Page 63 of Two-Step
My chuckle evaporates. I should not be calling herchèreor any other endearment. She’s one ofNonc’sstudents, she’s an actor, and she’s not someone I should be flirting with.
“Let’s focus on dancing. We’ll start with something slow, okay?”
Her brows lower. “Really slow.”
“I have just the thing,” I promise, taking out my phone. I’ve loaded a playlist with some practice songs. I select “Matilda” by Cookie & The Cupcakes.
Iris’s face reads like a book, and suspicion is written all over it. “This isn’t Cajun music.”
I shake my head and tease her. “No fooling you. It’s Swamp Pop.”
“But I need to learn to Cajun Dance. Why are we listening to this?”
“Because the tempo’s right for our first try.” Then I shrug. “Besides, I thought you’d like it better.”
Her expression clears. In fact, she looks surprised. “I do like it better.”
She slips easily into the Two-Step in time with the song. When Cookie sings,I want my baby back again,I take her hands, signaling the turn, and we move though it slowly, and if I do say so myself, flawlessly.
“That’s it.” Excitement pitches my voice. “That was perfect.”
Iris gazes up at me in stunned surprise. “I did it!”
I squeeze her hands. “You did it!”
“Let’s do it again,” she says, sounding breathless.
I can’t help but laugh. But we do it again. And again.
“Now you can tell your friends you spent your Friday night two-stepping in Louisiana.”
Without missing a beat, Iris looks over her shoulder. “Hey. Sally. Ramon. I spent my Friday night two-stepping in Louisiana.”
The two of them—whom she’s clearly disturbed mid-ogle—look at us like we are crazy, and I laugh again. Iris is so damn funny.
“I didn’t mean them,” I say, chuckling.
She shrugs. “They’re my closest friends.”
This doesn’t surprise me. They’re always with her, but something about the wistful look in her eyes makes me curious.
“But I’m sure you have lots of friends.” She’d have to. She’s warm. Funny. Thoughtful. Generous. She must be surrounded by people who are crazy about her.
But Iris wrinkles her nose. “I mean, I have friends on set and friends from the show, but I don’t have a lot of time to socialize.”
Naturally. She probably works all the time. “I’m sure your work keeps you busy.”
Her eyes pinch, but she says nothing.
The song switches to “Sassy Drunk” by Horace Trahan, which is a little faster, but she doesn’t falter, so we move with it.
“What? The jobdoesn’tkeep you busy?” I’m not sure why I’m asking. I shouldn’t be curious about her, but I am.
She bunches her lips to the side, considering my question. “Some days are longer than others, but I’m on a pretty strict schedule after hours.”
This makes me frown. “Like how?”
“Well, exercising, going over my lines, meeting with my manager…” She trails off, but I swear she grimaced a little on that last one. Her manager. The notorious Moira. “Besides, she doesn’t really like it when I go out and stuff.”
