After a few minutes, the song dies down, and we ease to a slower sway. I want to hear his answer, even if it doesn’t make much sense now that we’re moving to the music. I grow the courage to ask anyway, “Will you dance with me?” For some reason, I still fear that rejection, the familiar response that always comes. He cups my round face, his fingers lost in my hair, and his lips curve. Very softly, he says, “Yes, love. I’ll dance with you.”
Cutiessss
