around the dance floor, hands tucked into her armpits, flapping her crooked arms like wings.
She felt sixteen, singing “YMCA” with everyone. So many people swarmed the dance floor for that song there was barely room to move, and being part of a crowd of happy people enjoying life was a tonic. She found herself in between Athena and Sophie, grinning and going through the motions for all she was worth. Then Jacques slowed down the music and began to play “Stand By Me” on the piano, and the next thing she knew she was in Rudy’s arms, smiling up at him.
“I could dance like this all night,” she said.
“Could you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And how about tomorrow night?”
He drew her a little closer. He was comfortingly warm and solid. Funny how a woman could feel young again, dancing with a handsome man.
“I think so,” she said.
“And after that?”
“We’ll be getting off the ship.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t go out dancing.”
“Didn’t you say you lived in California? Washington is a ways to go to find a dance floor.”
“Not so far to come to find a sweet woman.”
They were wandering into territory they shouldn’t. She needed to keep things light in fairness to him. Shipboard romances never went anywhere, anyway. Once they were back in their respective homes the enthusiasm would burn down into nothing but a warm memory. And that was how it had to be.
She merely smiled.
She kept smiling when, later, her team won the game and was awarded a bottle of champagne to share. More champagne? Why not? She sipped hers and let the bubbles dance on her tongue.
* * *
People stayed on after the game was over and the enthusiastic Elsa had departed. Jacques continued to play at the piano.
Sophie was one of the ones who stayed but she felt guilty over it. What a subpar sister she was, enjoying herself when Sierra was now so miserable.
Sierra had enjoyed the cruise in fits and starts. Mostly, though, it was a bust. It was so unfair. This should have been a dream trip for her.
Maybe she and Mark could work out their differences. Maybe he’d find a way to make up for the hurt he was causing her.
Or maybe not, because, really, it was always all about Mark.
Always had been, probably. It was just that nobody had noticed it at first. Sierra had been besotted and Sophie had been happy for her. He’d seemed like such a nice guy—polite to the parents, friendly with the sis, said all the right things. He’d been the image of near perfection. Until the selfishness began to float to the surface.
Images. You couldn’t trust them.
Which just went to show you that you had to be careful when picking someone to spend your life with. That seemingly perfect someone could turn out to be a waste of good love.
What about Trevor? Would he be a good investment or a waste? So far he sure looked like a good investment.
He pointed to Sophie’s red top when Jacques started playing “Lady in Red” and said, “They’re playing your song. How’s your ankle holding up? Want to dance?”
Guilt or no guilt she had to say yes. Happily, her ankle was in total agreement.
“This is a great nightclub two-step,” he said. “Know how to do it?”
“You can nightclub?” she asked eagerly. A past boyfriend had taught her how and she’d loved the dance. She’d thought she loved him, too, until he dumped her.
Trevor grinned and took her hand. “Come on.”
He was smooth on the dance floor and, dancing with him, Sophie felt like a star. Good dancer, good kisser, good-looking, good-natured—he sure seemed to be the whole package.
“Ooh, that was fabulous,” she said when the dance ended.
“I’d say we make a pretty good dance team. Wouldn’t you?”
Yes, they did. She soon discovered he not only knew how to nightclub two-step, he was also a rock star swing dancer and a good teacher, showing her steps and then helping her through moves and making her look pretty darned good herself.
“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” she asked as they paused for a drink. (Beer for him but cola for her.)
“Took a class in college. My stepdad used to say the guy who can dance goes home with the girl.”
“You’d have been able to get girls if you had two left feet,” she said.
“Maybe, but dancing is a guaranteed girl magnet. Kind of like having a dog.”
Crudballs. “Do you have a dog?”
“No, but I’ve thought about getting one at some point.” His smile