Page 57 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘Side, back, forward, and turn,’ he instructed as they moved, his breath warm against her ear. ‘Then repeat.’

Molly concentrated on the pattern, her logical mind analytic­ally breaking down the sequence even as her body attempted to execute it. The first few measures went smoothly enough, building her confidence. Then came a more complex turn, and her foot landed squarely on Jack’s boot.

‘Sorry!’ she gasped, mortification heating her cheeks.

To her relief, he didn’t wince or pull away. Instead, a genuine smile transformed his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way she’d rarely witnessed.

‘Could’ve been worse,’ he assured her. ‘At least you’re wearing delicate city boots tonight instead of those thick hikers.’

His easy response dissolved her embarrassment, allowing her to laugh at herself as they resumed the pattern. The square had grown more crowded now, residents and visitors alike joining the festivities. They navigated through the throng, Jack subtly guiding them away from the more enthusiastic dancers whose movements required considerable clearance.

Molly gradually relaxed into it, allowing her natural rhythm to surface. The steps pattern became easier as they moved, though occasional variations introduced by the more traditional dancers still caught her by surprise. Jack’s steady presence anchored her through these moments of uncertainty, his hand warm and secure at her waist.

As the tempo swelled, the dancers increased their pace slightly. Caught up in the joy of the moment, Molly attempted a more ambitious turn than she’d managed previously. Her foot caught on an uneven cobblestone, sending her stumbling directly toward a white-haired man dancing nearby.

Before disaster could strike, Jack’s arm tightened around her waist, smoothly pulling her back against his chest and away from collision. For a breathless moment, they stood pressed together, her back to his front, his arm a solid band around her middle. The older man continued dancing, blissfully unaware of the near miss.

‘That was close,’ Jack murmured, his voice near enough that she felt the rumble of it against her back. ‘Old Gerry might have had heart failure.’

The absurdity of it; her clumsiness, his rescue, the oblivious Gerry, bubbled up into unexpected laughter. Still connected, they turned to face each other, their shared mirth creating an intimacy that transcended physical proximity. Molly couldn’t remember when she had last laughed so freely.

‘I warned you I was terrible,’ she reminded him, smiling.

‘You did,’ he agreed, his eyes still bright with amusement. ‘But you neglected to mention you were dangerous too.’

They resumed their dance, now more comfortable with each other’s movements. As they turned, Molly caught sight of Eva watching them with undisguised delight as she moved through the crowd with her own dancing partner, a man Molly didn’t recognize. When their eyes met, Eva raised her eyebrows significantly, before turning away with a satisfied smile.

Across the square, she saw Patrick sitting at a small table near the pub entrance, a mug of something steaming cradled between his weathered hands. Despite the chill that had driven many older residents indoors, he remained outside, wrapped in a thick wool sweater, his cane hooked over the back of his chair. His gaze rested on his nephew with quiet satisfaction, a smile softening his lined face as he observed proceedings.

When Jack turned them again, following the circular pattern of the dance, Molly noticed several other locals watching with varying degrees of subtlety.

Tommy the baker nudged his wife and nodded in their direction, while another woman Molly recognized from the café smiled as she and her husband whirled by. The attention wasn’t unfriendly – if anything, it felt approving – but it underscored for Molly how quickly she had become entwined in the village’s collective awareness.

‘Everyone’s watching us, I think,’ she murmured, uncertain whether to be amused or self-conscious.

‘Let them.’ Jack’s expression shifted to resignation tinged with humor. ‘Small village. Entertainment options are limited.’

‘Is that all we are? Entertainment?’ she challenged lightly.

His eyes met hers, suddenly serious despite his light tone. ‘I think we both know we’re far more interesting than that.’

Chapter 30

Molly’s body tingled but, before she could respond, the lead singer’s voice called out across the square: ‘We’ll slow things down a bit now, folks. Next one’s an original – a tribute to our little corner of the world.’

The first notes of a gentler, more contemporary melody rose into the night air, the guitar introducing a theme that the fiddle soon echoed with gorgeous melancholy.

Around them, some dancers departed while others moved closer together, adjusting their pace to the more intimate rhythm.

Jack’s eyes found hers, a question in their depths as the music invited a different kind of dance. The space between them suddenly felt charged with possibility, the next moment balanced on the edge of decision.

‘Another?’ he asked simply, his hand still holding hers.

‘Yes,’ Molly replied simply, the word carrying more significance than its brevity suggested.

The crowd around them had thinned as dancers rejected the more modern number for refreshments or conversation, leaving a lot more space on the cobblestones.

Jack’s hand shifted at her waist, drawing her slightly closer as the tempo of the song established itself. Unlike the structured pattern of the traditional ballads, this one required no special steps or memorized sequences. His touch was light but certain, guiding without commanding, and Molly found herself relaxing into the gentle sway that carried them in small circles beneath the canopy of twinkling lights. The band settled further into the melody, their instruments finding a harmonious balance that allowed the lead singer’s voice to emerge – strong and slightly husky, with that distinctive Tipperary lilt in every phrase.