This little plant has fought its way through. Maybe because I started to believe in it. Because I wanted to be confident that it would grow and thrive and delight everyone who enters my room with its beauty. I wanted it to have a future. Now it does.
‘And you thought it wouldn’t survive with you,’ I hear Olive say.
Thoughtfully, I study the orchid. ‘Looks like I was wrong.’
Before she can reply, the doorbell rings.
Jaden.
My heartbeat speeds up all on its own, but it doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, the way this man affects my pulse feels wonderful.
I grab my handbag, hurry to the door, and open it with a broad smile on my face, which grows even wider when I see him.
He looks sharp in his black dress pants and elegant shoes. Under his jacket I can make out a black shirt, unbuttoned far enough that I can see his torso, which I now notice is also tattooed. His green eyes shine intensely, the dark hair and five o’clock shadow giving him a roguish air.
Hot. Damn hot.
‘Well, hello.’ That definitely came from Olive, who must be somewhere behind me in the hallway.
He lifts the corners of his mouth, his gaze fixed only on me. ‘Wow.’
‘Wow back at you,’ I say and grab my jacket. I give Olive a quick glance. ‘See you later.’
‘Take your time,’ she replies lovingly and strolls off toward the living room.
Jaden reaches his hand out to me, and I lace my fingers with his. ‘Ready to go?’
‘I’m ready.’ I steal a kiss, then pull the door shut and head off to the dance studio with him.
Hand in hand, Jaden and I step over the threshold of the dance hall. The floor gleams under the soft lights; a few couples are spinning to the music, laughing, while others stand together chatting.
I feel Jaden tense, his fingers closing more tightly around mine. A flicker of nervousness flashes in his eyes. Gently, I draw him closer to me and squeeze his hand as a sign that he’s not alone.
‘Step by step,’ I whisper to him. ‘Moment by moment.’
The music falls silent, he exhales in a strained rush.
The dance teacher—dressed in black, his blond hair tied up in a man bun—claps his hands and greets us.
‘Before we start with the steps, we need the right basic posture.’ He steps up to a couple and demonstrates how it should look. ‘The upper body stays upright, but not stiff,’ he explains. ‘Give it a try.’
Jaden places his hand on my shoulder blade, and I feel the tension in his fingers. I take my position as well, then lift my gaze. Constriction is reflected in the green of his eyes. Silently, I let him know that I’m here with him.
The dance teacher comes over to us, corrects the position of my arm, and then moves on to the next couple.
Jaden’s jaw grinds, and I sense that his thoughts are with Lilly right now. With sick Lilly, who watched the competitive dance championships on TV with a look of longing.
‘Why the tango, of all dances?’ I ask him.
He is silent for a while, then a melancholy expression flits across his face. ‘When we were still kids—she was nine, I was twelve—we went on vacation in Buenos Aires,’ he begins, then falls silent and shakes his head.
I give him an encouraging nod. ‘Did she see tango dancers there?’
He presses his lips together, looks around the dance studio, probably trying to find something that helps him not sink too deep into the memory.
‘We had to wait for hours until she could tear herself away,’ he says at last. A watery sheen forms in his eyes, he blinks quickly. ‘She just stood there with her mouth open. Nothing had ever captivated her like that before—except for the night sky, of course.’
This is hard for him, that much is obvious, but I can also see how hard he’s trying to open up. To remember his little sister. ‘Still, she never learned to dance the tango,’ I say gently. ‘Why not?’