One Wish

This was what it was like to go steady, she thought. Just a couple of small things missing. Like, there was no future and he wasn’t falling for her. Well, if nothing else, it was good dating practice. Troy was a great date, after all.

Troy’s question was a simple but difficult one. The high school was having a Valentine’s Day dance and he wanted her to be his date. He was going to chaperone. “Oh, God, that’s almost the busiest day of the year for me!” she exclaimed.

“How late do you stay open?”

“Just till six, but I will be toast! I might be the worst date of your life.”

“I can help you after work, help you clean up the shop and lock up. How about deliveries?”

“I have a little part-time help with that. Justin Russell, Al’s boy, is running some flowers for me before he goes to work at the station and he’s going to be sure to help that day—I already told him it’s madness, but there could be good tips. Oh, Troy, what if I’m no fun? And it’s a dance! I love to dance, but I might be knee-walking tired.”

“The next day is Sunday. You can sleep all day,” he begged. “Come on. I want to take the prettiest girl in Thunder Point to protect me from all the teenage girls.”

“Really?”

“You are the prettiest girl in—”

“No,” she said. “To protect you?”

“Okay, I can handle them,” he said with a laugh. “Come with me, Gracie. We’ll dance. Put a sign on the shop door. Closing promptly at six on Valentine’s Day so make arrangements to get your flowers early or ask for delivery. The flower girl has a date.”

* * *

Grace couldn’t resist him. And while everything else felt casual, even the kissing part, this felt like the real deal. She asked if the right dress was going to be an issue.

“Not for you,” he said. “All the high school girls are competing with each other and trying to impress their dates. But you already have me. You can wear a barrel if you want to.” And that was exactly the right thing to say, but she warned herself not to get too excited. At least not until he said something that sounded like we’re more than friends.

Valentine’s Day met all of her expectations for craziness. Grace started early and made up as many bouquets as she could ahead of customers. The preordered roses had been ready the day before and by the end of the day every rose in the shop was gone, along with many other arrangements. Justin started deliveries early and continued right up till five o’clock. Without him, she’d have been lost. She tried to stay ahead of the mess but in the end she left a lot of it—she could give the shop a good cleaning on Sunday.

She would have liked a little extra time to get dressed, but even rushed as she was she went to more trouble than usual with her hair and makeup. Grace wore her maid of honor dress, a sleek little black number and the only fancy dress in her arsenal. She usually pulled her hair back to keep it out of the way of the stalks and stems, but for this date she wore it down. It had grown long, past her shoulders. She even used the curling iron!

“Wow. You clean up good!” Troy said when he picked her up.

Grace expected to stand around a punch bowl with a bunch of teachers while the high school kids danced, but it was so much more than that. She was immediately enchanted. The high school gym was beautifully transformed with painted murals, twisted crepe paper streamers, snowy scenes, balloons, glitter balls, white and colored twinkle lights. The bleachers were pushed all the way back and the gym floor was circled with small round tables covered with long white tablecloths. Candles and little centerpieces decorated each table and there was a disc jockey at one end of the dance floor. To enter the gym the couples walked through a heart-shaped arch decorated with hearts, clouds and snowflakes and their pictures were taken as they appeared. The chaperones hung back and chatted among themselves; only a couple had brought dates or spouses. As the music played, almost everyone danced, and refreshments were being served by volunteers.

It was magical. Grace had never been to a high school dance. She’d never been to a high school!

Iris was at the dance, of course. “No date tonight?” Grace asked.

“My date is patrolling the parking lot and looking for trouble. I’m sure he’ll cruise through the dance once in a while.”

“Are police necessary?” Grace asked.

“Seth is a little overprotective. He likes to feel the kids are as safe as possible. And since I have to be here anyway...” Iris was pulled away by another chaperone with a question.

A young man approached Grace and Troy. “Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Headly?”

“Yes, this is Grace Dillon, Ms. Dillon to you.”

He gave a short bow. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Dillon?” he asked politely.

“Ah, I...ah...”

“It’s entirely up to you, Grace,” Troy said. “Jerome here won’t put any moves on you because he knows I’d have to kill him.”

“Is it all right?” she whispered to him.

“No slow dancing. Those are mine,” Troy whispered back.

Grace began what became a series of dances with a variety of young partners who were funny and charming and devilish. It was obvious they thought it was a real hoot to get Mr. Headly’s girl on the dance floor. Whenever the music slowed Troy was instantly at her side, cutting in, holding her as closely as he dared at a high school function. It seemed as if all the slow dances were crooned by Michael Bublé, but she was surprised by the wide variety of music, from oldies to current rock. There was even a line dance performed to the strains of Aretha Franklin singing “Chain of Fools.” It took Grace about two seconds to learn it and Troy joined in. “Am I dancing with students too much?” she asked.

“I love watching you,” he said. “There’s one small problem—I can’t wait to get you alone.”

“Are you dancing much?” she asked.

“Very judiciously and as little as possible. Giggly high school girls are just not my thing. Besides, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things, make sure the kids aren’t getting into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Oh, you know, sneaking out to the parking lot to be too alone or to get a bottle or smoke a joint or get in a fight over something, like a girl. You know.”

That was the point, she didn’t know. “Really?”

“Been a while since you’ve been rockin’ the high school dance?”

“You could say that,” she said. “I thought this would be boring. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.”

“Just remember, don’t fall in love with anyone because you leave the dance with me.” He grinned at her.

She noticed that Troy danced with Iris. Not a slow dance, but not so fast, either. He twirled her around and they laughed. She had no worries that Iris would invade her territory, none at all. But did Troy still wish that romance had worked? She forced herself to look away. When she looked back, Iris was talking to her husband. Troy was nowhere in sight.

He was right behind her, claiming a dance. It was an old tune with a good beat—“Knock On Wood”—and Troy improvised, moving her two beats left, two beats right, a little twirl. She’d been very impressed by his dancing tonight. And it was sexy! Then the tune segued into a bebop beat and she noticed a few kids getting together for another line dance, but Troy pulled her back from the crowd, gave her hands a little shove and made a jitterbug move. “Huh?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

She laughed at him. “As long as you don’t slide me between your legs or toss me onto your hips and over your shoulder.”

“Aw,” he said, then led her into a really good jitterbug, so good that kids stopped what they were doing to watch. This guy knows what he’s doing, she thought.

When the song ended, there were a few claps from the crowd. Grace heard a teenage girl say, “Oh, God, why can’t he just marry me!”

Five (#ulink_cced8fe3-d2d8-5b28-beb1-dff4a42639aa)

Four hours flew by and at almost midnight they were on their way to Grace’s place in Troy’s car. She was completely amazed by the variety of music, from oldies to current rock to hip-hop and even country. And now that she thought about it, Troy was up to speed on all of those dances, even picking up the line dance steps quickly. “Care to explain that dancing, Fred Astaire?” she asked.

He laughed. “Short story. I dated a dance instructor. Not like Arthur Murray—she taught little kids. Her sister was getting married and she wanted someone who could dance to go to the wedding with her, so she taught me a bunch of moves, including the tango. It was fun, to tell the truth. She broke up with me the day after the wedding.”

“Aw, was your heart broken?”

“A little bit,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever have fun dancing again.”