“I’m sorry,” Mary Margaret said, offering a marker and a blank nametag, “you’ll have to make your own. Tony didn’t tell us he was bringing someone.”
“It’s Margo Keyes, Mary Margaret.”
“Oh my God! It is!” She tapped her husband’s shoulder. “Joe, look. Margo’s really here.”
Joe came from behind the table with her nametag, gave her a hug and said, “We were so happy to hear you were coming. And you’re with Tony? He never said.”
“Hey, Joe, nice to see you, too. It was a last minute thing. You know, Tony and I are old friends, practically brother and sister.”
“Tony’s never had a brother-sister date in his life,” Joe said, patting her arm. “Why would he start with you?”
Her not-so-much-brother returned and handed her a glass of white wine. Margo began to take a gulp, but had second thoughts. Instead, she swirled the wine around in the glass, took a small sip and followed Tony inside.
The cocktail hour was winding down as people began to find seats for dinner. Thanks to her date, the basketball-star/class-officer, Margo, the newspaper-editor/head-of-the-debate-team, was at a table with people she’d never hung out with in high school: the head cheerleader, the football quarterback, the class president, the prom queen. She was back in the high school cafeteria, except this time she was at the table with the cool kids.
Seeing classmates after fifteen years wasn’t as hard as she’d feared. Everyone asked about Portland. There were no awkward mentions of her father or the disaster he’d caused in her life. And, perhaps more immediately important, no one commented on Tony having his arm around her or the back of her chair any time he wasn’t actually eating his dinner. At the moment, Margo was more relieved about not having to explain that.
After the tables were cleared, a DJ played more music so they could dance. However, after a couple fast dances, a slow song came on and he started toward the table.
“Let’s sit this one out,” he said, rather abruptly, it seemed to Margo.
“Something wrong?”
“No, I’d like to wait for a song I like better.”
She thought she saw him glance across the room where his former fiancée and her husband were doing what, apparently, passed for dancing with them. And because what was playing had all the earmarks of an “our song,” Margo figured she knew why they were sitting it out. On an impulse, she reached for his hands. “Maybe it’s time you disconnected the song from her.”
“That’s not it,” he started. A look that somehow combined irritation and amusement played across his face. When he raised an eyebrow, his expression went completely to amused. “On second thought, do you think you and that dress could do something like that?”
“I’m willing to try, if you are.”
He held out his arms to her, she slipped into them and he drew her close. At five-feet- seven, and in four-inch heels she almost matched his six-feet-one height. Effortlessly he moved them across the floor in time with the music. At least, she assumed the song was still playing. With his arms wrapped around her and the smell of that damn cologne filling her senses, the only thing she could really hear was the sound of his heartbeat.
After a few moments of silence, he whispered, “You were right. I’m not thinking about the song at all.” His warm breath feathered over her ear, sending goose bumps down her neck to her arms and breasts.