Amelia tapped Linc’s arm, mischief dancing in her expression. “You should ask Zoey to dance.”
“He doesn’t dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
He and Zoey spoke at the same time, connecting eyes. Both of them lying, because it’d happened before, and they both knew it. But the kitchen was one thing. Aone-timething. A dance floor in a public setting was by far another.
But something about the hope in Zoey’s eyes, and her past comments about not having had a cake or photos at their wedding, stopped him short. His own thoughts taunted him.What was Zoey getting out of this?
He held out his hand.
Madame Paulette gasped. “Oh, honey, go. I’ll man the booth.” She shoved Zoey forward, and he caught her, led her toward the floor while Amelia grinned and Madame Paulette swooned.
Aye. He led the way to the dance floor, heart pounding, couples giving him double takes as they quickly cleared his path. Zoey trotted to keep up with him, and he parked them in a spot off to the right, farthest from the stage. The song was slow, had just started. He held out his arms.
And just like that night in the kitchen, Zoey stepped into them, fingers curling into his bicep. His hand curved around her hip, and she moved in close, smelling like leftover roses and shampoo.
Heaven.
Torture.
“Good call.” Zoey cleared her throat, smiling at him. “People would expect us to dance.”
Right. Appearances. He spun her in a quick circle, pulled her back in. Nodded vaguely, not wanting to confirm the lie.
Not wanting to tell the truth.
Which was getting more obvious to him by the minute.
The music crested, and he spun her again, missing her warmth every time she left the circle of his arms and forgetting how to breathe every time she landed back in close. He had to say something.
Had to stop himself from falling.
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? And maybe that was what he could do for Zoey in return for all she was helping him with—hide the truth. That he was dangerously close to loving her more than he’d ever imagined loving anyone.
Maybe the best way he could serve her in return was to keep his promise that nothing would change.
Even if it slowly killed him inside.
He cleared his throat, fighting the moisture building behind his eyes. “People seem to really like your photos.” And said people were no longer watching them, thankfully. In fact, looked like all eyes were on Mama D and Farmer Branson, slow-dancing together by the band. He did a double-take. “Did you know about that?”
“About what?” Zoey turned to look over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. Then she grinned. “I did not. But it explains a lot.”
“I’ve never seen Farmer B in anything outside of overalls.” Granted, he’d traded them for jeans, but that was dressed up for him.
“Looks like he trimmed his mustache too.” Zoey’s grin widened. “Hope he appreciates the lipstick efforts Delia’s been making.”
“I can guarantee you he doesn’t.” He nodded toward Zoey’s photo booth. “Also just realized the real reason Madame Paulette wanted to get rid of you.”
Zoey followed his gesture, where Madame Paulette was apparently trying to gather all of the single men in the room, and shook her head. “I should get back there or Elisa will end up with nothing but footage of Sawyer Dubois.”
“Ah, she’ll be okay a little longer.” He turned her again, but not so fast he didn’t catch the surprise lighting her eyes.
She relaxed back with him, humming a little under her breath. “This is going okay, isn’t it?”
What, them? The dance? The wedding?
He thought back to their conversation on the porch the first night Amelia arrived.Define okay.He definitely wasn’t.
