Page 19 of Promise Me Sunshine

Dance like no one’s watching,motivational kitschy kitchen signage insists worldwide.

Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing right now (except for Miles side-eyeing me from a slight distance) and frankly I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.

I think I’ve passed social freedom and catapulted myself firmly into cry for help. Especially since in the last twenty minutes, twin rivers of tears have started coursing down my cheeks.

I dance harder.

Removing yet another grabby pair of hands from my hips, I rotate ten feet to the left, finding a clear spot among the mass of grooving humans.

You’d think dancing while crying and wearing a backpack would be enough to deter suitors, but I guess the people aren’t picky tonight.

Usually this is kind of a family-friendly dance party. People come to shake the workday off or motivate themselves for tomorrow. But this seems to be an unusually horny night.

The music is grimier, the people are wearing fewer clothes, and the drinks are more plentiful.

Drinks! Maybe that’ll help.

It won’t. Obviously. But I’m exhausted and raw and nothing else is helping, so…I head to the bar area and peek around the crowd. Miraculously, some guy has just bought a round for everybody in earshot, and drinks in plastic cups are being distributed to the masses en masse. The guy in front of me hands me a cup of foamy something and I blink down at it.

Miles’s hand comes from behind and plucks the drink away from me. “Do not drink this.”

I’m not even surprised. Just annoyed.

“Did you come here with thespecificintention to be a buzzkill?” I’ve got my hands on my hips and I’m hoping I look irritated enough to cow his audacity, but the fact that I’m crying probably dims the effect.

He hands the drink off to someone else. Since we got here he’s been posted up in the corner, nursing a beer and occasionally raising his eyebrows at my dance moves.

The beat drops and I start dancing again, maintaining searing eye contact. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you don’t dance?”

“Are we calling this dancing?”

I laugh and concede the point. I’m currently pretending to mow a lawn, so yeah, maybe dancing isn’t quite the term.

“You, like, never dance?” I push.

“Not my thing.”

“Says the man who voluntarily attended an all-night dance party.”

“I…I came because I had something to talk to you about.”

The bass makes the building rattle and I lean in. “What?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and his mouth at my ear. “Can we talk outside?”

I consider this, nod, and then follow him. Mostly for the same reason I gravitated toward alcohol. Nothing else is helping, so I might as well follow this man out into the night.

We get to the sidewalk, the noise blissfully dampens, and he turns to face me. He’s looking a little…nervous? Uncertain? “I…wanted to ask you something…”

“Well?” I prompt after he pauses.

“How did you do all that? With Ainsley?”

“Do what?”

“Get her to laugh like that? And, I don’t know, always figure out what she needs so fast? I’ve known her for almost two years and I’ve never…”

Two years? He hasn’t known Ainsley her whole life? Did he marry into the family or something? I guess that partially explains Ainsley’s indifference to him. Some of the awkwardness between him and Reese.

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