Around us, I hear a few whistles, but I let myself sink against him, as “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas begins to play. I hate that we missed the slow song, but it doesn’t matter, because as we lay our heads against each other’s shoulders, we dance at our own pace while everyone else jumps and flails around us.
Just behind Tucker, I spy another couple with their lips locked together. Bo and Willowdean. Once they come up for air, I wave to Willowdean and she waves back before nuzzling into Bo’s neck. The four of us circle the dance floor until we’re back to back.
I call over my shoulder to Willowdean. “Any big plans for next year?” I ask.
“Do you think they have Mexican food in Sweden?” she yells over the music.
“The burritos will be here when you get back!” I call, but Bo spins her farther into the crowd so that all I can hear is her delighted giggle.
We dance for a while longer, until our feet hurt—well, my feet hurt. A whole bunch of us, Clem and Hannah and all of my new friends—Callie, Mitch, Bo, Willowdean, Amanda, Ellen, Tim, Millie, and Malik—sneak out to the golf course, kicking our shoes off and leaving them at the door.
Everyone plays a game of tag, racing all over the course, while Tucker tries to teach me to two-step, the both of us barefoot on the lush green.
“Where’d you learn how to do this?” I ask, tripping over his feet for the millionth time.
“My mom and dad,” he says. “They used to dance in the garage.”
“Yeah?” I want him to feel like he can talk, but I don’t want to force it, especially tonight, when everything feels just right.
“I used to always wonder if I’d find someone to dance with me.”
I look down at our feet. “I think that might be TBD. I can’t figure out who leads and who follows.”
“We can take turns,” he says before leaning down, our noses brushing and our lips nearly touching. Goose bumps skip up my spine as he wraps both his arms around me. I gasp a little and that’s when he kisses me, like he’s sucking the air right out of my lungs as the golf course lights illuminate us for the entire senior prom to see. I hook one arm around the back of his neck, my other hand splayed out over his chest, as he dips me back and deepens the kiss. I kick one leg in the air, because when someone goes to the trouble of dipping you, you’re legally obligated to make the most of the moment.
Once he brings me back up, we sway to the music faintly playing from inside until we settle in a pocket of darkness, away from the bright lights, and collapse onto the green, which is softer than any carpet I’ve ever felt.
“My queen,” Tucker says as he rolls toward me on his side, his grayish-blue eyes sparkling as he twirls a finger through one of my curls. “I have a very important question to ask you about our future together.”
I turn to him and run a finger along his jaw. It feels just as perfect as it looks. “I . . . you know that basically everything is a giant TBD right now for me.”
He nods. “I know, and I get that we’re both living with a bunch of unknowns, but this is something I need to know before we can move forward. It’s a very important question.”
He’s going to ask me to be his boyfriend. Oh. My. God. I, Waylon Brewer, am going to be someone’s boyfriend. I solemnly swear to be the best arm candy his arm or any arm has ever seen. “Okay, go ahead.”
He swallows and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “Can we get pancakes in the morning?”
I swat at his chest, feeling a little awkward for thinking he was actually about to ask me something that monumental.
He laughs deviously and grins. “And if the answer is yes, will you be my boyfriend?”
My heart flutters in my rib cage. “Yes. To both, but especially the pancakes.”
Acknowledgments
There’s no manual on how to publish a book during a global pandemic, but the people I’m fortunate enough to work with have found ways to innovate and push forward with creativity and compassion. They have made this process one of joy during one of the most tumultuous times