The third time they meet, he nearly runs over her in a supermarket.
She gasps and stumbles backward and he reaches for her arm to keep her from falling, dropping all of his groceries in the process. Glass shatters and draws the attention of the nearby patrons and one employee, who rushes off to grab a mop and broom.
He blushes furiously. "I apologize. I wasn't paying attention."
"It's alright. I hated these shoes, you know," she bluffs. "I've been waiting for someone to throw their milk on them."
"My pleasure."
She looks up at him surprised. Her only reference for Danse's personality are the brief encounters they've shared and so far, he's only been short with her. She's smiling; she likes this new Danse. Her expression is warm but her eyes are narrowed ever so slightly. He perplexes her just as much as she does him.
He realizes he's still gripping her and immediately lets go but it's different this time. It's less like she's a flame he's been scorched by. The distance has been good for him. He can breathe around her.
She looks over the items on the floor. "Is this the bachelor's grocery list? Bread and meat and not a vegetable in sight."
The employee returns and they both step to the side of the mess and out of her way.
"I... never learned to cook."
She looks him over and sighs. "I'm not so sure you're a lost cause. Soup is simple enough. I can write down a recipe."
He rubs at his chin. He wants to decline-he'll ruin the soup somehow, he's sure-but she looks positively delighted to be able to help him.
"Come here."
She pulls him out of the aisle and down to the fresh foods. According to her, it's where he should do most of his shopping. She picks out an onion, some tomatoes, and something small and lumpy and white.
"What is that?"
She raises her eyebrows. "Wait, is... are you joking?"
He's not but he's grinning down at her. It's half embarrassment and half amusement. Her scolding is endearing and she informs him that it is in fact garlic that she's picked out and how could he not know that? Nora fusses over him and his diet, not that he minds.
She speaks with her hands, miming how to mince the garlic and remove the outside of an onion. He doesn't fully understand but a woman, her friend, interrupts her to say hello.
She extends a friendly hand to Danse. "And it's nice to meet you finally."
Nora's cheeks redden. "Oh that's... Nate is at home. This is a friend."
Not Nate's friend. Her friend. He hasn't thought about it but he supposes it's true. It might make things easier, a friendship. He's bound to see her every now and again and he can't shun her every time or at least, he doesn't want to.
"This is Danse," she continues, placing a hand atop his larger one. It's fleeting-there one second and gone the next. Two months ago, it could have crippled him. Now it simply forces his heart faster against his ribs.
Progress.
The woman apologizes and nervously corrects herself. Another minute of small talk and then she's gone. Nora turns her attention back to him and it's just a bit intoxicating.
"Where were we?"
"Sautéeing."
She continues her directions and stands with him in line. They check out separately but all the while, she informs him of the changes she's made to the house and the bookshelf Nate is at home assembling.
"I suppose I'll see you in a few days," she says, grabbing her bags and walking by his side out to the parking lot.
"A few days?"
"Are you not going to the wedding?"
He might have forgotten had she not reminded him. "I plan to attend, yes."
"Good."
She asks him to hold her bags before they walk onto the paved street. He does and she pulls out a pair of sunglasses. Large, white frames cover nearly half of her face.
"I'll see you, Danse," she flashes him a smile as she takes her bags back. "Take care of yourself."
He's never been good at that, taking care of himself. She makes him want to.
She's already there when he arrives at the church. He's early, hates being late, but he knew she would be too because Nate is a groomsman.
His eyes find her before anyone else, even when she's across the room and engrossed in conversation with someone else. Chestnut waves cascade down her back and over one shoulder of a lavender dress. Her hand is on her arm, this unnamed woman, and he realizes she's a very touchy person.
He finds a seat in the back, examining the program shoved into his hands at the door. It's burgundy and gray and lace lines the edges.
He reads it over four times but when he checks his watch, there's still 10 minutes until the ceremony. When he looks up, she notices and makes her way to where he sits.
"No date?" she asks, taking the chair next to him.
"I'm not seeing anyone," he replies, unconsciously edging towards her. That damn gravitational pull.
She smiles mischievously. "Ah, well. I'll see if I can't find you someone to go home with tonight."
The idea isn't appealing in the slightest but he nods anyway.
"If this seat isn't taken, I think I'll stay. That alright?"
It surprises him. She seems so friendly with everyone and he's the last person he'd expect her to choose. "Of course."
"I like sitting in the back. I always do. If you don't, people see you and then you have to talk to them and it never stops," she sighs.
"I was under the impression you enjoy being social."
Her hands are trembling again and she reaches into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. "Sometimes."
A couple attempts to shuffle past them. They're older-maybe mid 50s-and he and Nora sit back in their chairs to make room for them to pass. In the process, she twists in her seat and her whole body now faces him.
"I'm almost positive you don't like socializing," she smirks, blowing smoke over her shoulder.
"Sometimes," he laughs.
"Yes, I suppose I shouldn't say such a thing seeing as how we've graduated to whole conversations now."
One hand smooths her dress and the other supports her head as she leans into it, lit cigarette between two fingers. She's looking at him with that same expression she wore that night at dinner. It's baffling and he's no closer to deciphering it.
He wants to ask her what she's thinking, goes so far as to open his mouth when soft music begins to play and she purses her lips. The moment is gone and she stubs out the rest of her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe.
A man who has just taken a seat beside her sees it. He offers to take the butt and toss it for her. She politely rejects and rises to do it herself. The nearest ashtray is at the entrance just feet away and the man watches the swing of her hips as she goes. Danse clenches his jaw, barely restraining himself. Anywhere but a wedding, he might've allowed himself to indulge his baser instincts, for Nate of course, but the chairs are filling up now and the ceremony is about to start.
Instead, he's sure to fix him with a hostile glare-for Nate-as he turns back around to face the arch. The man notices, clears his throat. He won't do it again.
Just to be sure, Danse drapes an arm around the back of Nora's chair so that when she sits, her back just grazes his forearm. She doesn't say anything, oblivious to all that's transpired in the short time she was away and she certainly doesn't read into the placement of his arm. She's one of those people, after all: touchy. It likely means nothing to her.
He doesn't let himself dwell on the fact that he's being possessive of her when she's not his to begin with.
He does it for Nate. That's all.
The ceremony lasts half an hour; too long, by Danse's standards. His friend looks happy though, can't stop grinning as he walks back down the aisle holding hands with the love of his life. Nate walks down shortly after, arm in arm with a bridesmaid, and blows a kiss to Nora.
When the wedding party has cleared out, guests begin to rise and file into the reception room. It's expansive. Flowers cover seemingly every surface and lively music drifts between the mingling bodies. Nora asks him to stay with her to avoid small talk with others so he does. They stand in line for drinks and she orders a cosmopolitan. He orders a Manhattan.
She's a lightweight, self-proclaimed, but he soon discovers for himself. One drink has her even more smiley than usual. Her second has her giggling at every other thing he says.
She's standing in front of him, swaying slightly, telling him stories about work save for the confidential details. She particularly dislikes a woman at her firm.
"She doesn't trust me," she says, raising one eyebrow and leaning forward. "Says I'm too nice."
"I disagree."
She sips from her straw. "What do you think, then?"
Ice clinks against the walls of his glass. It sounds far away, background noise to the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
That you're lovely. That you make it hard to function and it's fucking impossible to get you out of my head.
"I think you're optimistic. Some people don't understand that."
She bites down on the straw and laughs. "So you like me now."
He runs a hand through his hair. "I've always liked you, Nora."
"Mmm. Right."
Someone makes an announcement over a speaker and the guests find their tables. He assumes that means pictures have been taken and Nate will be back soon. It makes him nervous. Even more so when he realizes they're seated at the same table.
Sure enough, the newlyweds return and the wedding party trails behind them. Nate claps Danse on the back and takes his place on the other side of Nora. The way he looks at her is appreciative and adoring and she melts under the heat of his gaze. Every eye in the room is on the happy couple as they have their first dance but Nate is whispering to Nora and Danse wishes he could ignore it. When he casts a quick glance their way, Nate's hand is on his wife's thigh, caressing her skin until her leg twitches under his touch. Heat rises to his face and he's unsure if it's because he's witnessed an intimate moment or because his own hands are empty.
Maybe he wouldn't object to company for the night.
She somehow convinces him to dance with her when Nate disappears again, off somewhere performing his duties as a groomsman. He's always felt he had two left feet but saying no to her kills him and she promises to lead.
They sway for a few beats. It's a slow and simple song. He's careful to keep his hands on her sides, not allowing them near her waist. That would be too intimate. Her hands lock around the back of his neck but they don't pull him close like they would if he were clean shaven, if his hair was a lighter shade of brown, if he had blue eyes. It makes him want to drink so when Nate returns and asks to cut in, he does until he feels the alcohol soothe the loneliness. It's not enough. Even the blonde Nora introduces him to cannot satisfy him. He knows that so he doesn't invite her back to his apartment. She seems disappointed. He gave her the wrong idea, mouth heated on her own and fingers tangled in the gold of her hair. But he's a decent man; he won't use her and that's what it would be if he allowed it to go any further.
He takes a cab home and passes out as soon as he collapses, face first, onto his bed.