Free Again by Sharon Cullars

heat from his fingers seared through the dress, her back, right down to her limbs. She found it hard to walk.
    The band was playing “Suddenly,” a slow oldie by Billy Ocean . Tyne wondered briefly at April’s nostalgia. Most of the songs she had chosen were from the Seventies and Eighties. Tyne stiffened involuntarily as David drew her near, but thankfully he kept a comfortable gap between them. As they began moving, she caught a whiff of cologne, felt the toned hardness of his shoulder where her hand rested. Felt a callus in the palm of the hand that held hers still so tightly she had to wiggle her fingers to keep the blood flowing. He loosened his grip.
    She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes trained on the dancers around them. But she knew he was looking at her with the same concentration he had fixed on her earlier.
    “Why did you run?” he asked softly.
    She looked up and felt a rise in temperature as she met those green eyes. She couldn’t shake the familiarity, nor the discomfort.
    “What makes you think I was running?”
    “Because you were,” he said with a certainty that irritated her.
    “No, I wasn’t,” she insisted. “I was simply going back to my table. Now let me ask you—why were—are you staring?”
    He smiled. “Because I thought I knew you from somewhere.”
    “And?”
    “And you were at the Fairmont a couple months ago. I saw you in the foyer.”
    Tyne shook her head. “Yes, I attended a function there, but I don’t remember seeing you.”
    “No reason you should. It was just a quick glance. Except even then I thought I knew you.”
    “So maybe we’ve seen each other before in passing. It happens. Now that that mystery is solved, you can stop trying to commit my face to memory.”
    He laughed. “OK…sorry about that. I’ll stop with the staring. So, since I have probably less than a few minutes before the song ends, tell me what you were doing at the Fairmont.”
    “I was at a gathering of black journalists.”
    He perked up. “You’re a journalist?”
    “No,” she said quickly. “Well, yes and no. I studied journalism but right now I’m a researcher and copy editor for the Chicago Clarion .”
    He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
    “Not surprising. It’s a small paper with a targeted readership.” She couldn’t help the defensiveness in her voice.
    “Targeted readership?” He raised an eyebrow.
    “Mainly African-American. So, what were you doing there that night?” she asked. She wasn’t going to be the only one answering questions.
    “An awards ceremony for Chicago architects.”
    “So, you’re an architect. Did you receive an award?”
    He shook his head. “No, just there to recognize those who did. It’ll be sometime before we garner accolades like that.”
    She saw a momentary flicker of something on his face, then it was gone.
    “We?”
    “My partners and I. We have a small firm here in Chicago…look, I would like to have a longer conversation, away from all the gala. What are you doing later?”
    She had started to feel less anxious during the conversation, when it seemed that one dance was all he wanted. Now she stiffened again. “I’m relaxing later. It’s been a long day.”
    He nodded. “Yes, I guess you would be tired…”
    The song ended and dancers began heading back to their tables. She started to move away, but he held tight. “One more dance?”
    “No, like I said before, I have to get back to my sister. Thanks for the dance, but I have to go.” This time she pushed away with more strength, forcing him to relinquish his hold. Before he could reach for her again, she maneuvered away from him, leaving him on the dance floor alone.
    She didn’t turn to see whether he was staring after her. She knew that he was. She passed her mother’s table and headed straight for the dais, knowing that he wouldn’t follow her there. She would stay there all evening if she had to, tending to April. Waiting for him to