“Amy?”
Kristy jumped to her feet, pulling at the short hem of her dress, and fumbled for words. “Are...are you sure you can dance?”
Tristan kept his head focused toward me and said dismissively, “I had three years of formal training while I was in elementary school. I haven’t had to look at my feet since I was six. I think I can handle it.”
I took his arm and we moved onto the dance floor, away from a gaping Kristy. Oh yes, many heads turned in our direction. I clasped my hands around his neck and his hands found the small of my back. The music had switched to a different slow song—one by Josh Groban that always made Ahna tear up, though she would never admit it. True to his word, Tristan wasn’t close to stepping on my feet. In fact, I became aware that we were dancing almost a foot apart. This wasn’t junior high !
I just knew that Tristan was still thinking about how I betrayed him the rehearsal. I carefully leaned my mouth toward his ear and whispered, “I’m sorry, about yesterday.”
Ever so subtly, I felt him relax. He replied, “You didn’t have to do that out there.”
“Yes, I did.”
Tristan’s hand pressed against my back and I felt myself move closer until my head was resting against his warm chest. I closed my eyes and felt its steady rising and falling. I breathed in deeply and wrapped my arms more securely around his neck. The world was suddenly simply cinnamon and sandalwood. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so content.
All too soon, the song ended. I nearly moaned as Tristan stepped back and caught my arm. “Maybe we should head out.”
Maybe people shouldn’t move when other people are feeling so...
Oh, whatever.
Chapter 7
The drive through the night was peaceful, but when I turned off my car’s engine, awkward silence returned with a vengeance. I sat, feeling strangely nervous, wondering why he wasn’t getting out and wondering if I was supposed to say something and wondering all those things you wonder at the end of a date—not that this was a date! Suddenly, Tristan broke the silence. “I want you to come inside, but I have to warn you about my mother. At these kinds of things, she tends to get pretty...tipsy.”
Honestly, how drunk could she be? She’d only left, maybe, an hour before. I shrugged. “Hey, my mom’s been on a picnic for most of my life.”
He frowned as if he didn’t think I’d understood him and then opened the car door. “Okay.”
I slid out of my car and then paused. Wait— why was he inviting me in? This was part of the job, right? I couldn’t, we couldn’t...date. Ignoring my brain, I walked with him up to the door. He asked, “You ready?” and pressed the doorbell. From inside, I could hear the sound of talking and piped classical music. There was a crash, followed by laughter, and then the door was thrust open.
Mrs. Edmund stood in the doorway, her hair slightly mussed and her eyes glistening. In the foyer behind her, I could see a waiter on his knees, wiping up the shards of a broken glass. A young server pressed a flute of champagne into the hostess’ hand, while she smiled largely at us. She oozed, “Oh, how lovely you both look,” and I tried to return her smile. She turned her head, presumably toward the retreating server, and continued to slur, “ That’s my son and his babysitter.”
Okay, she had definitely been knocking them back.
Several of the administrators, whom I recognized from the graduation, were standing in clusters around the den and they turned to look in our direction. Feeling embarrassed for Tristan, I tried to move toward the stairs. “Everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Edmund.”
“Thanks, dear. It’s all the cater— whoops !” The flute fell from her fingers and smashed onto the tile. She frowned. “Oh, those things are so slippery .” She held up a hand and tried to whisper to me, “I get so nervous hosting.”
“Don’t worry,” I said while we began up the stairs.
Kristy jumped to her feet, pulling at the short hem of her dress, and fumbled for words. “Are...are you sure you can dance?”
Tristan kept his head focused toward me and said dismissively, “I had three years of formal training while I was in elementary school. I haven’t had to look at my feet since I was six. I think I can handle it.”
I took his arm and we moved onto the dance floor, away from a gaping Kristy. Oh yes, many heads turned in our direction. I clasped my hands around his neck and his hands found the small of my back. The music had switched to a different slow song—one by Josh Groban that always made Ahna tear up, though she would never admit it. True to his word, Tristan wasn’t close to stepping on my feet. In fact, I became aware that we were dancing almost a foot apart. This wasn’t junior high !
I just knew that Tristan was still thinking about how I betrayed him the rehearsal. I carefully leaned my mouth toward his ear and whispered, “I’m sorry, about yesterday.”
Ever so subtly, I felt him relax. He replied, “You didn’t have to do that out there.”
“Yes, I did.”
Tristan’s hand pressed against my back and I felt myself move closer until my head was resting against his warm chest. I closed my eyes and felt its steady rising and falling. I breathed in deeply and wrapped my arms more securely around his neck. The world was suddenly simply cinnamon and sandalwood. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so content.
All too soon, the song ended. I nearly moaned as Tristan stepped back and caught my arm. “Maybe we should head out.”
Maybe people shouldn’t move when other people are feeling so...
Oh, whatever.
Chapter 7
The drive through the night was peaceful, but when I turned off my car’s engine, awkward silence returned with a vengeance. I sat, feeling strangely nervous, wondering why he wasn’t getting out and wondering if I was supposed to say something and wondering all those things you wonder at the end of a date—not that this was a date! Suddenly, Tristan broke the silence. “I want you to come inside, but I have to warn you about my mother. At these kinds of things, she tends to get pretty...tipsy.”
Honestly, how drunk could she be? She’d only left, maybe, an hour before. I shrugged. “Hey, my mom’s been on a picnic for most of my life.”
He frowned as if he didn’t think I’d understood him and then opened the car door. “Okay.”
I slid out of my car and then paused. Wait— why was he inviting me in? This was part of the job, right? I couldn’t, we couldn’t...date. Ignoring my brain, I walked with him up to the door. He asked, “You ready?” and pressed the doorbell. From inside, I could hear the sound of talking and piped classical music. There was a crash, followed by laughter, and then the door was thrust open.
Mrs. Edmund stood in the doorway, her hair slightly mussed and her eyes glistening. In the foyer behind her, I could see a waiter on his knees, wiping up the shards of a broken glass. A young server pressed a flute of champagne into the hostess’ hand, while she smiled largely at us. She oozed, “Oh, how lovely you both look,” and I tried to return her smile. She turned her head, presumably toward the retreating server, and continued to slur, “ That’s my son and his babysitter.”
Okay, she had definitely been knocking them back.
Several of the administrators, whom I recognized from the graduation, were standing in clusters around the den and they turned to look in our direction. Feeling embarrassed for Tristan, I tried to move toward the stairs. “Everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Edmund.”
“Thanks, dear. It’s all the cater— whoops !” The flute fell from her fingers and smashed onto the tile. She frowned. “Oh, those things are so slippery .” She held up a hand and tried to whisper to me, “I get so nervous hosting.”
“Don’t worry,” I said while we began up the stairs.
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