hand in his, adjusted the one on my back so his fingers splayed just below my shoulder blades, and just like that, we danced. He kept the steps of a waltz, and led with such confidence following him became effortless.  

For the first time, I allowed myself to stare at him with him staring back at me, and without trying to convince myself that I imagined the mutual attraction. Specks of red mixed with the amber near his pupils and went undetected from afar, like the dramatic curl of his lashes. His smile proved much more disarming at close range than at distances, and I found myself fighting the urge to touch his hair. I wanted to explore if the curls were as soft as they looked, but once the touching started, where would it stop? The temptation to explore the rest of his face and upper body might be to...

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