Page 66 of Dance with Me on New Year's Eve

“I still wonder how you ended up with that woman,” Hazel said with a laugh. “And stayed with her for seven long years … I don’t get it. Was it because of Lila?”

As he nodded once, I shook my head in astonishment. Seven years ofthatmust have been challenging, even for a robot like him. For the first time, I felt some sympathy for him. “Wow. That couldn’t have been easy. She’s … a lot.”

“Honestly, this was nothing. She’s much tamer now, actually.” He shook his head, looking down and shifting from one foot to another. “Wasted years,” he murmured.

My eyebrows traveled up my forehead. “Oh … wow. I’m sorry.”

When his eyes met mine, his expression spoke of pain and, oddly enough, uncertainty. I almost gasped, shocked at the raw feelings I’d never seen him show, subtle though they were. He exhaled slowly, lightly shaking as if to clear out the feelings.

I looked to my left and suddenly noticed Hazel had gone. Had she not said goodbye? Had I missed it? My cheeks colored as I realized I’d been staring. For who knows how long.

“Well, I guess—”

“I should—”

We both stopped talking for a moment and then spoke simultaneously again.

“I need to—”

“We should—”

I pressed my lips together but felt a grin tugging at my lips.

Why was I grinning? I had no idea.

Why washegrinning?

Wait, what?Hewas grinning?

I stared at his mouth, the corners upturned slightly, revealing a small dimple on his left cheek. He was …

Hot.

Jeff Chamberlain was gorgeous.

How had I been deprived of this smile for these last few years without even knowing it?

Get a hold of yourself.

His smile faded, and his brows scrunched together. “Are you all right, Roxanne?”

I blinked quickly and nodded. At least I think I did.

Roxanne. You’re only Roxanne to him.

He called me Roxanne to denote how little acquainted we were. We were not even friends.

So why onearthwas I still thinking about those upturned lips and the unexpected dimple as I headed back to the office?

Chapter 17

Oddly,I didn’t spend the next week trying to come up with excuses not to attend Thanksgiving.

No, I spent the week trying to figure outwhyI wasn’t trying to get out of it.

On the big day, when I rang the doorbell after a pleasant, slow stroll in the short distance to Jeff’s house, Lila opened the door. She was wearing a very messy pink apron over her orange and yellow striped pajamas.

I smiled and greeted her. “How are you?”

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