We broke apart and looked to see who’d invaded our romantic scene. A stranger stood there in the house’s exit out to the swim area. He wasn’t the golfer who’d disrespected our privacy, but someone new.
Timothy
Surely, the fates laugh at me. I was almost forgiven, almost back in her good graces, and then the interruption. Who is this man? How dare he enter my house, frighten my darling one, and destroy a moment so precious it perhaps will never come again?
But she is softening to me again? Isn’t she?
Chapter Eleven
Penelope
“Sorry to intrude,” the man said. “My name is Chris Shafer. I’m here because you called about a dance lesson?”
“You didn’t,” I said, pushing away from Timothy with a dramatic rolling of the eyes.
“As you recall, you said that you didn’t want any public lessons. This is private, and if you don’t like the lesson, we won’t sign up for anymore.”
Chris, a nice-looking black guy probably about my age, made a face over Timothy’s words. “That isn’t going to convince her. Why don’t you let me try.”
This very athletic but lithe man had brought his own sound system. He turned it on, then walked over to me, and said, “Will you dance a moment with me?”
I glanced at Timothy. I don’t know why. Was I seeking permission? But then my mouth opened, and I said, “I’m a foot stamper and a klutz. You wouldn’t want to dance with me, even for a moment.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, he reached out to take my hand, unfurled me like a cowboy gathering up his thrown rope, then somehow positioned me, and before I’d had a chance to squeak, we were whirling about in some kind of dance step while he counted, one, two, three, one, two, three.
He hadn’t given me a single word of instruction, yet his body rhythm was throwing me into the movement. No fancy footwork on my part, but I did manage to leave his feet untrampled. It was a miracle.