Page 70 of The Devil Wears Tartan

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve asked you the same question like three times. I said what is that dance called where you do like a chain around each other and grab arms to do that weird little hobbly thing?”

I hold back a snort at that description of a Highland Reel. To be fair, it’s pretty accurate. The Reel is the only group dance in highland. It consists of four dancers weaving around each other and occasionally linking up in pairs to grasp elbows and spin around in a tight circle. It’s the only dance you can sabotage for someone else if you don’t do it right, which always makes performing it onstage extra tense.

“That’s the Reel,” I tell Lydia.

She nods. “Right. The Reel. Well, yours and Kenzie’s was probably the steamiest Reel I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Lydia!”

A few more heads turn as I smack her arm, which totally defeats my purpose of getting her to be quiet. She sits there shaking with silent laughter as I pretend to be transfixed by the distribution of the medals while waiting for everyone else to turn their attention back to the stage.

“What do you mean?” I whisper once the coast is clear, leaning in until I’m only a few inches from her ear.

She turns and gives me a clear ‘come on, girl’ look, complete with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

“You know what I mean. You were practically fondling Kenzie’s elbow, and you guys did not break eye contact at all. It was steamy.”

She makes a show out of fanning her face, and I grimace.

“I did not fondle her elbow.”

I did very much enjoy touching it, though. With her studies and her hours at the studio keeping her schedule packed, Kenzie’s turned down my last two attempts to ask her out again. That would have me worried if we weren’t also texting most days of the week and continuing to send the occasional teasing photo.

When we finally peeled ourselves off the floor of Studio B three weeks ago, our hair a mess and our bodies still begging for more, I didn’t know if I’d ever see her like that again. I didn’t know how to ask for it.

We put the blankets away and headed down the staircase in silence. I was about to put my coat on downstairs when I felt her lips on the back of my neck. Her arms circled my waist, her chest pressing against my back, and I could feel her hot breath on my skin as she murmured, “Take me out again sometime.”

I’ve been thinking about again ever since. I thought about it every time we touched during the Reel. Even that was enough to send a jolt of anticipation coursing through me, tightening my stomach.

Usually, you stare at your partner’s ear or their forehead when you’re doing your Reel turns to avoid the awkwardness of an uninterrupted three seconds of eye contact, but my gaze stayed locked on her deep brown pupils every time.

Even weeks later, I can still remember exactly how she looked when she fell apart underneath me on the floor, when she let go and gave herself to the moment.

It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

The sound of applause makes me jump in my seat, and I bring my hands together on instinct to join the crowd. The announcers send the last line of dancers off the stage and take a moment to give some general updates, including one about the scholarship applicants’ progress.

Holly, Nicole, and I all volunteered at a Robbie Burns dinner put on by a local Scottish heritage organization at the end of January, but Kenzie didn’t attend. All she told me was that she was busy.

We’ve all had to hand in our essays as well. I’m proud of mine, although the interview video has definitely been the crowning jewel of my application so far. The only thing I really have to worry about is Kenzie’s competition results. Based on how busy she seems to be, and how good she looks onstage, she’s putting a lot of time into training.

Maybe I should be trying harder.

The thought bleeds a somber note into the symphony that goes off in my head when I rise in time to glimpse the back of Kenzie’s head as people start shuffling out of the auditorium.

Even with everything that’s happened, she’s still laser-focused on the scholarship. She still wants to win, which means no matter what else I am, I’m still her rival.

“We still on for skating?” Lydia’s voice pulls me back into the moment as we make our way up the aisle.

“Of course!” I answer. “We’ll just need to get a huge dinner after. I don’t even want to know how much energy I’ve burnt today.”

“And Beavertails,” she adds. “We definitely need to get Beavertails.”

My mouth waters at the thought of the sugar-coated pastries they always sell along Ottawa’s famous Rideau Canal in the winter. The weather is supposed to turn unseasonably warm for a whole week tomorrow, which is how Lydia talked me into skating on the canal directly after a dance competition.

“Definitely,” I agree.

We reach the lobby and loiter just past the auditorium doors, waiting for the crowd to disperse enough for me to dart over to the warm-up gym and grab my stuff. I’ve already changed into fleece-lined leggings and a flannel, so all I’ve got to do is pack my garment bags and hair supplies into my mum’s car before she gives us a ride to the canal.

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