Page 39 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

She is so much more than me. So much brighter.

I force myself to answer her smile with one of my own, even though all I really want to do is stand there and openly gape at her beauty.

“Ready to go in?” I ask.

“Absolutely.”

The manor is buzzing with people dressed in their absolute best, and I can sense right away that they’re also the kind of people who were born knowing how to throw on evening wearand glisten as if it’s no big deal. As if shining like the stars is second nature.

I scan the ballroom as we follow the swell of gossiping attendees through the glittering, historic mansion. With Poppy’s hand tucked into the crook of my elbow, I’m not worried about losing her in the crowd, but I do notice that it’s difficult to move very far while there are so many people doing double takes in her direction, slowing their steps to get a closer look at the goddess among mortals.

I feel a strange sense of primitive, masculine pride that she’s hanging offmyarm tonight.

Stop that, I remind myself.

It doesn’t take long to catch a glimpse of the person who dragged us both into this scenario.

Percy is lingering underneath one of the archways leading out of the ballroom, gaze fixed firmly on the flow of people entering. How long has he been standing there, waiting to see her? Does he truly have nothing better to do than antagonize this girl?

She must see him at the same time I do, because her grip on my elbow tightens.

“Part of me really hoped he wouldn’t show up tonight,” she murmurs.

I nod. I had secretly hoped that, too. Had hoped that we wouldn’t have to perform for him, and that I might simply be able to enjoy her company.

Seriously. Stop it,that voice in the back of my mind snaps.

“Are you alright?” I ask her.

She nods, but her eyes drift to where Percy is leaning against the wall, one hand handsomely cradling the stem of a champagne flute. He’s all charm and confidence—the exact opposite of me, if I’m being honest—and it doesn’t take a genius to deduce that his tux costs at least ten times what mine did.

As we linger by the entrance, moving out of the way as couples break off immediately for the dance floor, I notice Percy straightening and edging closer.

He’s coming over here. Who knows what nonsense he’s going to spew at Poppy? I cringe in anticipation of the blatant flirtation that will clearly make her skin crawl. She shouldn’t have to deal with that. At least, not so early in the night.

So, I blurt out the first suggestion that comes to mind. “Do you want to dance?”

She blinks in surprise. I can tell she’s torn between laughing at the suggestion and asking me if I’ve lost my mind. We might not know each other well, but she’s obviously made a correct assumption about my general willingness to dance in public settings. Or private ones.

Instead of laughing or accusing me of insanity, she grins.

“I’d love to,” she says, not even sparing another glance in Percy’s direction as I lead her out to the center of the ballroom, where guests dance along to the sweet melody pouring out of a string quartet at the head of the space.

Halfway there, however, I realize that I’m completely out of my depth. I can build an entire house from scratch and fix just about any problem with my hands, but dancing is not exactly in my skill set. And it looks like these people twirling about are following some sort of choreography. Some predetermined set of steps. A waltz, maybe?

I clear my throat, already feeling my face heat up as I confess, “I should warn you, Poppy, that I actually have no idea what I’m doing.”

She laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you. As long as you can count to three, you’ll be fine.”

I’m just barely confident enough to know how to politely position us at the edge of the dancing throng, and then I holdmyself the way they do in the movies: one of her hands clasped in mine and the other resting on the dip of her waist.

She places her hand on my shoulder.

“Follow my lead,” she says. “One-two-three. One-two-three.”

She tugs me along, showing me a surprisingly easy pattern of steps. It’s made even easier by the fact that everyone else around us is moving in the same cadence. In a matter of seconds, I feel myself getting lost in the natural ebb and flow of the dance, like I’m floating in the sea and completely at the whims of the tide.

Still, I am mostly looking down at my feet.

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