Page 14 of Falling for You Again

“My friend, Emi. What did your dad mean when he said we have a lot to talk about?”

“Dance with me.” His hand opens between us. I look at his palm, then up at his face. He angles his head in challenge, as if daring me. “How can I not ask you to dance when you’re wearing a dress like that?”

How indeed?

My smile slowly broadens. I did want to make an impression, but I can’t let whatever is happening between us—this buzzing sort of energy—distract me from the reason I came. “Only if we can talk while we dance.”

“Of course. Whatever you want.” His expression is open, waiting, hopeful, borderline vulnerable as his hand hovers in the space between us.

Tentatively, I slip my hand in his, feeling that electric charge tingle my fingers, as I try to ignore how much I want to pick things up where we left off. He leads us onto the dance floor and turns to me, taking me into his arms. Where I belong. Where I want to be. With a hand at my waist and the other clasping mine, his presence feels both familiarand foreign. Peaceful and unsettling. Almost as if no time has passed, yet years have gone by since we parted ways.

He guides us effortlessly across the floor in a swirling waltz the orchestra enthusiastically plays. His moves aren’t even in the same league as those in Las Vegas, which weren’t really moves at all. There, for almost two hours at XS, a nightclub at the Wynn, we gyrated to a pulsing bass and sang at the top of our lungs. Hot and sweaty, we clung to each other. It was easily the best night of my life.

Now, though, we’re ballroom dancing, which is an entirely different animal. And I, who have never taken a dance lesson in my life, can only clutch on to Aaron as he rotates us to the center of the floor, where he slows his fancy footwork to a gentle sway. His fingers press into my lower back, and I instinctively move closer.

I feel his warm breath in my hair. “You didn’t mention you knew how to dance. You’re just full of surprises, husband.”

“One of many in my arsenal to woo you, wife.”

I laugh, drawing glances from the couple beside us. “‘Woo’? Who says that anymore?”

His ears turn a shade darker. “That was cringe.”

“My inner grandmother just fainted.”

A laugh rumbles from him. “Blame my dad. He’s ancient. Some of his slang is bound to rub off. Let’s start over.” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it. He’s close enough for me to notice the small spot on his jaw he missed shaving. “Hello, Meli. I’ve missed you.”

His honesty floors me.

“Aaron, I—” I catch myself before I echo his confession. “We need to talk about—”

“You’re more beautiful than I remember.” He leans into me and deeply inhales.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Fuck. Sorry, I did.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Because of me?”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“We promised we wouldn’t seek each other out.”

“It wouldn’t be the first promise we broke.”

I glance away, remembering our sunrise breakfast at Mandalay Bay. We spent the entire night on the Las Vegas Strip doing exactly what Aaron had proposed when we bought our marriage license. We were exhausted and famished, and I was so ready for sleep. But I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I didn’t want to leave our bubble. So even though we’d only promised each other twenty-four hours, I dared him to fly to Maui with me. I’d booked and paid for my honeymoon with Paul. It was too late to cancel. I couldn’t get a refund. Why waste the trip?

A few hours later, after a quick shopping spree where we purchased matching tropical outfits, we raced through another jet bridge to catch a Southwest flight to Hawaii. Once again, we were the last two to board.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” the flight attendant greeted us. “You’re matchy-matchy.”

“We’re newlyweds.” I leaned my cheek on Aaron’s shoulder, playing it up.

The attendant pouted. “There are only two middle seats left. Afraid you won’t be flying together.”

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