Page 34 of Matchmaking On The Menu
She grins. “I’ll take that risk.”
Apparently, so will I.
“You can blame me tomorrow,” she says, already pulling me forward. “Tonight, you’re having fun.”
We pass a small cluster of people just off to the side. Luke is in the center, holding a cider like he’s hosting a talk show.
“I loooooove the harvest festival,” he declares to a group of confused strangers.
One of them nods slowly, trying to be polite. Another looks like they’re hoping to get airlifted out of there.
“Sir,” someone says carefully, “are you… okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” Luke replies, delighted.
I grab Shelly’s arm and steer us away before he can rope us into his antics.
As we enter the tent, we step into a different world. A warmer, softer world, where the light makes everything look a little more magical than it actually is.
Loosely draped fabric hangs from the ceiling, catching the glow of string lights and lanterns, shadows shifting with the sway of bodies moving to the music. It’s louder in here, the bass settling with a low, steady, insistent rhythm trying to sync itself with my pulse.
People are everywhere.
Masks, cloaks, feathers, sequins… so many sequins. Like glitter grew up, got a personality, and decided to be obnoxious about it, except here it catches the light just right, shimmering instead of screaming.
For once, I’m not the most overdressed person in the room.
Shelly’s grinning, already scanning the crowd like she’s about to make several bad decisions and enjoy every single one of them. “You look incredible, so if you don’t let loose, I’m revoking your fun privileges.”
“I don’t remember giving you that authority.”
“You didn’t. I took it.”
Before I can argue, she grabs my hand and pulls me to the center of the tent, straight into the thick of it. She starts moving her body, and unless I want to look awkward, I have to do the same. At first, it’s silly, more laughter than movement as we bump into each other and try to find the rhythm somewhere between the music and the lingering buzz of cider. Shelly throws her head back, completely unbothered, spinning me out like I agreed to this, which I very much did not. I do it anyway, though.
Because it’s easier than resisting. Okay, okay, because it’s fun.
“Stop!” I laugh, nearly tripping over my own feet.
“Never!”
“You’re a menace—”
“And you love me!”
I do. That’s why I don’t let go. Something deep inside me shifts after a while.
Maybe it’s the music. Or the warmth of the tent. Or the way no one is really watching anyone else because everyone is too busy being their own version of ridiculous. The careful part of me, the one that measures everything, second-guesses everything, starts to loosen.
I stop thinking about how I look. Stop wondering if I’m doing it wrong. Stop just long enough to feel the movement, the music. The way my body actually knows what to do when I’m not micromanaging it into submission.
Shelly whoops, grabbing my hands again and spinning me out, my skirt flaring, cool air brushing against my legs before I’m pulled back in.
“See?” she says breathlessly. “Not so scary.”
“I’m still judging you,” I reply.
“Judge me later. Dance now.”
