Page 51 of I Love a Good Challenge

It’s only several dances later, when I step away to fetch us some drinks, that I allow the depth of this night—which is punctuated by some otherworldly effect caused by either lighting or fate—to sink in. Lily waits across the hall. I approach her, cups of punch in my hands and the feeling of my coattails moving gently behind me. When she lifts her face to mine, I picture a different life with her with a sudden rush of clarity. Perhaps, had we lived in another time or place, we would’ve been ready to fight for each other, disarming ourselves on the dance floor while sipping fragrantly spiked punch (my money is on Gladys as the culprit).

I extend a cup to Lily in a cheers gesture and take a sip. Immediately, I’m sputtering. Lily’s laughter rings out. Her form goes blurry from the tears in my eyes as she tries to decipher what could have possibly been put in the punch to make it taste so much like either medicine or moonshine.

Something tugs within my heart. Throughout this evening, through her laughter, her intentional touches, and the question in her eyes each time they meet mine, it’s like an invisible knot has once again been tied tightly between us. Fate loosened it once, but now it feels as if it is becoming stronger than ever. From the brightness in her gaze, I wonder if she senses the same. I take a step closer, and she tracks my every move.

“More dancing, George?” Her challenge is presented with a smile.

The heat in her expression, familiar yet new, threatens to cause my knees to buckle. “Indeed.”

I can do this. I can do this. Silently, my brain chants to my limbs. I move forward to meet her as she moves too, and we both stop in the middle. I’ll always meet her halfway if she’ll let me.

Rather than speak, I extend my hand. She takes it. For a moment, I allow myself to enjoy the feeling of our hands clasped together. She lets me lead her toward the other couples taking up their dancing position once more. It’s not normal for Lily to let someone else lead. I’m in awe that she trusts me enough to allow me to take charge for a while. Maybe the fatigue of being apart, if it feels anything like mine, has crept into her bones too.

A waltz begins, more modern in style and a little slower. Lily echoes my uncertainty about the forced (though I’m looking forward to it) proximity as she looks up at me. Silently, our hearts seem to connect as they have all night. In truth, I’ve hardly been able to look away from her. I know enough about classical ballroom etiquette to remember that the partners don’t always look at each other. Lily didn’t get the memo. She’s staring at me so intensely that it causes my spine to both strengthen and soften at the same time.

Our hands arch together, intertwining. Somehow, my other hand has already traveled to the lower part of her rib cage. I’m being cautious, realizing that we’re leaving the romanticism of Regency and traveling to the present, and there will be less propriety and more questions. To my relief, Lily chooses to break some of the ice by reaching for my hand, sliding it farther down her waist, and stepping closer to me.

I search her face with a gaze I expect to be a look of wonder mixed with hope. My brow is furrowed as I question this move. If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d think she is playing me, trying to trick me into failing her challenge. But I know she’s not. I recognize that, from this moment on, everything I feel isn’t going back into neat little boxes. Together, we’ve blown them to bits when she stepped forward and let herself fully exist within my orbit . . . in public. Tonight, she’s not with me because we accidentally fell asleep in the same room during a spring storm. She’s not here because she needs my help. And it’s not because someone forced us to be civil. We both want to be here.

It’s only been a few seconds. We’ve only missed one turn around the room, but it feels like we’ve existed in this space for years. Because that is the truth. We’ve missed our turn time and time again. She changed the music on me. She told me to dance it alone. And I listened, instead of realizing that, when she ran from me, it was her misguided way of protecting me.

“Let’s keep dancing,” Lily says, the words almost a question hovering in the air between us.

I nod. Slowly, I guide us into an elegant waltz. I’m trying to be a gentleman, gently leading her across the floor, steering us smoothly around other couples—some of whom are also dancing, some who cheer, and some who merely gape in our direction—as we no doubt look like we just stepped out of a movie about a star-crossed royal couple with all the odds stacked against them until fate intervenes and gives them a chance to work it out on the dance floor.

Driven by instinct, my feet take over. Even though I miss a few steps, my strength and determination try to cover us each time. The more Lily trusts me to lead, the more I feel myself easing out of any lingering stiffness. I can’t keep the smile off my face as we continue to spin. I glance about the room, spotting ahead of us so we don’t crash into anyone.

When the music stops, I catch Lily staring at me. With what feels like a caress, her eyes meet mine. A grin lifts the corner of her mouth. I’m mesmerized. For a moment, the world is nothing but light. The more she smiles, the more I know that I’m the one who put it there, and clarity steals softly into my heart.

She’s been trying to do all of it on her own. I’ve been trying to prove my love, but the emotion might as well be engraved in stone between us.

As the music swells again, we dance. The people clap and laugh. I never expected so many people in Birch Borough to attempt to follow along with the steps they don’t know, joining in the festivities. It appears that the Regency Ball is a success. Hours pass before we start to wind down. Lily looks breathless but happy.

“Do I win this one?” I ask over the noise of the room, a hint of mischief in my tone.

“You can’t ‘win’ one; you can only complete it,” she replies, and her voice is warm and light.

“Well, then . . .” I grin. Does she notice how often I seamlessly insert previous moments and phrases I’ve said to her into our conversations? She must.

“However, you’ve passed,” Lily concedes, allowing me a small sense of victory. Not because she admitted it, but because she said something similar when I brought her to a new ice cream place in LA, and she dared me to try an exotic new flavor I’d never had. That flavor is now my favorite.

Lily remembers as much as I do, I realize.

My hand runs through my hair. My heartbeat is a racehorse trying to figure out which lane to run in order to win. I know Lily is sorry for what happened between us. I’m sorry too. I don’t want our history to compel her to push me away for moments lost and missed opportunities.

If none of us ever forgive, if we hold back our love every time someone makes a mistake—even the big ones—I don’t know how we could claim to love one another at all. And love each other, she and I did. I’m not asking Lily to give her heart to me fully. I know it may take time for us to meet on the bridge of love again, but I’ll be there when she is ready. I’ll ask her gently to let me love her, every time. And I will always be there when she needs me, even if she never asks.

In one of our final dances, when I slow and spin her, drawing her closer, I lose my train of thought completely. Scanning her face, my gaze lands on her lips. Her head tilts, tipping to one side like she is extending both a question and an invitation. I’m ready to tell her why something happening between us could be a bad idea, but I find that I don’t want to.

We’re moving so slowly that I’m convinced ice has frozen on a summer day faster than the passage of this moment. She has the audacity to lick her lips. I track the movement, suddenly desperate to remember what it felt like to let myself love her. Her breath hitches in response. She moves another inch closer, her head tilting. One of my hands grips her waist, the feeling of the silky fabric beneath my fingers enough to hold onto when this moment passes.

The music continues to play as the world disappears. I can’t wait to finally do what I’ve wanted to do since I last saw her. In the middle of the crowd, I incline my head down to hers. Our lips barely brush. When the edge of her mouth and her breath greet my cheek, the touch sends delightful tingles across the side of my face, shocking my system. The feeling is an explosive current that causes me to rear back with wide eyes. Once again, we are standing on ground that is familiar and yet new. The fear of diving in just for her to leave me again is overwhelming. Theoretically, it punches me in the face, and I’m hit with a wave of emotion I didn’t see coming.

“I . . . can’t,” I say. I hear the grit of pain in my voice. It surprises me to find my actions and heart so at odds.

“Right. Of course.” Immediately, Lily releases me, her face flushed.

I catch the moment she realizes we lost our senses. She looks about the hall, and her face shows relief that people have continued to dance. The world didn’t stop because of the scene we just shared. The fact that she doesn’t look me in the eye again tells me just how much I sabotaged our moment. Once again, my knee-jerk reaction is to retreat. As much as I love Lily, I’m still unsure if I can trust her. There’s too much unspoken history between us.

---