The Four Seasons Dance was held in something called an ice house—which, from what I could tell, was basically Texas speak for a bar. Inside the metal building, strings of lights hung across the ceiling, Lone Star flags lined the walls, and country music poured from speakers scattered around the space.
Genevieve led us to a table near the front door, where a pair of older ladies manned a sign-in sheet and a box of pin-on stars.
“Good evening, Miss Emmeline,” she said to the women, “Miss Janine.”
“Genevieve Haywood,” the woman on the left said. “How y’all doing?”
“Just fine,” she replied. “This is Cassie Bishop.” She reached back and tugged me toward the table. “She’s here filming that TV show I was telling you about.”
“Oh yes,” the one on the right cooed. “Bringing so much excitement to our small town here.”
“She’s definitely shaken up things out at the Black Willow,” Ty said from behind us.
A shiver raced down my spine. I smiled, a little embarrassed by the compliment—at least, I thought it was a compliment.
“Y’all better hurry,” the woman on the left warned, “they’re about to start the dance-off.”
“Dance-off?” I croaked.
Genevieve turned on me, a royal blue star in her hand and a mischievous smile on her face. “It’s a Rocky Gulch tradition.”
As she reached for my shoulder, intent on pinning the star to the my borrow dressed, I had a bad feeling about what she was going to say.
“I don’t dance,” I blurted.
“That’s just fine,” Genevieve said, smoothing the star into place, “because my brother is a brilliant dancer.”
With that, she grabbed me by both shoulders, spun me around, and gave me a little push toward Ty. His dimples were showing, but I could see the hesitation in his eyes.
“You don’t have to,” I whispered.
His smile softened.
“No, I don’t.” He reached down and took my hand. “But I want to.”
Just then, a microphone squelched and a male voice with a thick Texas accent echoed through the building.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good people of Rocky Gulch,” he called out. “Welcome to the seventy-first annual Fall Four Seasons Dance. Jake has the Shiner Bock flowing, Helena and Abigail have put together a veritable feast with generous donations for the Main Street Market and the Yellow Rose Cafe, and the Longhorn Boys are ready to rock the house.”
Everyone gathered in the ice house cheered as the band—the Longhorn Boys—played a little jingle.
I leaned up, closer to Ty’s ear, and whispered, “I’m scared.”
He laughed. Without looking away from the stage, he replied, “You probably should be.”
“The only thing to do,” the man with the microphone said, “is DANCE!”
With that the, band started playing and everyone around us coupled up.
Before I could react, Ty turned me to face him, slipped his free hand behind my back, and pulled me close-but-not-all-the-way to his body. “Now this, darling,” he said, spinning me out onto the dance floor, “is going to be fun.”
As we merged into the flow of dancers, I saw Eddie filming from the edge of the room. I threw him a desperate look and the rotten dirtbag had the nerve to wave.
“You move well,” Ty said a few songs later.
“You sound surprised.” I pretended to be insulted.
He simply replied, “I am.”
I smacked him on the shoulder. “Isn’t that rude to say?”
“Why?” He smiled, like he knew I was faking my irritation. “You said you couldn’t dance.”
“No, I said I don’t dance,” I argued. “Big difference.”
Ty speared me with those bright blue eyes, calling me on my semantics argument without a word. “Besides,” he said, “mostly I’m surprised you’re letting me lead.”
“Really?” I leaned my head back to get a better look at his face.
“You’re the kind of woman who likes to be in charge.” He spun me in a tight turn, forcing me to hold on tighter. “You would rather lead than be led.”
“True,” I said, unable to argue with that fair assessment of my personality. I couldn’t be good at my job if I didn’t like to run things. “But when I’m out of my element, I have to let the experts take control.”
And I knew, as we glided around the dance floor, weaving in and out of other couples and executing graceful turns I never thought myself capable of, that Ty was an expert dancer. Which made it no surprise when, more hours than I cared to count later, the mayor—the man with the microphone—declared us the winners.
The victory was all Ty, and from the cocky grin on his dimple face as we walked back to his truck, he wasn’t going to let me for it.
“Oh shoot,” Genevieve said when were almost to the cars. “I forgot my sweater.”
“I’ll get it,” Ty offered.
“No, no,” she insisted. “I’ll be right back.”
She gave Eddie a pointed look and she turned away.
“Um, I’ll walk you,” the big cameraman said. “I don’t think I got a shot of the building exterior.”
“You two just meet us at home,” Genevieve called out as they rounded the corner back onto Main Street, leaving me and Ty alone.
“That was…” I shook my head.
“Not subtle,” Ty finished.
A laugh burst out of me. “No,” I agreed, “it wasn’t.”
It felt comfortable, joking with Ty. All of it, really. Talking to him, dancing with him, being with him. Despite our different backgrounds and our disparate lives, we just… clicked.
We walked the rest of the way to the truck, and when we reached the spot, Ty walked me around to the passenger door. I stood a little to the side as inserted the key into the lock.
When he reached for the handle, he stopped.
There was a tension in his body I hadn’t seen before.
My heart beat faster.
“I may not agree with my sisters methods,” he said, turning his body toward mine. His bright blue eyes stared into me, intense even in the faint glow of the streetlight. “But I can’t argue with her intentions.”
My breathing quickened as he leaned forward, closer, and his gaze dropped to my mouth.
And then our lips met and I forgot to breathe at all.
Try It On Playlist #11: Boot Scootin' Boogie by Brooks & Dunn
Tune in tomorrow for the next installment.
