Free One Wish by Robyn Carr Page A

man approached Grace and Troy. “Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Headly?”
    “Yes, this is Grace Dillon, Ms. Dillon to you.”
    He gave a short bow. “Would you like to dance, Ms. Dillon?” he asked politely.
    “Ah, I...ah...”
    “It’s entirely up to you, Grace,” Troy said. “Jerome here won’t put any moves on you because he knows I’d have to kill him.”
    “Is it all right?” she whispered to him.
    “No slow dancing. Those are mine,” Troy whispered back.
    Grace began what became a series of dances with a variety of young partners who were funny and charming and devilish. It was obvious they thought it was a real hoot to get Mr. Headly’s girl on the dance floor. Whenever the music slowed Troy was instantly at her side, cutting in, holding her as closely as he dared at a high school function. It seemed as if all the slow dances were crooned by Michael Bublé, but she was surprised by the wide variety of music, from oldies to current rock. There was even a line dance performed to the strains of Aretha Franklin singing “Chain of Fools.” It took Grace about two seconds to learn it and Troy joined in. “Am I dancing with students too much?” she asked.
    “I love watching you,” he said. “There’s one small problem—I can’t wait to get you alone.”
    “Are you dancing much?” she asked.
    “Very judiciously and as little as possible. Giggly high school girls are just not my thing. Besides, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things, make sure the kids aren’t getting into trouble.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    “Oh, you know, sneaking out to the parking lot to be too alone or to get a bottle or smoke a joint or get in a fight over something, like a girl. You know.”
    That was the point, she
didn’t
know. “Really?”
    “Been a while since you’ve been rockin’ the high school dance?”
    “You could say that,” she said. “I thought this would be boring. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.”
    “Just remember, don’t fall in love with anyone because you leave the dance with me.” He grinned at her.
    She noticed that Troy danced with Iris. Not a slow dance, but not so fast, either. He twirled her around and they laughed. She had no worries that Iris would invade her territory, none at all. But did Troy still wish that romance had worked? She forced herself to look away. When she looked back, Iris was talking to her husband. Troy was nowhere in sight.
    He was right behind her, claiming a dance. It was an old tune with a good beat—“Knock On Wood”—and Troy improvised, moving her two beats left, two beats right, a little twirl. She’d been very impressed by his dancing tonight. And it was sexy! Then the tune segued into a bebop beat and she noticed a few kids getting together for another line dance, but Troy pulled her back from the crowd, gave her hands a little shove and made a jitterbug move. “Huh?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
    She laughed at him. “As long as you don’t slide me between your legs or toss me onto your hips and over your shoulder.”
    “Aw,” he said, then led her into a really good jitterbug, so good that kids stopped what they were doing to watch.
This guy knows what he’s doing
, she thought.
    When the song ended, there were a few claps from the crowd. Grace heard a teenage girl say, “Oh, God, why can’t he just
marry
me!”

Five
    F our hours flew by and at almost midnight they were on their way to Grace’s place in Troy’s car. She was completely amazed by the variety of music, from oldies to current rock to hip-hop and even country. And now that she thought about it, Troy was up to speed on all of those dances, even picking up the line dance steps quickly. “Care to explain that dancing, Fred Astaire?” she asked.
    He laughed. “Short story. I dated a dance instructor. Not like Arthur Murray—she taught little kids. Her sister was getting married and she wanted someone who could dance to go to the wedding with her,