Page 14 of The Art of Dying

She pointed to the floor. “Now?”

I reached a little further for her, patiently waiting.

“Okay,” she said, taking it.

And that was it. From the first step, Mack kept up with me; every turn, every spin, it was like we’d been dancing together for years. Not every girl I took to the dance floor could mirror my steps. Some couldn’t keep the beat or keep hold of my hand during a spin and then there were the small handful of girls in town that I was glad to see out because they were adventurous enough to let me show off a little. But somewhere on that dance floor, with that pretty little ginger in my arms, I knew I’d never want to dance with anyone else.

One song would end, and another would begin. We took one break for two songs and then she was ready to go again. Mack flashed that one-in-a-million smile the whole time. She even joined me for line dances. We were both sweating and breathing hard, but neither of us wanted it to end.

As if the DJ decided to show us mercy, a slow song came on. Half the crowd left the dancefloor, a few new couples joined those of us who’d stayed, and I pulled Mack close and began to sway.

“This is a good one,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“It sure is,” I said, resting my cheek on her hair.

“Thanks for tonight. I didn’t even know I needed it, but I did.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been here, but I’ve never had this much fun.”

“Yeah?” she said, tilting her head back. “Why’s that?”

I shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t you.”

Her gaze met mine, a grin still on her face. Then, she looked down at my lips. Within a few seconds, though, she looked down at our feet. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped dead in my tracks.

Before I could say anything, my attention was drawn by some commotion in the corner of the room. “Damn it,” I said. Once the first fight broke out, it never stopped until close. I didn’t want to chance Mack accidentally getting shoved or worse.

Mack looked behind her and sighed. “Guess the night’s over, huh?”

I grabbed her coat and then her hand before leading her toward the exit. We weren’t the only ones. Most people not looking for trouble knew to go home or find a different place to land.

I helped Mack up into the truck, taking the long way home. She didn’t say much, other than the occasionally happy sigh. I almost felt high, soaring on the lingering happiness I experienced with her in my arms in the middle of Remington’s, but the moment we pulled into my drive, it vanished.

I helped her down from the truck and then she walked over to my porch and sat on the step. I shoved my keys in my pocket and sat next to her.

“That was… so much fun,” she said. She looked at me. “When can we do it again?”

I sighed. “You know I’m leaving soon, right?”

“I heard.”

“You think you’ll still be in Quincy when I get back?”

She shrugged. “We’ll see. You’ll get deployed this time, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna come back… you know… you?”

“A lot of guys come back different, but I’m not too proud to talk to someone. I get it, you saw me banging it out with Cubby, but I’m not a ticking time bomb. I don’t have a temper. If I get hit, I hit back. I’ve never put hands on a woman. I’d rather cut off my arm.”

She chewed on her thumb nail while she listened to me, a small smile on her lips. “I don’t need to be convinced you’re a good guy, Kitsch. My picker may be broken, but I know a good one when I see him.”

“Oh,” I said, sitting up a bit taller. “Glad to hear it.”

Mack stood up, stretching. “I should probably go, too. I have day shift tomorrow. Seven a.m. clock in.”

“I need to be up about that time, too. I’m trying to get my parents’ house back into shape before I leave. Painting tomorrow.”

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