Page 10 of Resorting to Romance

“I … don’t know. I haven’t danced in a while. Maybe I should just stick to keeping this chair occupied.”

“Nonsense. You should dance. If I know Ben—and I do—he’ll give you all sorts of grief if you don’t dance at least a little tonight.”

She’s got a point.

“You’re probably right. I’d better get out there for at least one song.”

Instead of judging me, or looking put out, Gemma smiles at me. It’s not exactly a grin full of pity. But it’s something akin to that—pity with a dash of compassion.

I look around. Men at the bar and at other tables are all eyeing Gemma. She’s wearing jeans that fit her well. She’s tall, but she’s not afraid to wear heels. Her blouse is ruffled and tucked into the front of her pants in a way that looks stylish. And her brown wavy hair seems like she put some effort into it. Gemma’s got an air about her that draws attention. And still, I’m thinking about how I can dance this one dance and graciously bow out as soon as I’m able.

Gemma leads the way, weaving her way between tables, looking over her shoulder occasionally, probably to make sure I haven’t changed my mind and bolted for the exit. When she’s on the dance floor in the middle of the room, she pivots toward me and begins swaying her hips as I approach. Her smile returns, comfortable and easy. I look over at Ben and make eye contact. He gives me a thumbs up.

When I turn my attention back to Gemma, she’s dancing with her elbows tucked into her sides and her hands extended, fingers pinched like she could snap along with the music. She’s moving to the beat, smiling freely and twisting her hips and shoulders. It all looks effortless, while I feel like a boy at his first junior high dance. I can dance. I grew up on Hawaii, learning dances for certain local ceremonies and at parties. And, I’m a surfer—ex pro. I know how to use my body.

The problem with me is mental. When my brain starts to loop and swirl in overthinking spirals, my body stops listening, and the two seem to war against one another rather than cooperating. So, I sway in place. It’s a safe choice. I won’t fall over and I don’t looktoo foolish. Or, maybe I do. If I look as stiff as I feel, while Gemma looks like she was born to move on a dance floor, I definitely look foolish right now.

Gemma reaches out, placing her hands on either side of my waist. She presses lightly, moving me along with the beat of the song. It should feel intrusive or intimate. Instead, she makes me feel like I’ve got a friend, encouraging me to get over myself and have an ounce of fun. I give in at some point, and end up dancing three songs before I thank her and turn back toward my table and the comfort of the barstool I was sitting on before she approached me.

“Don’t be a stranger, Kai,” Gemma leans in and whispers in my ear before I step off the wooden floor onto the epoxy covered concrete that fills the rest of the room.

“Thank you for pushing me out of my comfort zone. I appreciate it.” I smile at her.

“My pleasure.” Gemma winks at me, dragging her hand slowly down my arm before she turns toward a group of women and joins them at the bar. The way they all light up when she approaches tells me she came with them, or they’re her friends.

Back at my table, I don’t bother taking my seat, but I do take a long sip of my drink. I almost make a clean getaway, but a voice behind me calls my name.

Ben.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Look at my boss, out here dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Summer walks up next to her husband and wraps her arm around his waist. Ben tugs her in close, placing a soft kiss on her temple. She smiles up at him.

“Want something to drink, Monroe?” Ben uses the nickname I’ve heard him call Summer even before she started giving him the time of day.

The comfort between them reminds me of my sister and Bodhi. It’s the ease and familiarity of a good relationship, and the fondness that comes when you find yourperson among all the others in the world. I’ve been lucky to grow up in a family where my parents love one another. It’s not the same electric type of chemistry common to couples around my age. Theirs is a love that’s grown over time, mellow, comfortable, and certain. But my dad still looks at my mom like she’s his world, and she returns the favor in her own quiet way.

“Okay. Well. I danced. And, I’ve got to get back to my sister’s dog.”

“Who is probably asleep on your couch. Why leave so soon? Gemma seemed into you.” Ben nearly pouts.

“Did she?”

Summer smiles sympathetically at me. She turns to Ben, “Let Kai bow out, Ben.”

Ben and Summer exchange some sort of secret couple conversation without uttering a word to one another. They simply stare into one another’s eyes, while their expressions morph nearly imperceptibly.

When they seem to have come to some sort of understanding, Ben says, “Okay, I’ll let you ditch us. But if you ask me, you’re walking away from an opportunity. I know Gemma. She’s nice and pretty easygoing.”

“I enjoyed our dance.” I’m already pushing my stool in and taking my first step toward the door.

“Well, you’ll have to come out again another time.”

“We’ll see. You two go have fun.”

The walk home is peaceful. A breeze blowing in off the ocean and across the beach brushes over my cheeks, bringing a welcome cooling after spending a few hours in a crowded dance club. Our house is only a few blocks south of the club, one block in from the ocean in a residential section of Descanso. I pause before turning up my street. Standing at the edge of the sand, I breathe in the ocean air.

I could have stayed, walked Gemma home, or at least danced some more.

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