Whit scowled in mock consternation and pinched my leg and I tried to squirm away, but he held on tight, one arm around my waist, the other draped over my legs. My dress was bunched around my ankles. I’d never dreamed I’d be in this position. We had fallen into our familiar rhythm of conversation, a fast waltz with dozens of tight spins. It left me breathless and oddly confident. Whit made it easy to be myself.
