Page 50 of The Plus One Contract

No.

“Mom, what are you doing?” My voice comes out strangled.

She glances at me. “I’m showing you what we learned.”

I stumble back, shaking my head so fast my brain practically rattles. “What? No. It’s fine. I don’t need to know.”

Too late.

My father comes bouncing into the kitchen, a screwdriver in one hand, because he always finds something to fix when we have company. He looks far too happy for a man who has just unknowingly traumatized his daughter.

“What’s up?” he asks, setting his tool down on the counter.

“Let’s show Sienna what we learned Wednesday night,” my mother announces, already grinning.

My soul leaves my body.

I am seconds away from hurling myself into the boiling pot of beef braising in red wine just to escape this moment when my father suddenly roars—way too loudly—into the Alexa.

“Alexa, play the best of swing jazz!”

Is this their idea of a porn soundtrack?

Music bursts from the speakers.

And then… they start dancing.

Actual swinging.

Like twirling and dipping and laughing while they spin around the kitchen.

It takes me a solid five seconds to process.

I sway slightly, gripping the counter before sweet, sweet relief crashes into me so hard I almost cry.

Swinging.

As in swing.

As in the genre.

I cover my face with both hands, exhaling every single piece of my soul in a single breath.

I am never recovering from this.

Twenty

Nathan

I’m exactly three minutes late. Which, for me, is three minutes too many.

As I pull up outside Sienna’s childhood home, my phone buzzes with a text.

Sienna:You’re ghosting me, aren’t you?

I shake my head, exhaling a short laugh as I shift into park.

Me:I’m outside.

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