Held A New Adult Romance(22)

"You dance?"

"When I can. My Pops says its the Argentine in me dying to get out - I guess I'm sentimental that way."

Her body moves face me. I have her full attention. "Why sentimental?" she says.

"National weakness, I guess. Tangos are sentimental songs - criollos pining for the land of their grandparents, all that shit. The men are super macho, mothers are always saints. There's always love and loss at the heart of the tango."

She smiles shyly. "I always thought it was...kind of hot."

"The dance is, sure. But the traditional songs are pure soap opera. I guess it's one of the reasons I slacked off in Spanish, that and being lazy. When you understand what the lyrics mean they just become...I don't know..."

"Banal," she says.

"Maybe. Is that the word I'm looking for?"

"Probably," says Amber. "It means cliché. Or maybe something that's even more worn out than that. Kind of like the things your grandma shares on Facebook, you know?"

I laugh. "Yeah, that's it. That's perfect. That's just how it is."

"Is that what you want to do?" she asks. "To dance?"

I shake my head. "No. It's just for fun. The world of competitive dancers is way too crazy for me. What about you?"

"Me? I can't dance, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't, but now I'm curious. Why can't you dance?"

"Why can't you swim?"

She makes me laugh. "I never learned."

"Same here," she says, taking out another cigarette. Her glasses have slid down onto the end of her nose. "Maybe we should teach each other a thing or two."

I glance at the oval of clear, blue water. She sees my expression and sighs. "It's not that hard," she says.

"It is."

"It's not. You just have to learn how to float."

"The only thing I'll learn is how to sink."

Amber laughs. "That's the art of floating, dummy. You just have to forget how to sink."

She makes it sound so easy, but I've been sitting here for too long. If I stay here much longer they'll want to know what's up. "I have to go."

"That's a shame. I kind of like your company."

"Me too." I reach out a hand and she takes it. Her skin is smooth and still greasy with sunblock. Her fingers seem very small in mine. She's looking at me with something like expectation, but I don't dare move closer. I still remember the way she went flying from my touch the first time we met.

"Can you get back here?" she asks. "When your shift is over?"

"Yes," I say, a tiny word that swallows the world in that moment. Everything takes on a new glow of possibility.

"Good. Maybe we can have that drink?"

"I'd like that."

My radio crackles and she lets my fingers fall. Back to work.



When I come back later the doors beyond the pergola are open and I'm looking into a living room - kind of off-white with pretty dark red accents. The couches are low and modern and in the middle is a long coffee table. When I get closer I see the whole back wall is some kind of fabric - like suede or something, and the delicate red flower design is actually embroidered, with sequins and glass beads that catch the light.

Amber appears from behind a door, a lit candle in her hands. "Hey," she says, exhaling as if she was making a great effort to keep herself together. She looks amazing. I don't think I've ever seen her wearing make-up before. Her eyes look enormous. She sets the candle down on the table. "Citronella," she says. "I don't know if it really keeps the bugs away, but it can't hurt to try."

"I didn't realize there was another room here," I say.

"Yep. Actually this is kind of a special occasion." She smiles and folds her arms tight again, her hands on her elbows. "It's the first time I've been in here since...well...since I got sick, I guess. Can't very well invite you into my bedroom for a drink, can I?"

I feel my face turn hot. "No. That might not be a great idea."

"I didn't mean it like that. It's not really presentable in there. Laundry, books. Crap everywhere. I'm kind of a pig - never really got properly housebroken." She picks up a throw pillow and gives it a quick shake before setting it down on the couch. "Please - sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks." Her hair is loose around her shoulders. She's too-thin in a straight little black dress that comes down to her knees. I want to ask her about the scar, about why she's hiding herself away, but that wasn't the deal. I want her to tell me only when she wants to tell me.

"Is wine okay?" she asks. "I don't really like beer."

"Wine is great. Thank you."