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Paige ordered the glazed salmon and he opted for chipotle mac and cheese. After all, when in Texas.
“If that food is half as good as the description, we’re going to be in for a treat.” Paige placed the napkin across her lap. He had to agree.
For the next little while they chatted about everything from his first day at hockey camp when he met Wayne Gretzky and almost forgot how to skate, to her first barrel racing win—he should have known she was a champion in more ways than in his heart. From there they moved on to how he landed his current job with the Comets and Paige’s excitement over an upcoming competition for the winery.
He cut into his mac and cheese at the same time Paige sliced into her salmon. One bite and he didn’t know who had groaned louder with delight.
“Oh, wow. This is fantastic.” Paige waved a fork at him.
“Mine too.” He scooped up the next morsel with gusto. “So far so good.”
“You’re batting a thousand, Mr. Dupree.”
That made him smile. He’d thought they were having a great time too, but hearing her say so made him want to do a jig.
“Oh,” Paige perked up at the sound of a guitar note, “sounds like they’re getting ready to start.”
The first song was the “Girl from Ipanema.” Not what he’d expected, but the way Paige swayed in her seat, he’d guess she was pleased. The next tune was one he recognized from Carole King sung by too many artists to remember, and when Paige began to sway in her seat once again, he reached across the table for her hand. “May I have this dance?”
Daniel’s outstretched hand lingered in front of her for a moment before good sense kicked in and Paige took hold of it. A smile teased at his lips, and his eyes sparkled with delight. Not since her prom could she remember a date who willingly—or without extreme prodding—set foot on a dance floor.
She rose and returned the smile. “I’d like that.”
His hand on her lower back, he guided her through the narrow path between tables. At the dance floor, the hand that had rested along her back, nudged her around and into the fold of his arms. His other hand folded around hers and resting her other hand on his shoulder, she marveled at how natural it felt to be standing with him like this.
Another couple made their way onto the floor. With unexpected ease, Daniel held her a fraction closer and maneuvered her around the growing number of dancers. She had to tell her feet to keep moving and resist the urge to nestle into his shoulder and simply enjoy the nearness of him. They were as intimate as they’d ever been, and yet, they were in a room full of strangers.
As the musicians picked up the beat for the chorus, Daniel took a step in retreat and twirled her in place, seamlessly bringing her back into his arms.
“Wow. Who knew Fred Astaire was alive and well and visiting Texas.”
A slow chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but in some ways, dancing isn’t that different from ice hockey.”
“I was just on an ice rink with you. Trust me when I say it’s very different.”
That made him chuckle a little harder. “It’s all about balance, using your center of gravity, and yes, a sense of rhythm. The game has a rhythm to it.”
“Rhythm? Hockey?” She tried her best not to laugh at the idea.
“Think about it. What do my fellow teammates do on skates? How do they move? They glide, almost sway. They’re moving forward, one foot after the other, in synchronization like a metronome. You could almost imagine the players breaking into a dance routine.”
“Okay,” she shook her head, “I don’t think we watch the same hockey games.”
“Sure we do.” He spun her about on the floor. “The puck just shot past me so I had to turn.” Holding her a fraction closer they crossed the floor, one foot sliding in front of the other. “And now I have to beat out the next guy to reach the puck.” Taking a step back, he twirled her the way he had when they first reached the floor. “Now the defensemen are trying to stop me from shooting at the goal, but with a little fancy footwork I’ll shoot and score. Balance and rhythm dictate how I move. Keeps me on my feet.”
“That might be the most creative analogy in reference to dancing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was.” Each time they were together, she peeled back another layer of this complicated man. And each time, there was something more interesting underneath than the layer before. How could she ever grow tired of a man like this?
“Once,” he continued, “I had a coach who suggested ballroom dancing to help improve our performance on the ice. I was the only one who tried it.”
“Oh, your teammates must have had a field day with that.”
His smile widened and his head bobbed up and down. “They kept hanging tiaras in my locker.”
She couldn’t stop from letting out a short laugh. She could imagine the entire scenario. What was that old adage;what separates the men from the boys is the price of their toys. “I’d bet you would look fetching with a tiara on.”
