Page 7 of Dart to Me
I spotJulian leaning over the hood of his old Chevy, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves. “Hey.”
He straightens up, wiping his grease-stained hands with a rag as he turns around. “Hey, stranger.”
“I just wanted to invite you to my sister’s birthday party. Just a little get-together in our backyard. Nothing fancy, just good food, music, and company.”
Julian’s brow furrows. “I don’t know.” He shifts his weight. “I’m not really the party type...”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. No pressure, just a chance to relax and enjoy the evening. Besides, Claire would love to meet you properly. Most people in this town would.”
“Alright, I’ll come. Can’t turn down a chance to try some of that famous Lawson Ridge hospitality, can I?”
“Great! I promise you won’t regret it.”
Three hours later, I am walking through the backyard, and I see Julian. His tall frame momentarily hesitating as if the barrier between his world and this new one is more than just wrought iron. His eyes take in the crowd, children darting around with sparklers, tables with homemade dishes, and then me.
“Julian, you made it!”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Come on, I want to introduce you to someone special.” I take his arm and guide him. “Claire, this is Julian. Julian, my sister Claire.”
“Happy birthday, Claire,” Julian offers, extending his hand.
“Thank you! It’s so nice to meet one of Ellie’s friends,” Claire says, shaking his hand.
A slow song starts to play and couples pair off toward the makeshift dance floor. “Care to dance?”
Julian hesitates for a moment. “Sure.”
As we step onto the floor, Julian’s hand lightly touches my back, guiding me through a gentle spin, and when I return to face him, our eyes lock.
His fingers trace the curve of my waist, a touch that anchors me to him. The contact is light, yet it sparks a trail of warmth that dances along my skin, igniting tiny fires in its wake.
The final chord of the song plays, a fragile note. Julian’s arms are still wrapped around me, my head resting just below his chin. Neither of us move to step back, to break the connection.
The applause breaks through our barrier and we step apart, but we only stay apart for a short time.
Julian leans against the wooden fence at the far end of the yard a few minutes later.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” I confess.
“Me too,” Julian admits. His hand hovers near mine, a whisper away from the contact. “You have a way of making a person feel welcome.”
As the music dies down and the last of the guests trickle away, we remain reluctant to sever the thread that had spun around us throughout the evening. The backyard, once alive with celebration, settles into a hush.
“Time really got away from us, huh?”
“Yeah, it did.”
The goodbyes is a pause rather than a full stop; a lingering look, a hesitant step back, a smile that doesn’t quite fade even as Julian turns to walk away.
I lean against the whitewashed porch railing, fingers tracing the grooves in the wood as I watch Julian’s silhouette recede into the twilight.
A strand of hair escapes from its bobby pin clasp, dancing across my face in the gentle wind. I can still feel the pressure of his hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the rhythm of the dance. It had been effortless, the way we moved together.
I shake my head, amazed at how one evening can shift the tectonics of my world. Julian, the newcomer with ink-stained skin and a guarded heart, has slipped past my defenses.
The next morning, as sunlight filters through my curtains, I lie awake, replaying the night before. The memory of his smile.
