veins. My hand disappeared inside his grasp, my dainty wrist sparkling with the tennis bracelet I wore. He was all down-home country, and I was refined country royalty.
Still, I marveled at how well my hand fit in his.
When we made it to the dance floor, he stopped, pulling me into him until his hand was on my waist, the other still holding my hand. For a long, stretched moment in time, he just watched me, his eyes dancing between mine. A small smile found his lips, and he nodded once before taking the first step, leading the way and guiding me along with his movements.
And then, we were dancing.
The song was a familiar one in Tennessee, “I Cross My Heart” by George Strait. The lead singer of the band crooned out the lyrics as everyone on the floor gently swayed or two-stepped.
But Noah?
Noah guided me in a beautiful waltz.
“How do you know this?” I asked, smile breaking on my face despite my urge to be angry with him after Sunday night.
“What? Waltz?”
I nodded.
Noah smiled, stepping with me into a soft turn before pulling me back into his arms. “My mom. She and Dad used to dance after dinner every single night — in the living room, the kitchen, wherever. And after Dad passed, the tradition didn’t stop. My brothers and I take turns dancing with her. And bless her, she taught us all with patience.”
My heart squeezed. “I bet that means so much to her.”
“Yeah,” he said, and I waited for him to continue, but he just swallowed, forcing a bit of a smile before he changed the subject. “I’m sorry about what I said Sunday night, Ruby Grace. I was out of line.”
He twirled me again, and I was thankful for the break in eye contact before we spun back together. Of course, that break in eye contact was long enough for me to realize how many other pairs of eyes were locked on us at the moment.
“Thank you,” I said, glaring right back at one of Mama’s friends until she tore her gaze away before I looked back at Noah. “Seems like half our conversations are apologies.”
“Well, I’m an asshole,” he offered honestly. “And you’re stubborn.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Am not.”
Noah just smirked, falling back into step as the song’s chorus flowed around us. His smile leveled out the longer he watched me. “So, why didn’t you tell me Anthony was coming into town?”
“I didn’t know he was,” I shot, and I couldn’t stop the defensiveness from breaking through. “And even if I did, I don’t see why I would owe it to you to tell you.”
Noah lifted his brows. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Why are you so defensive?”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “I just know how you feel about him, and I don’t want to play into it anymore.”
“I don’t even know him,” he responded. “I don’t feel anything toward him.”
“Sure,” I said, twirling out twice before I slipped into his arms again. “I totally got that vibe with the barrel tasting earlier. And with everything you said to me on Sunday.”
“I told you I was sorry for that.”
“Yeah, but did you mean it?”
His jaw clenched at that, and he watched me for a long moment before his eyes cast up to the top of the tent and back down. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re not the one marrying me, isn’t it?”
Noah slowed, his hand on my waist squeezing a little tighter. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes skirted behind me, and he cleared his throat, forcing a smile as Anthony slid up beside us.
“Mind if I cut in?” Anthony asked. His threatening tone wasn’t lost on me.
Noah swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat before he released me, offering my hand to Anthony like I was some sort of prize. “Of course not. She is your bride-to-be, after all.” He looked at me with those words, and I felt those eyes like the hot blade of a knife. “Thank you for the dance, Ruby Grace.”
Without another word, he dropped my hand, tipped his hat at Anthony, and walked calmly off the dance floor.
A flurry of girls chased after him — ones who’d been watching us dance from the sidelines — and when he granted one of them her wish of completing the dance with him, my stomach twisted.
Daphne McCormick.
No one could keep a secret in this town — and it was