you know he doesn't dance.
it's not really something you've even thought about since that previous conversation, but when the live music kicks up while you're having dinner you can't help but turn to watch some of the locals as they take to the floor.
it's a small place, a great mix of relaxed beach spot and small dive. the food is alright but the view is unmatched and obviously the draw, the deck edging against the sand, giving the impression of eating right on the beach. the space is tight, but in a cozy way, comprised really just of a group of tiny tables set up along the perimeter, allowing the center space to fill with people moving to the beat coming from just inside the doors.
it doesn't take long for you to catch attention. not because anyone here knows who you are or cares (a truly freeing feeling), but simply because you're watching the dancers with such interest that it's hard not to notice. an older gentleman approaches with a held out hand and a warm smile, trying to coax you to join them on the floor and though you shake your head for a moment, politely refusing with a laugh and a look
across the table, it's impossible not to give in to this harmless stranger and you allow him to lead you away with a long look over your shoulder at the man you came with.
without much work on his part, your dance partner quickly has you laughing, not from words, because there's no talking, but simply from twirling you under his arm and leading you around on the dance floor. you're sure all friendly tourists are treated like this, but it brings an unyielding grin to your face, a happiness that's as unrestrained as it is gleeful.
and all throughout, you can feel another pair of eyes on you. as you close out the circle turn on the floor you can't help yourself but to turn to find your friend, still smiling brightly, the deep blush that colors your cheeks entirely automatic as you catch his eye, as you knew you would. you feel the pull like a string in your chest trying to drag you back and you figure you truly have nothing to lose.
with a quick squeeze of your hands you thank the man who has been your dance partner and quickly make your way back to your table, though you don't sit. instead, you reach out a hand, echoing exactly what happened to you not long before, the expression on your face somehow both mischievous and goofy. "i know you don't dance," you start, laughing because his expression is almost offended as he can clearly see where this is going. "but please? please?"
he lets you take his hand even though he drags his feet in getting up and following you, his body language practically screaming how uncomfortable he feels, but you're not planning on pushing him too far. you don't want to dance like you were before, there's no flash, there's no fast movements. you simply keep one hand in his and drape the other over his shoulder, basically slow dancing just to a faster rhythm, clearly only creating an excuse to press yourself close.
it's a moment in the truest sense of the description - you're drunk off sun and sand and a genuine feeling of contentment. there's a taste of salt in the air and a flurry of activity all around you, though you feel like you might as well be in your own little world as your heart practically beats out of your chest with the closeness. in all your favorite movies, this would be the exact moment you'd kiss, out under the stars with the crashing of waves melding into the melody of the band. and boy, do you consider it, enough that the tension somehow builds further and it's impossible to keep the grin from tugging at your lips.