That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(53)

“Book nerd?”

“Yeah, big time. I’ve been to the library in town at least three times already. It’s the most perfect building, like a little castle smack in the center of town. And it smells like heaven, like old books and knowledge. I love everything about it.”

I can’t even remember the last time I stepped foot in the library, but seeing it through Ren’s eyes is giving me a new appreciation for the place, making me wish I hadn’t overlooked it so often.

“Do you have any other happy places?”

“My house,” she answers without even thinking about it. “Honestly, it’s so perfect. I love it so much. It’s quaint and quiet, not to mention it’s right by this guy I keep running into.”

“Oh yeah?” I smirk at her. “Hopefully he’s not annoying you.”

“No, he’s been pretty good to me. I just hope I’m not annoying him.”

I turn my head completely toward her, a sense of seriousness lacing my answer. “You’re not.”

Her smile sends electricity up my spine, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. Unforgettable, that smile, that look on her face—it immediately imprints in my mind, along with this night. The smells, the sounds, the light breeze that keeps blowing her subtle perfume over me, lighting me up inside: all of it makes for one of the most memorable nights I’ve had in a very long time.



“I’ve never been out in Port Snow this late before. It almost seems magical to see the empty streets, the closed-down shops, just the streetlights lighting our way. Makes me want to dance out in the middle of the street,” Ren says, holding her heels in her hand, her bare feet padding across the concrete of the sidewalk.

“So why don’t you? No one’s watching.”

“You’re watching.”

“So?”

She walks backward. “No way am I about to start dancing in front of you, especially without any music.”

Is she really going to hold out on me now? After the night we had? Everything we talked about? No way in hell.

I pull my phone from my pocket, open up my music app, and play the first thing that comes up on my playlist. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” fills the quiet night air, a lonesome trumpet perfectly underscoring the grainy, beautiful voice.

I step down off the sidewalk and hold the phone out, turning the volume up as far as it will go. “Here’s your chance, Ren.” I start to sidestep, showing her there is nothing to be self-conscious about.

“Are you really dancing in the street right now?”

I look down at my feet and then up and down the deserted road. “I am. Why don’t you join me?” I hold out my hand for her. She eyes it for a few moments before she sets her shoes down on the sidewalk and closes the distance between us.

She’s hesitant at first, but the minute her hand slips into mine, the feel of her soft palm ignites a fire deep in my stomach, awakening every bone and nerve ending in my body.

With bated breath I wait as she slowly moves her hand up my arm to my shoulder, where she rests it. Her eyes are cast down for a few moments before she tilts her head back and blinks up at me, disbelief in her gaze. Hell, I’m feeling the same way right about now.

Phone in my pocket setting the mood of this serene night, I place my hand at her lower back and start to guide us back and forth.

We don’t speak; instead we let Louis Armstrong speak the truth.

The sweet melody is like a paintbrush stroking the canvas we’re dancing on, igniting the colors around us into vivid hues I forgot existed.

The sky is washed in purple, dotted with electric-white stars.

The pastel-colored shops glow in the golden light from the streetlights, more animated than I’ve ever seen them.

And the potted flowers hanging above us move in the light breeze, illuminated, beacons of color along the dark, calm street.

Everything seems more real, more alive, just like the feeling in my heart, pounding, reminding me that no matter how often I deny it, the woman in my arms has a profound effect on me.

Like I’ve come back to life after a long stint in purgatory.

For the entire song, we stay silent, just enjoying the gentle sway of our dancing, and with each shift of her feet, she draws closer and closer until she’s only a few inches away, her feminine scent eating a hole in my already weakening facade.

What would happen if I tilted her chin up? If I pulled her in one inch closer?

Would she rest her head on my shoulder? Would she hold on to my body tighter? Would she sigh up against me, content with the way I keep her close?

The song comes to an end, and so does our shuffling. Once again, she looks up to me, silently seeking out my next move. Even though staying out here, dancing to a few more songs with no one else to bother us, sounds like something I really want to fucking do, I know we need to walk the rest of the way home. It’s late, and I have an early day tomorrow.

Reluctantly, I release my hand from her back and turn off the music. But instead of releasing my hand from hers, I link our fingers together and firmly hold her palm against mine as I nod toward our street. “I better get you home.”

“Yeah.” She takes a short breath and nods. “Probably should.”

She moves to release my hand, but I stop her. I should let her go, I really should, but I can’t seem to drop her hand. Instead, I cautiously pull her in even closer.