Page 23 of A Certain Step
She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
He tried with all his might to hold it in.
“You’re telling me that after three seasons of investing in this love story, you’re not the least bit upset at this outcome? The same man who cries every time they show what Tiny Tim’s future would be if Scrooge doesn’t change inThe Muppet Christmas Carol?”
And then he laughed. He was upset, but Willa’s adorable face was a bright spot in the moment. He couldn’t help himself. “We knew this was coming. We’d been preparing for it.”
“It still doesn’t make it any better,” she said. “And it’s a shitty reflection of the real world I’m trying very hard to escape from.”
“It doesn’t, no, and I’m not laughingatyou. I was laughing at thewayyou got up. And at Tulip’s reaction,” he replied honestly.
She scoffed affectionately, her belief in his response falling somewhere in between “nice try” and “whatever, it’ll do.”
In an instant, Willa squared her shoulders, and the sudden spark of an idea flashed in her expression. An entire story danced in her eyes in a way he recognized from all the times she’d done this before.
“Get up, please,” she said, confirming his detection.
He did as she asked, pushing his coffee table against the couch to free up space on his living room floor.
Willa opened her phone and played what he recognized as Billie Eilish’s“No Time to Die.” She stood before him, bopping her head first, moving her fingers afterward, lost in thought. This was how a choreography with Willa always started.
“This song always felt too sad to ever choreograph anything to, but it’s perfectly appropriate right now,” she noted.
He nodded in agreement. It wasn’t one he’d ever think about, but he understood exactly how she got here from where they’d been. He understood the mood she was trying to convey—the emotions she wanted to release.
“We’re going to start with the gradual waltz that Jane and Bingley have during the wedding song. The first one that is a little slower, where it’s basically the two of them sort of losing themselves in each other,” she waited for him to verify that he knew which one she meant.
Ethan lifted his left hand for her to take and placed his right hand against her back. She put her hand in his, gliding the other to the slope of his shoulder.
They moved as she’d suggested for what felt like less than ten seconds. “Follow my lead for when it gets a little quicker, yeah? We’re going to focus more on the bridge,” she detailed.
He let her guide the motions, reveling in the fleeting sight of her in his arms.
They waltzed in the way she’d suggested then she nearly ripped herself away from him, spun in a clip turn, then fell back toward him where he caught her in his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming. “Excellent catch. I figured you’d get exactly how I wanted that one.”
She pulled away from him, listening to the music, moving in-place in small ways he gathered she was trying to piece together. “Ugh, we need a bigger space for what I’m picturing. And I’m going to need Miles’ input. No offense,” she added apologetically.
He chuckled. “None taken. I could train for years, and my body would still never move the way his could.”
“Still, you got me started on something, and I’m now thoroughly excited that I could channel my sadness into a dance, so thank you,” she said with a bow.
“Anytime,” he replied.
He looked at her for a beat, head tilted toward the ground, listening intently to the music once more.
He remembered when they’d first danced together. During a day off in Boston, Miles was out sick with the flu.
She’d been fixating over Duncan Laurence’s “Arcade,” so she had called Ethan to see if he’d be willing to step in with her. He had plans with Sam and Declan, but he canceled on them, selfishly happy to spend more time with Willa—to move with her, see what it was like when she worked through an entire choreography from scratch.
It wasn’t the kind of number that required too much from him, more acting in a sense, less dancing. It didn’t have them touching as much as he would’ve liked, either. But it was also the first time he learned how to lift her, consumed immediately by the sensation of her in his arms like that. His hands splayed against her waist, her body sliding slowly down his form.
She was perfect for him. He considered it then; he was positive about it now.
The repeated motions were intoxicating.
He recalled coming home in a daze that night, tossing and turning with his fingers still buzzing from all the ways they’d touched her. His mind racing with all the little smiles she’d given him, the way she lost herself in the music—the movements.
There had been a point during the whole process where she made him crawl to her, making him realize at that second that he would do anything for her. Crawl, jump, run in circles—whatever she asked of him. He’d do it without hesitation.
