Page 62 of The Amazing Date

He has our full attention. “Fire away.”

“When you step on the stage, you’ll see part of a tree stump on a stand. It’s the Tree of Hope. Every performer that steps on the stage rubs it for luck, no exceptions. Even Nelson Mandela and Barack Obama have rubbed it before taking the stage. There’s a lot of history in this building. Respect goes a long way.”

His advice sounds like something my dad would say. “Always, Mr. Cooper. Thank you.”

The music strikes up, and a loud cheer erupts from the crowd. I recognize the tune immediately. It’s a brilliant and genius selection, perfect for this setting, perfect for this location, and I immediately know who is on the stage.

A smile crosses my face, and Mr. Cooper notices. “Yep, those are your competitors, Ronnie and Thelma. You guys have a tough act to follow. Come this way. You’re up next.”

We walk through the doorway, and Kevin leads us to the stage entrance, but not before we catch a glimpse of the theater. Every person in the theater is on their feet, singing, clapping, and cheering. Ronnie and Thelma’s smiles are so wide they can probably be seen from the moon. Although they have microphones in their hand, you can’t hear a word from them as they are drowned out by the audience singing the song for them. They are wobbling to a soul line dance song nearly everyone in America knows. Fifteen hundred voices sing the chorus for them, “Wobble baby, wobble baby.”

They’ve done it again. They’ve transformed the Apollo into their own private party.

We are led to the wings of the stage as the song winds down. A fuming Kelly and Caitlin stand to the side, their hands cupped to their mouths in what I assume is their attempt to boo. Not a peep of it is heard over this rowdy crowd, which is high-fiving and dancing in the aisles.

So caught up in what is taking place in front of us, I haven’t spent a second thinking what in the world Rylee and I will do.

I turn toward her, expecting a look of terror on her face, but find the opposite. Rylee is shouting in the ear of the staff member, who writes something down. He passes the note to the band leader, causing an unexpected smile to appear on her face. She glances over her shoulder at Rylee and gives her a thumbs-up. I have no idea what is going on.

The MC bows toward Ronnie and Thelma as they receive their next clue and move off the stage down the middle aisle of the theater, the crowd high-fiving them as they run. Yes, run.

They are officially in first place, and they must sense the finish line is nearby.

My mind is a blur as I hear the MC introduce us just as Rylee returns. “Now might be a good time to let you know I’m not that great a singer, and I don’t know the words to too many R&B songs.”

“What?” She waves away my concern. “No way in hell am I going to let you near a microphone. I heard you sing in the shower once in Puerto Rico. I thought they were butchering a hog next door.”

“Wow. When I said…”

She places a quick kiss on my lips, halting my stammering. “Remember when I said I know you?”

I nod, hoping she hurries.

She takes my hand and leads me to the Tree of Hope stump. We both rub it and step toward the black star on the floor center stage.

“We got this.”

Three words which pull me back to Puerto Rico. A smile of a happy memory floods my head as she lifts one hand toward the ceiling and the other ninety degrees parallel to the floor. I step toward her, my hand wrapping around her waist.

We take a synchronized breath as the band hits the first chord, and the crowd waits for us to move.

Rylee’s eyes sparkle under the stage lights, a bright smile on her face. “Let’s shine.”

Chapter 36

Rylee

I’ve dreamed a million dreams of moments like this. Back in Roberto’s arms, “Despacito” playing in the background, and us dancing salsa with the world watching. Well, maybe in my dreams that world consisted of a few dozen people on the pier in Guánica, not thousands of people in the world-famous Apollo Theater with a hundred thousand dollars on the line.

It’s been years, but Roberto moves as if it was only yesterday and it’s just the two of us back in our private bubble at Fort Capron. There are fifteen hundred sets of eyes on us and probably two hundred lights, yet we only have eyes for each other.

It only takes a few bars for the audience to assess our skill, our passion for each other, and the joy we have in each other’s arms. The cheers start low and grow slowly. The corners of Roberto’s eyes crinkle up into a smile. “Ready?” he whispers but doesn’t wait for a response.

He spins me, releasing my hand, and I continue gliding across the stage. He matches my spin in the opposite direction as we both break into solo moves, the need to grab the attention of the crowd immediate. These are the moves I’ve been practicing alone in my apartment for years, YouTube videos the poor substitute for Roberto. I’ve only danced salsa in a handful of clubs, only when Gabby visited and only with her. Dancing with anyone other than Roberto felt like a violation of a pact we’d never made.

I put everything I have into my moves, hoping Roberto realizes what those sessions back in PR meant to me. That they’ve forever transformed me. That dancing salsa wasn’t an impulsive fascination of mine that lasted only five days. None of it was. Not the island, not the dancing, not the food, not him. Meeting him has changed me forever. Ever since I plopped down next to him on that sandy beach blanket so many years ago, all I’ve ever wanted was to be in his arms, sharing moments like this. All I’ve ever wanted was to be wanted by his side.

You’d never know by watching us that we haven’t danced together in four years. Our synchronized steps bring us back to center stage just as the song hits the final chorus, Roberto using it to spin me into a triple right turn, followed by a crossover and an overhead twirl. The combination removes whatever restraint remains with the audience. Their cheers drown out the band, and I wonder if the roof will explode. With our victory secured, I allow myself to steal a glance toward the blondes.

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