she steered herself like a raft shooting rapids, holding the plates high above her head, skirting around dancing couples. But then sighted Bill, who was unconsciously scratching the stubble on his neck and looking at her expectantly; he wasn't going to let her get away. No way! Absolutely not! she thought. So she turned sharply around to head in the opposite direction, only to find that she was now standing face to face with the mysterious stranger Matt.
Jillian's face turned various shades of red. She knew it was pounding with blood. She found she could not utter a single word or so much as move her feet. Meanwhile, Matt casually took a sip of his beer as he studied her sidelong, one hand in his pocket, appearing very cool and casual. Finally he broke the silence and said with a glowing smile, “You know, I wasn't intending to come here, but now I'm glad I did.”
Jillian stammered, “I was just about to leave.”
“Oh, why? It's early. I'm Matt Barnes, by the way,” he held out his hand in greeting. Jillian extended hers in turn and felt the light squeeze of his fingers as she smilingly and shyly gazed straight into his eyes. They say that eyes are windows to the soul; his were a grey blue, the colour of skies just before a storm. Up close, he was good-looking, tall with thick dark wavy hair that wisped around his forehead; a chiselled face that reminded her of Michelangelo's statue of David. Oh, and soft-spoken too? Yes, he was perfect.
“Your name's Jillian, is it?”
“Yes.” Jillian was surprised and flattered. “How did you know?”
“I've got ways. It's not that difficult, really.”
She stared at the ground and bit her lower lip, which was caught between her teeth in a shy smile. She didn't know what to say next and felt awkward.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
No, she did not dance. There was no way in a million years that she would dance and embarrass herself in front of all her friends! She stammered an apology: “No, I don't dance. I have two left feet, as they say.”
“Oh, there's no such thing. You just have to go with the rhythm.” He held out his hand to her. “I could teach you a few steps. There's really nothing to it.”
In a moment they were trotting to the dance floor. All she could hear was the sound of her own giddy voice, up somewhere amid the carved beams of the ceiling, ringing out, “Y-Yes, I'd love to.” She could barely swallow the spittle in her mouth as Matt rushed her to the centre of the hall. She felt thrilled, but her knees almost buckled. This was her very first dance! Well, at least she wasn't thirty-five years old, like her next-door neighbour, who still lived in her parents' basement; technically she was still a teenager and could make up for lost time. Couples were brushing against them, thrusting their bodies haphazardly to the rhythm, and they slipped into a gap that briefly presented itself. But just then the music stopped. Jillian turned to face Matt and gazed up at him anxiously. He looked much older than her male friends. She saw stubble on his face; he probably shaved every day. He also towered over her, standing a good six inches taller than her meagre five-foot-five-inch frame.
“We'll wait for the next song,” he said reassuringly.
Unfortunately the DJ selected a love song by the Cranberries, “Linger.” Jillian's heart sank. This song would require dancing close or worse, embracing! She mumbled apologetically, glancing sidelong, afraid to look him straight in the eyes. “It's okay if you want to skip this dance, we can ....”
“No, I'd really like to dance to this one,” he replied— “that's if it's all right with you. I've always liked this song.”
He ran the fingers of one hand lightly down to her waist and gripped her hand with his other. Under his grasp Jillian went stiff; she caught her breath and took a few steps back, a point that her dancing-partner did not fail to notice. He smiled and drew her closer.
“This is the way slow
Jillian's face turned various shades of red. She knew it was pounding with blood. She found she could not utter a single word or so much as move her feet. Meanwhile, Matt casually took a sip of his beer as he studied her sidelong, one hand in his pocket, appearing very cool and casual. Finally he broke the silence and said with a glowing smile, “You know, I wasn't intending to come here, but now I'm glad I did.”
Jillian stammered, “I was just about to leave.”
“Oh, why? It's early. I'm Matt Barnes, by the way,” he held out his hand in greeting. Jillian extended hers in turn and felt the light squeeze of his fingers as she smilingly and shyly gazed straight into his eyes. They say that eyes are windows to the soul; his were a grey blue, the colour of skies just before a storm. Up close, he was good-looking, tall with thick dark wavy hair that wisped around his forehead; a chiselled face that reminded her of Michelangelo's statue of David. Oh, and soft-spoken too? Yes, he was perfect.
“Your name's Jillian, is it?”
“Yes.” Jillian was surprised and flattered. “How did you know?”
“I've got ways. It's not that difficult, really.”
She stared at the ground and bit her lower lip, which was caught between her teeth in a shy smile. She didn't know what to say next and felt awkward.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
No, she did not dance. There was no way in a million years that she would dance and embarrass herself in front of all her friends! She stammered an apology: “No, I don't dance. I have two left feet, as they say.”
“Oh, there's no such thing. You just have to go with the rhythm.” He held out his hand to her. “I could teach you a few steps. There's really nothing to it.”
In a moment they were trotting to the dance floor. All she could hear was the sound of her own giddy voice, up somewhere amid the carved beams of the ceiling, ringing out, “Y-Yes, I'd love to.” She could barely swallow the spittle in her mouth as Matt rushed her to the centre of the hall. She felt thrilled, but her knees almost buckled. This was her very first dance! Well, at least she wasn't thirty-five years old, like her next-door neighbour, who still lived in her parents' basement; technically she was still a teenager and could make up for lost time. Couples were brushing against them, thrusting their bodies haphazardly to the rhythm, and they slipped into a gap that briefly presented itself. But just then the music stopped. Jillian turned to face Matt and gazed up at him anxiously. He looked much older than her male friends. She saw stubble on his face; he probably shaved every day. He also towered over her, standing a good six inches taller than her meagre five-foot-five-inch frame.
“We'll wait for the next song,” he said reassuringly.
Unfortunately the DJ selected a love song by the Cranberries, “Linger.” Jillian's heart sank. This song would require dancing close or worse, embracing! She mumbled apologetically, glancing sidelong, afraid to look him straight in the eyes. “It's okay if you want to skip this dance, we can ....”
“No, I'd really like to dance to this one,” he replied— “that's if it's all right with you. I've always liked this song.”
He ran the fingers of one hand lightly down to her waist and gripped her hand with his other. Under his grasp Jillian went stiff; she caught her breath and took a few steps back, a point that her dancing-partner did not fail to notice. He smiled and drew her closer.
“This is the way slow
Similar Books
