Page 69 of Faking It For Real

With that, Elena swept away to rejoin the dancers, leaving Mia and me in awkward silence.

"You don't have to dance," Mia said quickly. "My mom's just... enthusiastic."

"Did you really take dance lessons?" I asked, genuinely curious about this new piece of Mia's history.

She sighed. "Ballet, tap, and Latin dance from ages five to seventeen. My mom's dream was to have a graceful, elegant daughter. She got me instead."

"I find that hard to believe," I said. "I bet you were great."

"I was passable," she shrugged. "I loved the photography electives we did in high school way more."

The music shifted again, this time to a slower, more romantic tempo. Several couples moved closer together, swaying to the gentle rhythm.

"Would you..." I hesitated, then pushed through my nervousness. "Would you want to dance? With me, I mean. Just one song."

Mia looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Are you sure? I thought hockey players didn't like to dance."

"We make exceptions for special occasions," I smiled, extending my hand.

After a moment's hesitation, she took it, allowing me to lead her to a less crowded corner of the impromptu dance floor. I placed my hands carefully at her waist, and she rested hers on my shoulders, maintaining a respectful distance between us.

"Fair warning," I murmured, "I’m still bad at dancing."

"Just follow my lead," she smiled as she began to move to the music's rhythm.

I relaxed, letting her subtle guidance direct my steps. We weren't going to win any dance competitions, but we weren't embarrassing ourselves either.

"See? Not so bad," Mia said, a smile playing at her lips.

"I have a good partner," I replied.

As the song progressed, the initial awkwardness faded. Mia moved closer, her head eventually resting against my chest. I tightened my arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her shampoo that had become achingly familiar over the past few months.

We weren't just going through the motions of a fake relationship anymore. This was real.

I caught Gabriel watching us from across the room, a knowing smile on his face. When our eyes met, he raised his beer bottle slightly in a toast. I'd been assessed and, apparently, approved.

The song ended too soon, transitioning to something faster that broke the spell between us. Mia stepped back, a hint of color in her cheeks.

"That wasn't terrible," she teased, but her eyes were soft.

"High praise," I laughed. "I'll take it."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of food, more dancing, and the exchange of gifts. The Three Kings tradition involved exchanging presents just as at Christmas, and I was touched to receive several—a hand-knitted scarf from Elena, a book about the history of hockey from Gabriel, and small, thoughtful items from Mia's siblings.

"Your turn," Mia said, handing me a carefully wrapped package.

I opened it to find a framed photograph—one she must have taken during a practice when I wasn't aware. In it, I was mid-stride on the ice, expression intense but not tense, completely in my element. It wasn't a typical sports action shot; there was an artistry to it, a quality that captured something essential about who I was on the ice.

"Mia, this is..." I struggled to find words adequate to express how much the gift meant to me. "This is incredible."

"You like it? Really?" There was a hint of vulnerability in her voice that made my heart twist.

"I love it," I said firmly. "No one's ever seen me like this before. Thank you."

I handed her my gift next, suddenly nervous that it wouldn't measure up. She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a small, elegant leather case containing a set of high-quality lens filters. I'd spent weeks researching and found a brand known for unique effects, something beyond the basics.

Her eyes widened as she opened the case, examining the specialized glass. "Ethan! These are the ones I was looking at online! How did you know?"

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