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Frederick had been a stick in the mud at parties—the few he’d taken me to. And I’d been focused so long on making enough money that I didn’t get to dance with partners. I didn’t get to dance for fun.
We were limited on room, but he spun me away from the counter and the table. When he kicked a leg out with me on the right beat, I threw my head back, my laughter filling the room. The kids cheered.
Too soon, the song was finished, ready to repeat again, but he slowed until he released me.
I puffed loose strands out of my face. “You’re full of surprises.”
“Mama used to play around and dance with me before motherhood tapped her out.” He rolled a shoulder, his eyes brighter, but his smile was almost shy. “And a teenage boy will do a lot to impress a girl.”
“Swing dance did it, huh?”
“My teen crush loved doing the jitterbug at street dances but eventually dumped me for the lead in the senior play. Now they have four kids, and she teaches drama in Billings.” He pushed a hand through his hair, leaving it adorably and sexily ruffled. I waited for him to straighten it. “I haven’t danced like that for over twenty years.”
I put my hand on my chest. “Overtwenty years? How long ago was high school?”
The side of his mouth tipped further up. “I turned forty last year.”
“Well, you still got it.” In all the best ways. I meant on the dance floor, but the way his gaze heated, I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Did you dance with Mommy like that?” Ivy asked.
Grayson blinked his big eyes, and Cody grew so still, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room.
“No. Your mom didn’t dance a lot.”
I hated for this moment of fun to turn dreary. Their mom hadn’t been gone long, and it seemed like they were stuffing away her memories, afraid of the pain. Grief was complex, but hiding from it never helped.
“But she did dance?” I pressed, looking from a solemn Cody to equally serious kids. Was I making them scratch at a fresh wound in a failed attempt to cheer them up?
Ivy nodded, and Grayson rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if it’d jog a recollection loose.
“She didn’t like country music or two-stepping...” Cody gestured to where my phone continued to stream “In the Mood.” His gaze narrowed, but not from wishing I dropped the subject. More like he was trying to explain his late wife. “She wasn’t a fan of organized dance.”
The kids didn’t add any information, and the mood threatened to veer into somber territory. I should butt out, but I had to change it. They had to have good memories of her that didn’t hurt as bad as they used to. “How old was she?”
He clenched his jaw. “She would’ve turned forty this December.”
Forty. Seven years older than me. “Hmm.” I went to my phone and scrolled through my list until a song jumped out. I recalled the playlist I put it in and selected that. “Did she dance more like this?”
As the top hit of a boy band filled the room, I swiveled my hips like I was in the club, keeping it as unsuggestive as possible in front of the kids, and waved my arms in the air.
The hint of Cody’s smile was back. Success! “Close.”
“Oh, yeah!” Grayson skittered to the middle of the floor. “She used to do this.” He made a wave with his arms like me and moved his head around while wiggling his hips. I did the same. Ivy joined us, doing her usual jump and adding her arms.
Cody’s smile grew bigger, and he stepped in, mimicking his son. Delighted I possessed the skills to help them enjoy a memory, I continued dancing. Soon, our laughter and giggles mingled with the music. We danced for at least four songs when Ivy dramatically collapsed on the floor. Cody and Grayson stopped, but they were both still smiling.
“I need water,” Ivy croaked.
I shut the music off and held my hands out to help her up. “Let’s get you some before you turn to dust. We need lunch too.”
Cody didn’t disappear and leave it to me to get water and fix sandwiches for lunch. He was at my shoulder, putting turkey on bread, while I filled three glasses of milk to go with their water. The kids piled on the stools on the other side of the island that separated the dining area from the kitchen.
“Do you like mayo?” he asked.
“Ick. No.”
“Mommy didn’t like mayo either,” Grayson said, lifting the top of his sandwich to check for mayo. Satisfied his dad had left it off, he nodded. Whether he liked it or not, he must have needed to feel closer to his mom today.
