Sarah
I brace myself for his refusal.
"Alright," Matthew says instead, holding his palm out to me.
I blink up at him, certain I misheard him.
"Well?" he asks. "Do you want to dance or not?"
I slide my fingers into his. His grip is firm and warm. I let him lead me onto the dance floor, my heart hammering far harder than it should.
We have done this before—danced together, that is. But tonight, it feels different than it did in the past.
Matthew places a hand on my waist, his touch light. I rest mine on his shoulder, trying not to think about how solid he feels beneath my fingertips.
The music plays around us, slow and soft. We sway together, moving in time with the melody.
I know he doesn't want to be here with me. But he is here, and I will savor this moment.
I let myself sink into the music, into the warmth of his hand against my waist. It's foolish, I know. But for once, I don't care.
