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DESPITE Amara’s insistence that they won’t go back, when Eric gets home he Googles the dance group’s schedule for the following week. But there’s nothing listed, only a notice about some Highland Games thing. He frowns and taps his laptop.
Apparently, easily searchable or highly informative websites are not a strength of whoever is organizing this thing. Neither is design; it looks like the page was done the year Eric was born. When he finally finds a page that lists a location and time for the games, it also has bagpipe music on autoplay. Eric hits mute on his laptop as quickly as he can.
That there’s dancing going on at the event, seems clear; whether Rob will be there, less so.
Eric takes to Facebook.
***
“YOU FACEBOOK STALKED the teacher?” Amara demands as they walk to across campus to the building that houses their windowless offices the next day.
“I didn’t stalk him. His profile is public.”
“But you’re going to take the info you got from his Facebook profile—that is possibly public only because he is old and does not know how to set that stuff to private—and go stalk him for real. In person.”
“The Games are public. It’s a public event!” Eric insists. “Tons of people are going. It looks awesome. People throw telephone poles at stuff.”
Amara makes a face more skeptical than he’s ever seen—on her or anyone else. “Okay, whatever they’re throwing, I don’t think they’re telephone poles.”
“Well they look like it. So are you coming with me?”
“Why should I go wingman for you, after your complete lack of help last night?” Amara asks.
“The satisfaction of seeing me wash out as thoroughly as you did?” Eric says blandly. “Also, there’s food.”
“Fine.” Amara sighs. “But you get to drive this time. Where is this place?”
***
THE HIGHLAND GAMES are held in the middle of nowhere, or, rather, in Mumford. As far as Eric is concerned it’s the same thing. Still, it’s a pretty spring day when he picks Amara up at her apartment, and they pull onto 490 with the windows rolled down.
The first thing Eric notices when he gets out of the car is the bagpipes. They are less annoying than the ones on the website. He may find them charming; he hasn’t decided yet.
“Seriously?” Amara asks him, as they walk across the gravel parking lot towards a big green meadow. It’s spread with clusters of white tents, dance stages and game fields are spread out.
“You were the one who thought Scottish country dance was a good starting point in the first place.” Eric grins. “I think the bagpipes come with the territory, and you owe me.”
“No. no, no. You owe me.”
“For what? Abandoning you to your ineptitude while I mooned over our instructor?”
“Yes.”
Eric shrugs.
“Now what?” Amara asks once they get to the tents.
Eric scans the crowd. There’s a good number of men—and a few women—in kilts. More women wear white dresses with tartan sashes, but people in street clothes dominate the crowd. They’re obviously here to watch the festivities.
Amara folds her arms over her chest smirks as Eric spins slowly in a circle trying to figure out which way to go. Facebook can’t help him now, and the entire plan seems a lot less clear-cut than it had earlier in his head. If he finds Rob—much less gets to talk to him—what is he going to say?
Before he can work up a good reply to Amara, or formulate something resembling a concrete plan, her mouth falls slightly open and she stares over Eric’s shoulder.
“What?” Eric asks, moving to look.
“Don’t turn around!” Amara whispers sharply at him.
“What is going on?” Eric freezes with his head half-turned, staring out at a field where, yeah, that’s totally a telephone pole people are trying to throw.
“She’s here!”
“Elizabeth?” Eric turns his head the rest of the way around despite Amara’s protests.
“No. Megan.”
“Oh, she looks hot!” Eric exclaims when he sees her. Megan is wearing one of the white dresses with a blue-and-green tartan draped diagonally across her body and pinned at the waist. She’s fit and graceful, and the look totally works for her. “She must be dancing today.”
Amara follows Megan with her eyes until she’s out of sight in the crowd.
“Day looking up?” Eric asks slyly.
“Shut up.”
Eric loops his arm through Amara’s and strolls with her towards where Megan disappeared in to the crowd. “At least now we know what’s next.”
***
THEY WIND UP AT ONE of the dance stages where Megan and a cluster of other people are taking their places. Eric recognizes one of the men immediately.
Eric and Amara don’t need to say a word to each other. They both sit down cross-legged on the grassy slope that’s serving as seating for the audience. As much as Eric is excited to watch Rob, he’s suddenly aware that he has absolutely zero explanation as to why he’s here that doesn’t totally sell out Amara or make him sound like a complete creeper. Which is probably not the best way to make a good impression. Arguing for his great passion about a form of dance he’s objectively terrible at—even as a total newbie—is likely to make him seem like the liar he is.
But then, Eric spent an entire hour running into people in this guy’s class, until Rob took him by the hand and rescued him. Hopefully that means luck is on his side.
He stops worrying when the music starts up and Rob starts to dance. He’d been good in class—at least as far as Eric had been able to tell—but he’s clearly in his element here and loves having an audience. He shines. The music is lively, the mood of the crowd is bright, and aside from his growing apprehension at completely not having a plan, Eric’s having fun. He ends up grinning and tapping his feet along to the beat which is all well and good until Rob, looking out over the crowd as he weaves successfully through a hey, catches his eye.
His face registers no reaction—not surprise, or pleasure, or displeasure—at seeing Eric there. Clearly he has his dance-game-face on, and Eric’s not even sure Rob recognizes him. He could be making eye contact with everyone in the crowd. Except, Rob’s eyes keep coming back to him. Unlike Eric, he seems able to split his attention between what his feet are doing and what he’s staring at. As the group he’s performing with moves onto their second and third pieces, it becomes increasingly clear to Eric that yes, Rob really is looking right back at him.
He attempts to corroborate this with Amara because confirmation bias is real, but she’s busy staring at Megan.
“New target?” he murmurs to her.
“Mmmmmhmm.”
When the set is over, Eric applauds enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd. He still doesn’t have a plan, which is rapidly becoming a more acute issue. Rob and the rest of his group move off the stage. As far as Eric knows Rob is done dancing for the day and may be preparing to leave the event. Although Eric could, theoretically, table this until another day, going to another dance class seems likely to test the good graces of his fellow students beyond what is prudent.
But no matter what he does, he has very little to lose. Eric gets to his feet and skirts around the edge of the audience to the area behind the stage. He means to hang at the margins of the people milling around backstage and perhaps catch Rob’s eye from across the crowd. What he manages to do instead is to run smack into Rob as he’s bent over adjusting a garter.
Eric apologizes, tripping over the words while Rob straightens up. Eric had forgotten how tall he was.
“It’s okay,” Rob says. He looks confused, but not displeased. “Not the first time you’ve crashed into me.”
“At least now I’m limiting my collateral damage?”
Rob chuckles and, to Eric’s absolute delight, puts his hand on Eric’s back to steer him out of the gaggle.
“What are you doing here?” Rob is vastly amused. “This doesn’t strike me as your scene.”
“Wellllll.” Eric stalls, but he can only drag the word out so long. There’s nothing for it but to confess, at least a little. “I, um. Was hoping to see you.”
“I left that much of an impression?”
“And you were staring at me for half the set!” Before Eric can lose his nerve, he add, “I mean, I realize I kind of stalked you here and that’s a bit weird, and so it’s probably in my best interest to play it safe right now, but I make decisions impulsively and can I buy you a cup of coffee over at the coffee tent food thingy?” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of a concession stand.
***
SOMEHOW, DESPITE ERIC’S pathetic awkwardness, they wind up in crappy plastic folding chairs that sink into the soft grass. Every couple of minutes one of them has stand and shift their chair around in an attempt to find a more solid bit of ground. The coffee is weak, but at least it’s hot, which Eric appreciates. The day has clouded over and what had been a pleasant breeze earlier is now verging on too strong.
But he forgets the spring chill in the air when he and Rob start to talk.
Eric had been worried that they’d have nothing to converse about and that the first thrill of sitting down across from Rob would give way to a horrible awkwardness. But then Rob asks him about his coursework.
In the end, they barely talk about Scottish dance at all. Instead, they talk about coding and programming and tell each other hilarious stories about people they work with and the completely inappropriate notes they leave in their code. Even if Eric had never danced with Rob he’d be delighted by the conversation; Rob is funny, quick, and asks all the questions Eric wishes people would ask about his projects.
Eric also learns that Rob is not married, and is definitely into men. He mentions a guy in his department he dated once, and makes a couple of references to “Megan’s mother” that Eric doesn’t feel quite bold enough to follow up on for the details. Maybe on their second date. And yes, he’s totally counting this conversation as their first.
“So we’ve established why you’re here today, but what brought you to my Scottish Country Dance doorstep in the first place?” Rob asks as he swirls the dregs of his coffee in his cup.
“See, if you don’t ask me that question, I don’t have to look like a really pathetic kid.”
“You showed up at my Highland Games with the avowed purpose of stalking me. You can’t dig yourself deeper.” Rob teases.
“Fine. You know Amara?”
“The girl you came to the class with?”
“Yeah. She has a crush on Elizabeth.”
“Is that what that was all about?” Rob asks, like everything that had gone sideways with his dance class suddenly makes sense.
Eric nods. “She hauled me along to wingman. Which I. Ah. Kind of completely failed to do.”
Rob nods sympathetically, though a smile teases at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t seem to regret that particular turn of events.”
“No. Not really, no.”
“Me neither.”
“So why did you say yes to coffee with the crazy creepy stalker kid?” Eric asks.
“You’re lovely to dance with.”
“I was a disaster to dance with!”
“Yes, but it was fun. And someone following me to a performance is new. I wanted to see what you would do.”
***
ERIC LOOKS UP AT THE sky when he feels the first drops of rain. Somehow in the time they’ve been talking the clouds have become low, dark, and threatening. Activity picks up around the field, where people are gathering up blankets and coolers and migrating under tents and trees.
“I should probably get Amara,” Eric says regretfully. “She’ll never forgive me if I leave her out in the rain.”
“Can I walk you back?” Rob asks, a distinctly hopeful note in his voice.
“Yeah. Of course.” Eric grins.
Eric sends Amara a text—Mission successful, meet me at the car so we don’t melt?—while Rob tosses out their empty styrofoam cups.
He doesn’t get a reply, but doesn’t mind. The longer Amara takes to find him, the longer he has with Rob.
They keep talking as they make their way back to the parking lot, with a detour to a little tent where Rob left his stuff so he can change from ghillies into proper sneakers for the rather wet walk.
At the car there’s no sign of Amara. Eric considers texting her again but he doesn’t want to hasten the end of this not-quite-a-date-but-totally-a-date with Rob. However, it’s also now raining in earnest, and he doesn’t want to get absolutely soaked.
So he opens the hatchback of his car, drops down on the tailgate, and pats the spot next to him.
“Out of the rain?” he offers. “Or do you have to go do other stuff?”
“No, no, this is good,” Rob says, and sits down next to him.
It’s not a big car and there’s not that much room. Eric can feel the warmth of him and the scratch of Rob’s kilt when it brushes against his leg. They talk more, but quietly now, occasionally pausing just to listen to the rain or for approaching footsteps. Eric still wonders where Amara has gone and when she plans on showing up.
Rob has been receptive to his initiative before—not to mention his brazenness—so Eric finally gives up on holding back and slides his hand into Rob’s.
It’s hardly the first time they’ve held hands; after all, they spent the better part of an hour dancing together in class. But this is different and without excuse. Rob’s touch is firm and sure.
Rob laughs when Eric first leans in, which might not be the best sign, but then, they’re sitting in his hatchback hiding from the rain in a parking lot in the middle of Mumford. It’s absurd. Eric laughs, too, and kisses him.
Rob runs his hand up Eric’s arm and into his hair, and they’ve now officially gone from absurdly kissing in basically the trunk of Eric’s car, to making out in it. Intensely. Even with the back of the car open, Eric suspects they’re going to steam the windows.
It threatens out of hand quickly, except there’s nowhere it can particularly go. They fit well together, and the chemistry they’d had in that one incredibly awkward dance class is very much in play.
Rob guides Eric, with his hands and mouth and little wordless murmurs, exactly where he wants him to go. Eric winds up crowded against the inside of his car with Rob’s hands in his hair, wondering vaguely how far it’s reasonable to take this. The answer is probably less far than they already have.
He gropes for the collar of Rob’s shirt, just to see, and instead manages to get his fingers caught in his hatchback’s weird trunk netting he’s never been sure how to use. Trying to shake them loose only gets them more tangled. He slips and bangs his head on the side of the car.
Rob is instantly all concern. “Are you okay?” He runs a hand over the back of Eric’s head as if checking for a lump. All Eric can do, though, is laugh, and Rob soon joins in. The whole situation is ridiculous.
Before either of them gain regain their composure, he hears the crunch of gravel as someone walks towards the car. He jerks his head up—managing to whack it on the window this time—and sees Amara, walking side-by-side with Megan.
Rob, following Eric’s gaze, turns to look over his shoulder. At the sight of, not only Eric’s friend but his own daughter, he whips his head back around and scrambles to sit upright. Eric starts laughing again and can’t make himself stop. Amara and Megan freeze, staring at them. Actually, Amara is staring at them. Megan is staring anywhere but them.
“Hey, Mar?” Eric finally manages to say.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll meet you at the car in five minutes.”
“But you’re already at the car. I am already at the car.”
“Five! Minutes!”
“Okayyyyy,” Amara says, but she looks happy enough to grab Megan’s hand and pull her away.
As soon as they’re out of sight, Eric sits up and faces Rob, who looks equal parts horrified and amused. “So. We’re not going to talk about any of that right now, but before she comes back, let’s make plans. So I don’t have to stalk you again.”
Rob chuckles and leans forward to kiss him again softly. “Dinner next weekend,” he says against Eric’s mouth. “And dancing, if you want, but that is entirely up to you.”
Fin.