into the night air.
25
CARTER
Jada takes my hand again as we walk out of the dance class and by now it almost feels normal to share this kind of affection. We did just spend an hour and half touching, holding, and caressing each other at the behest of the dance instructor, so I guess it’s only natural that the physical barriers between us are being erased. Not to mention the afternoon by the fireplace.
