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-8-
On his last night home, Walt and I go dancing. Some of my closer friends from work come as well, most of them bringing their own date.
Lola makes cow eyes at Walt the entire evening.
I'm pretty sure they'll go home together.
So abandoned, I let my eyes wander over the gathered people.
There's some truly swell-looking ladies and gentlemen in the hall, but none who hold my attention for long.
Just then, someone taps me on my shoulder.
It's a fella taller than me - which is saying something - and he is smiling genuinely, at me.
"Wanna dance?" Is all he asks, but his tone is warm, sincere.
My brother is busy enjoying himself, why shouldn't I?
"I'm free for the next one."
"Nice to meet you," the cheeky bastard quips back, "Miss Free For The Next One."
He twirls me once, twice, on to the dance floor.
The band is transitioning to the next song, a nice, easy number.
I'm laughing, for the first time in what feels forever.
"Who are you then?"
My left eyebrow is quirked, but my traitorous lips still want to smirk.
He grins back at me, an uneven, quirky thing. A little smug around the edges.
"James Barnes, at your service," he introduced himself, affecting a snobbish private school accent. (It doesn't really work for him.)
"Benedikta van Wieren."
I manage to squeeze in a ridiculous curtsy.
His face lights up, eyes twinkling in the dimly lit room.
"You're perfect," comes out of his mouth next, Irish twang strong.
Knowing this would enrage Father even further should he ever find out, I beam at him.
"I try," I shoot back, trying to ignore the heat in my powdered cheeks.
At the end of the night, James walks me home.
I've learned that he works at the docks, has one close friend named Steve, who sounds like a lot of trouble, the good kind though, and that he likes dancing.
On our walk home, we continue to talk.
About our families (he has three older sisters, I do too), books we've read (my favorite is still Pride and Prejudice, his is currently The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde), our friends.
I've never met a man who is as easy to converse with as James.
He never seems to judge.
"This is me," I say, pointing to the apartment complex I've lived in since 1929.
James nods, letting go of my arm.
"Take care."
"You too. I had a wonderful time tonight. Thanks for walking me home."
That same quirky grin appears on his face again.
"You're welcome, Bee."
No promises to do this again. Not even a question in that direction.
He doesn't ask for a kiss either.
I tell myself I'm not disappointed.
James watches me enter the building before leaving.
I hurry up the stairs to watch him walk away.
