Freedom by Faith Potts

Author:Faith Potts
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve || Alex

Joining the others couples on the dance floor, James and I resume our distant arrangement and begin swaying to the music. Mom’s words tumble over in my mind, upsetting my heart rate. I wonder if he can feel my trembling.

With his hand gripping mine and his gaze focused on something far across the room, James leads our steps and doesn’t say a word about the situation he just rescued me from.

“Thank you for saving me from that,” I murmur when I’ve had ample time to compose myself. My view of the room across his shoulder lands on Mom and Paul, and I quickly turn my head. Studying the stitching of James’s collar suddenly becomes rather intriguing.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It was getting pretty uncomfortable.”

“I can’t believe she just said all those things.” I sigh and spin on one foot when he twirls me around. My elementary ballet teacher would be so proud. “By the way, I didn’t know we had a song.”

He laughs at that, accentuating his dimple. “I guess we’ll have to get one then.”

“What song are they playing, anyway?”

“Stand. Rascal Flatts.” He answers without even thinking about it.

“Maybe this should be our song. I think the title fits our relationship so far.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not exactly how I want to tell it to the grandkids.”

This time I’m the one who misses a step and nearly sends us both to the floor. Did he just suggest grandchildren? As in his and my grandchildren?

He clears his throat. “Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t…really…mean it like that. You know.”

I just smile and nod. Right now, I’m not sure if speaking would make this better or more awkward.

When the song comes to an end, we remain on the dance floor through the next half-dozen melodies, talking about random things and sharing plenty of laughter.

As a tune with a quick beat slows down, I step back from James, clapping softly. It’s getting late and the crowd is dwindling. Tired after a day of preparations, I start back toward the table which Mom and Mr. Harand have abandoned.

I’m to the edge of the dance floor when James’s hand captures my wrist. A slow song is starting up in the background as he makes a quiet request, his eyes gently seeking an affirmative response. “Once more?”

“Sure.” I allow him to lead me back to the dance floor, my heart pounding. How does this guy affect me so easily? And why?

We resume the same position, moving to the slow music. There’s now only five or six couples, in place of the previous fifty or sixty. Somehow it feels better, closer. We can talk without being overheard and dance without worrying about bumping into someone.

James surprises me by speaking and breaking the silence. “I think this would be more comfortable if I put my arm around you.”

It’s an invitation. Not a request, not even a suggestion, and certainly not an order. Just an invitation. A reassurance that he’s okay with it if I am.

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