“Norah organized it. Of course it’s packed. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”
From inside the ballroom, the emcee’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Welcome to Dancing With Wishful!”
Corinne’s hand tightened in his as the announcer went through the opening spiel, talking about sponsors, introducing judges, and explaining to those watching at home how they could cast their vote online. And then it was time.
“Without further ado, let’s give a warm, Wishful welcome to our first dancers of the night, Team Dinner Belles’ Tucker McGee and Corinne Dawson, performing the jive.”
He could feel her nerves telegraphing up his arm as they walked out to the center of the ballroom. They’d have to split. The routine began with him at one end and her at the other. Before they parted, he bent his head to her ear. “Remember to breathe and look at me. It’s just us. We’re here to have fun.”
“Fun,” she repeated.
Tucker let her go and took his position.
~*~
Corinne’s dance shoes echoed in the weighty silence as she took her position. Her heart fluttered madly in her throat.
Breathe, she reminded herself.
Pivoting to face her partner, she took a long, deep breath. He pointed to her with two fingers and flicked them up to his eyes.
Okay. Just watch Tucker. It’s just me and Tucker. She nodded at him, taking in his maroon dinner jacket and bow tie and grinning, despite the nerves. He’d picked this for her, and she loved that. So when the opening bars of “Footloose” rolled out of the speakers, Corinne did as he’d asked. She had fun.
He made it easy. Everything, it seemed, was easy with Tucker. Corinne matched him step-for-step. She relaxed into the music and let him throw her around like a rag doll. Their kicks were high and in sync, their footwork perfect. When it came time for the back flip, she mirrored him—and damn if she didn’t nail it, even in dance shoes. A thrill of triumph shot through her. She felt a bigger one when she successfully sank into the splits before him on the last note and the applause thundered around them.
Tucker lifted her to her feet. They grinned at each other like loons and took their bows.
“Tucker McGee, ladies and gentlemen. Proving he’s still every girl’s favorite prom date. Let’s give him and Corinne another round of applause while the judges calculate their scores.”
He slid his arm around her waist. “We did it!”
“Yes, we damn well did,” she agreed, giving him a squeeze.
“Let’s hear from our judges.”
They shifted toward the raised dais, where the three judges all lifted their paddles.
“Team Dinner Belles earned an eight, a nine, and another eight. An admirable performance to kick us off on this first night of competition here at Dancing With Wishful.”
Corinne and Tucker walked off the floor, waving to the crowd. “I see why you like the applause.”
“Awesome, isn’t it?”
She caught sight of Whitney at one of the tables they passed. Whitney leaned over to speak to a well-dressed man beside her. “Somebody should remember she’s not in high school anymore and doesn’t have the body to pull off that dress.”
Corinne’s pleasure dimmed.
As soon as they cleared the crowd, they were surrounded by well wishers, all clamoring to speak to Tucker. She turned to him and forced a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute. I want to step out for some air.”
He shot her a questioning look as she pulled free. Corinne gave him an I’m fine wave and made a beeline for the elevator. She punched the button for the roof and didn’t take a proper breath until the doors closed.
Of course she wasn’t in high school anymore. Being a mom, she absolutely didn’t have the body she’d had at eighteen. Is that really what people thought? That she was out there pretending she was still in high school? Reliving some kind of glory days?
When the doors slid open, Corinne moved quickly through the small vestibule and pushed through the glass doors leading out to the lush rooftop gardens that gave the hotel its name. No one was up here. She was pitifully grateful for that as she sank down on one of the stone benches. She didn’t need anyone else to slap her in the face with reality.
It had been so lovely, for that few minutes, to escape her reality. To not feel like a pariah or a screw up.
All good dreams come to an end.