Page 47 of This Could be Love

“And you put up the swing for your future kids?” I joked.

Chip’s expression shifted, and the smile that appeared a fewseconds later was fake. He took a sip of his beer. Then he rapped his knuckles on the railing twice and walked off.

Baffled, I watched him go. “Did I…say something wrong?”

“No,” Vince mumbled. “Sometimes you can’t figure him out.”

He’s not the only one, I thought spontaneously, and felt a surge of courage. “Did you really want to come here today?”

He tilted his head in my direction and looked at me but didn’t say anything. His look was so intense that once again I had to catch my breath.

“Wanna dance?”

Yes.

“Okay.”

A tiny smile flitted across his face before he held out his hand. I stared at it for a second and once again noticed the tiny tattoo on the underside of his wrist. A turtle? Could that be? I put my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the gentle pressure of his fingers. They were rough and calloused. My knees trembled, and for a split second I was afraid they would sink out from under me. But then he started to move, lightly pulling me with him. My heart raced as I followed him onto the dance floor. A thousand thoughts flashed through my head at the same time. That it had been ages since I had danced with anyone. That it was a stupid idea to do it withhimof all people. That I didn’t want to dance with anyone herebuthim. That I didn’t know the song. That it was way too slow. That… I didn’t get any farther, because we were already standing in the middle of everyone else. Most of them werein twos or had moved closer together. We exchanged glances, but unlike me, he seemed completely relaxed. Without taking his eyes off me, he grabbed my hands and brought them to his neck. Slowly and carefully, as if he wanted to give me the chance to change my mind. But I let it happen, feeling his upper body against mine as I intertwined my fingers. As he tried to wrap his hands around my waist, he brushed a piece of bare skin on my back. He flinched almost imperceptibly, as if he hadn’t realized how low-cut the back of the dress really was. We started to move to the slow reggae beat.

“I don’t know this song at all,” I said, just to fill the awkward silence.

“It’s called ‘Love I.’ It’s by a local band.”

His breath brushed across my cheek. Lemony. Like the iced tea he’d been drinking.

“I wouldn’t have thought you liked to dance.”

And so well, I added to myself. He had rhythm and moved effortlessly.

“Why not?”

“No idea. Probably thanks to Laurie saying you didn’t like parties.”

“Partieswith a lot of peoplearen’t my thing. I’d rather have three close friends around than”—he took in the crowd—“thirty who don’t even know when my birthday is.”

“When is your birthday?”

“September 7th.”

“September 7th?!”

He looked at me quizzically.

“That’s the finale of the US Open!”

“Well, then you’ll remember.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, and felt a little stab knowing that I wouldn’t be here by then. In a little over three weeks, I’d be flying to New York.

His hand slid a little bit lower, and this most likely unintentional movement brought me back to the here and now.

“What kind of tattoo do you have on your wrist?”

He held it out for me to see. It was, in fact, a turtle, or, well, a sea turtle. Hardly any bigger than a coin.

“Is this your…auma, guardian spirit?”

Vince began to laugh but not out of spite. He was truly amused. “No, I don’t have any Hawaiian ancestry. I just like sea turtles.”