The next day, at work, I’m walking on a cloud. I can’t stop smiling at everyone and being cheerful, which isn’t exactly what I’m famous for. My bright greetings and bouncy attitude cause more than a few frowns and exchanged raised eyebrows.
Well, let them frown. I’m in love.
I’m not in love, I know that. In the cold light of day, I’m lucid enough to understand that I’m in lust. Badly infatuated, perhaps. Because, let’s be honest, I’ve never been into anyone as I am into Travis. But since I’m not out of my mind, I’m aware this crush will end as soon as I board the plane to fly back to New York. The spark of attraction is strong now, but, as inevitably happens, it will die out and we’ll move on.
I’ll miss Travis when I leave, sure. If he lived in New York… I’m not sure what could happen. But given I’ll be gone in two months, I’m conscious this relationship has no future. And while I’m more than happy to take part in the remake of 9½ Weeks, I’d better not worry too much about what will happen come September.
My calendar pings, reminding me I’m supposed to chair a budget review meeting in fifteen minutes. I sigh; numbers are so boring.
On the way from my trailer to the community barn, I pass Jerry and Celia kissing behind a tree.
“Morning, lovebirds,” I greet them.
They pull apart and stare at me in horror. Yeah, any other day I would’ve probably berated them for making out while on the clock. I mean, at least wait until lunch break for smooches. But today, I appreciate that if Travis were around, I’d be doing much worse than making out behind a tree, so…
At my cheerful greeting, Jerry and Celia stare at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. They must think I’m drunk or something, but I’m way too happy to care.
Still, if I want to keep a shred of authority, I guess I’ll have to tone the joie de vivre down.
I force my lips out of the smiling curve that has stretched them all morning and call out, “Celia, are you coming or what? We have a budget review in ten.”
My assistant scurries toward me, readjusting her tousled blouse as she walks, and quickly falls into step with me. “I’m so sorry, Samantha. That will never happen again.”
I put my hands on my hips. “If you’re going to make out on the job, at least go somewhere no one will see you.”
Celia nods, gaze downcast.
“As for you,” I say, turning to Jerry, “get to work, the meeting’s in ten. You’d better have your numbers sorted.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says and hurries away toward his cabin. To retrieve the latest reports on carpentry expenses, I hope.
I roll my eyes. Acting as love-police has sobered me up. I conduct the rest of the morning in business-as-usual mode. At least until the lunch hour, when I receive a text from Travis that puts my head right back in the clouds.
From Travis
To Travis
From Travis
To Travis
From Travis
To Travis
From Travis
To Travis
From Travis
To Travis
From Travis
That seems like an oddly specific request for a date.
I shrug, thinking the mayor just gave me the perfect idea to torture him while we’re out.
That night, at Willette’s house, I act like a complete teenager. I hide in my room until I’m ready to go out and before leaving, I slip on a long, wrap-around maxi skirt over the jeans miniskirt I really intend to wear tonight.
I know I’m being irrational. I’m an adult and can dress however I want. Still, I’m now in the peculiar situation of living under the same roof as the mother of the man I’m dating… so…
Also, Willette seems pretty traditional with her wardrobe. I’m not sure she’d appreciate my style in a daughter-in-law. Not that we’re becoming relatives soon… I really shouldn’t worry about what Willette thinks of me. But I can’t help wanting to impress her. And after the other night when I appeared at dinner with hay in my hair and just-had-sex-in-the-barn spelled across my forehead, parading my shortest skirt around the house doesn’t seem like the right move.
Turns out my worries were totally unnecessary. When I get downstairs, Willette is nowhere to be seen. I cross the yard at a brisk pace and take off my camouflage skirt before I get behind the wheel.
When I step out of the truck at Travis’s house fifteen minutes later, the mayor is waiting for me on the porch.
Travis takes one look at my mostly bare legs and swears. “Holy goats, Baker, are you trying to kill me with that skirt?”
“You said to go short!”
“I said not to go long, not to give me a coronary.”
I climb up the porch steps and lace my fingers behind his neck. “Agree to disagree.” I kiss him.
The kiss soon turns heated, and Travis pulls back. “We’d better go before I try to take you on the porch again.”
I give his lower lip a last nibble. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
We get into his pickup and another twenty minutes later, we pull up in a quaint little town that must be even smaller than Emerald Creek.
“Where are we?”
“Let me present you the oldest dance hall in Indiana, Coupland Dance Hall.”
“And what are we doing at a dance hall?”
“We’re going to enter a two-stepping competition.”
“But I’ve no frigging idea how to dance the two steps.”
“Don’t worry, we have a little time to practice before the actual competition.”
“How come?”
“I know the owner. Mary Sue has agreed to open early only for us.”
Inside, the building is tall and airy, and I can tell at once the wooden floor has been danced on for years. A woman in her mid-forties is waiting for us there.
“Hey, Travis, so nice to see you again.” They hug. “And you must be Samantha? Very nice to meet you, I’m Mary Sue.”
We shake hands.
As soon as the introductions are over, Mary Sue begins the dancing lesson. “Two-step is the most popular of all the country dances. Everywhere there’s country music you’ll find the two-step. Before we begin with the actual moves, I’d like to know what level we’re starting at. Now, Travis, I know you’re a pro…”
“Not really.” The mayor self-deprecates in the sexiest way: gaze downturned, a hand raking through his hair.
“Oh, please,” Mary Sue counters. “I’ve seen you on the floor, I know. Now, Samantha, do you have any dancing experience?”
“I don’t suppose clubbing in New York counts?”
Mary Sue chuckles. “Afraid not. We’re going to start real slow, then. You’ll have to rely on your partner and let him lead. Mutual trust is always key in couple dancing.”
Our teacher claps her hands and guides us to the center of the dance floor.
“Now, partnership dancing is all about communication, always a great way to get couples together. I met my husband dancing twenty-two years ago and after twenty years of marriage, we’re still dancing together, so… let’s begin. Please stand in front of each other and hold hands.”
Travis gently grabs my hands and pulls me toward him.
“Now, now, leave some space in there.” Mary Sue fans herself. “I don’t want you to step on each other’s feet.”
Travis and I pull a foot apart, and Mary Sue continues with the next instruction, “To begin, I just want you to walk in a straight line. Lead, you’re going to start with your left foot, and lady, with your right. Can you guess why?”
I shake my head dumbly.
“Because ladies are always right!” Mary Sue jokes.
As we keep walking in a wide circle around the floor, she adds complications. “The basic rhythm is two quick steps and two slow steps, so now instead of going at a steady pace, try quick, quick, slooow, slooow. And go! Quick, quick, slooow, slooow.”
Travis and I make a trial lap and so far, so good.
“Now the trick is, even if your feet are following a rhythm, overall, your bodies should glide steadily at the same pace. So quick, quick, slooow, slooow, on the lower body and nice and fluid on the upper body.”
“Fantastic,” she praises us after another lap. “Let’s try the correct hand position now. Travis is going to hold your right hand with his left. Travis’s other hand should go on your back, and Samantha, place your left hand to the shoulder seam of his shirt.”
We get into position and we’re not doing anything special or particularly compromising, but still, the intimacy of being dancing partners is simmering. As if reading my thoughts, Travis smirks, and ever more heat goes to my cheeks.
“At least we don’t have to bathe in a lake to learn how to do this,” I whisper.
Travis frowns.
“Dirty Dancing reference,” I explain.
His smirk goes feral and, disregarding Mary Sue’s instructions, he pulls me in to breathe down my neck, “I thought you enjoyed bathing in lakes with me.”
“Not when you shun me afterward.”
Teeth graze my earlobe. “That wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”
Thank goodness I’m wearing next to nothing because the air is getting scorching hot. I push him back, scolding him. If he wanted to get right to the fun activities, he shouldn’t have brought me dancing.
“Let’s dance,” I order.
We do a few more practice laps, then try a few turns and more complicated moves until Mary Sue announces our rehearsal time is over and that she has to open her doors to the general public. People are already waiting in line outside and the dance hall quickly fills up.
The more crowded the place gets, the more nervous I become.
“Hello,” Mary Sue says into the microphone on stage a while later. “Thanks for coming to the Coupland Dance Hall’s Wednesday competition in Indiana’s oldest dance hall.”
As we step onto the dance floor, the jitters worsen. “Travis.” I pull him back. “We’re not ready.” I stare around. The room is full of the most authentic, honky-tonk folks. The various couples practice their moves and darn, they know what they’re doing.
Travis smiles at me reassuringly. “Sure we are.”
I shake my head, pulling back. “No, we’re going to trip and fall, I’m sure.”
Travis pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, I got you.”
My insides melt at the honey-like sound of his voice, and a shiver spider-walks down my spine. All the objections I had dissipate in a cloud of lust and, surprisingly, complete trust. If Travis says we got this, we do.
We do a warmup lap of quick, quick, slow, slow while Mary Sue continues presenting the night. “I’d like to take just a minute to introduce our judges tonight. With the United Country Western Dance Council, Betty Jo, Mary Jane, and our only male judge of the evening, Mr. Billy Bob.”
Billy Bob is an ancient, thin man with a mane of white hair. The judge stands up and demonstrates a few steps, moving incredibly springily for a man that old.
The crowd cheers, and Mary Sue continues, “He’s been dancing for longer than some of you have been alive. Let’s hear it for Billy Bob.” The cheers intensify until Mary Sue talks into the microphone again. “Tonight we’ve got dancers from all over the state competing, so… without further ado, may the best couple win!”
* * *
Of course, we don’t win. But as we walk outside and Travis twirls me on an impromptu turn to then pull me to his chest and kiss me, I still feel like a champion.
We break the kiss, which leaves me high. High on dancing, high on life, high on him.
“Oh my gosh, I’m starving,” I say. “Please tell me there’s a place nearby where we can eat?”
“Are beers and burgers too unsophisticated for you?”
“Are you kidding? I’d kill for a burger right now.”
“Great, c’mon then, I’ll show you my favorite place in town.”
We lock hands and walk around the corner to Billy Bob’s famous BBQ joint. Apparently, the man is a local legend, not only for his dancing skills.
Sure enough, they have the best burgers and the most beautiful view. The bar grill is by the water, and the lights of a nearby bridge are twinkling like stars against the dark sky.
We eat on the patio, taking in the gorgeous weather and the quiet river, not hurrying anything. The music from the bar indoors is just loud enough to be a perfect background noise to the peace of the evening.
I dip my fries into the best homemade mayo and, after a few bites, I ask, “What’s the best thing about being mayor?”
The corner of Travis’s lips curls up. “I always meet interesting people.”
“Uh-huh. And you blackmail all of them?”
“Only the beautiful ones.” He laughs. “But that’s not what I meant. As mayor of a small town, I get to know pretty much everything going on in my city, and all its people.”
“You really care about Emerald Creek, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. And I try my best to advance our town. To preserve its history and traditions, but also giving it a chance for the new.”
“And what’s the worst thing about being mayor?”
Travis looks away for a second, then brings his gaze back to mine. “Sometimes, I have to make some tough calls.”
“What kind of decisions?”
“The kind that makes some people’s lives better and others’ lives worse.”
I stare into his eyes, trying to figure out what he’s talking about, but his face is so expressionless that I can’t. And I’d hate to put a sad note into an otherwise perfect night.
“What about you?” Travis asks. “What’s the best part about being a movie producer?”
I smile. “Seeing a project come to life. I follow every step of the production from start to finish. Do you like to read? Fiction, I mean?”
“Yeah, sci-fi and space opera mainly, but I don’t have as much time as I’d like.”
“Uhh, I didn’t take you for the lightsaber kind of guy. Anyway, can you believe Star Wars started as words on a page? A screenplay that would change people’s lives for generations. I love seeing the characters get out of the written page and brought to life on the big screen. And I know most readers will always say the book was better than the movie, but my goal is to make the movie as good, if not better than the book. And when I succeed…” I sigh. “It’s just the best.”
“And the worst part?”
“Uh, definitely rogue mayors who blackmail me.”
Travis takes my hand from across the table and brushes his thumb against the back of it. “I thought you liked me being a little rogue.”
I take my hand back and stand up. “The view is fantastic and the food delicious, but it’s time you take me home for dessert, Mr. Mayor.”
Travis chuckles and stands up. “As the lady commands.”
* * *
Later that night, we lie in his bed, my head resting on his shoulder.
“So Tuesday was dinner at home, Wednesday dancing. What about tomorrow? What do you have in store for me?”
Travis grimaces. I don’t see it, but I can sense the movement. I roll over on my belly to face him.
“Thursday nights I have town council meetings.”
“Like every single week?”
“Yep, our community is very hands-on.”
“Oh, okay, how about I take you for ice cream afterward?”
“Baker, are you aware a date to Scoops Of Delight after a town meeting would be worse than posting an engagement announcement in the Emerald Creek Gazette?”
“Should I wear chainmail then, under my clothes?”
Travis frowns, confused.
“To avoid being backstabbed by all the disappointed ladies in town, and their mothers, and grandmothers, and aunts…”
“Are you sure you want to make this official?”
“We’re just going on a date, I don’t see what the big deal is…”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”