The band slid into a new number—something slow and honeyed, all brushed snare and upright bass. Around them, couples drifted toward the dance floor, silhouettes merging under the lantern glow.
Chloe's fingers tapped against Ryan's wrist, a silent question.
He groaned. "Don't make me relive the Crown Hotel disaster."
Chloe remembered the way he'd once stepped on her toes and couldn't help but laugh.
Ryan kept up the banter, but his actions betrayed him—he was leading her toward the dance floor, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers finding the dip of her spine through silk. Muscle memory kicked in—this time, his palm stayed at the correct altitude.
"At the time, you swore this was easier than a crossover. Liar."
"It is easy," she said with a laugh, brushing her toe deliberately over the top of his shoe. "—as long as you don't dump all your weight on your heels."
"That time I stepped on you, you didn't even flinch."
