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There will always be an opportunity to dance. Sometimes this includes a partner to move with.
Right now Steve was that partner. His hand in yours while the other rested open against your back. Your own rests on his shoulder while the other is taken by his. It’s the hand on his shoulder that keeps most of your attention. Keeping your eyes on it to avoid too much eye-contact with your partner.
“I really like your bracelet, by the way.” Steve says, snapping your eyes back to him.
His smile is soft, so is the pressure on your back. Steve turning the dance away from the other couples. He takes smaller steps that you cautiously follow along with. Looking between Steve and his shoes. The pressure on your back getting stronger until you’re practically squished against him.
This causes you to step on his toes. Which causes you to apologize.
“Looks like you’ll owe me another dance, then.” Steve says.
Steve is a firm wall of comfort it’s impossible not to enjoy. The formal hold of the dance turning into an outright hug on the dancefloor. Your head under his chin. His hands resting on your back. The only semblance of a dance that remains is the slow swaying.
Too soon the music changes. It speeds up and the floor gets crowded for individual dancing. While your hands disconnected Steve kept hold of your back.
Neither of you say anything during the few steps to your table. It’s faint but obvious that some were calling to Steve for him to come back to the dance floor. He looks back to give a glance but stays with you. After you take a seat Steve leans down to be heard over the music.
“I’ll be back.” He promises, a soft kiss to the side of your head.
He steps away and your own acquaintances step in. This was how most of these formal events go: Steve gets the official invitation and you’re brought along as the plus one.
In the beginning Steve had felt compelled to attend everything. Not exactly pressuring you to go along but your relationship at the time made it harder to say no. Twice a week you had to tie up the shoes and tighten up the outfits for this or that event.
It was maybe a month or two in that you finally gained the confidence to decline. Steve, forever the man of the hour, didn’t think twice about your refusal. Only asking if you were feeling okay or if you wanted him to skip. It would take another week or two before you were brave enough to want his attention all to your own.
Thanks to you Steve gained his own confidence. Declining invites with an explanation and an apology, before managing to decline without an explanation. Within a year of your relationship your dates became fun dates on the couch or in restaurants. Honestly better than in a ballroom for this or that charity a friend of a friend’s brother works at.
“Any plans after this?” One of the others at your table asked.
It’d be a stretch to say that anyone at this table was a friend. Not one has been seen outside of these events. They too were the partners of other, more important, people. Gun to your head there wasn’t a chance you’d even know their names.
“Besides sleeping in makeup?” Another acquaintance answers for you.
The joke only gets a half-hearted chuckle from everyone. Mostly it acted as a final note for the night. Five hours in heels or nice slacks makes for a very sleepy ride home. One that was started when Steve makes eye contact from across the room.
Those at your table were the only ones to get a proper goodbye that night. Steve just nodding and excusing himself from those holding him hostage. Making his way to you, who was already standing and holding out your hand. He takes it and the two of you make the great escape towards the door. Knowing better than to stay in one place long enough for anyone to try and start a conversation.
The ride back home is silent as neither of you look at eachother. Throats sore from champagne, fruit and talking. The only communication to be had is the loosening of ties, dresses and shoes before the car is even parked.
Silence is an apathetic guest in your home. Following the two of you into the bedroom where the exhausted undressing begins.
Steve, through practice and habit, was the fastest to undress. A sweater and flannel pajama pants he had placed out before leaving. He breaks the silence before leaving the room.
“Coffee?” He asks, hesitating at the bedroom door.
“It’s eleven a ‘clock.” You respond, barely out of your jewelry.
“Hot chocolate then.”
“Absolutely.”
It only takes a minute or three for you to undress. With silence being your only company in the bedroom it feels so much longer than that. Eventually managing to have dress clothes off and pajamas on before heading into the kitchen.
The music had started faintly in the hallway. Soft tones and voices from era now considered dead but not yet buried. Steve hums along with it although he is doing little else when you enter. Simply leaning against. Eyes closed; head tilted upwards as if to catch the music that plays all around him. He starts to sway a little after you fully enter the kitchen, a smile on his face knowing that you were watching.
“Do I still owe you that dance?” You ask when he finally looks at you.
It’s easier to dance in your own home, with your own man to yourself, then it will ever be anywhere else. Somehow the swaying isn’t anything other than movements that keep him close on this night that will only get colder. The music, although you may not know it by heart, is all for you. Sounds created to selfishly hold to your heart and never let the rest of the world understand. It’s the same story with Steve’s own heartbeat, something you can easily hear when your head is resting against his chest.
Maybe you catch his toes, and maybe he gets a little bit of your hair in his mouth, but that’s nothing. It means nothing when the dance is nothing but a hug in the light of your kitchen.