“When was the last time you did something for the first time?” he asked, as if daring me. And if there was one thing I was more than a practical pessimist, it was someone who never backed away from a challenge. I resisted. “I assure you I’ve danced before.” “But not with me.” No. And—despite his insistence—this was frightening, but not because it was new or spontaneous. It was frightening because I wanted to, and the Wests never did spontaneous things. That was my aunt. And yet . . . here I was, reaching up to take his hand.
