Instead, Mary had been caught unawares when she’d heard his voice in her ear. She’d been unable to think of anything to do besides play nice when she’d turned and seen Doug and Anna. And now all she felt was the dizzying absence where her good mood had just been. It had been a hard two weeks, so there were plenty of bummed-out feelings to rush in and set up shop.

Richie, sensing her change in demeanor, leaned in to ask her something, but the music was too loud and she couldn’t hear him. Beth too was looking at Mary in concern. Mary glanced over one shoulder and watched as Doug pulled out a barstool for Anna, boxing her in against the bar the way he used to do with Mary.

It hit Mary that it wasn’t just Cora that Mary was lonely for. She was lonely for a partner. She wanted someone who knew the whole story. Her whole story. She wanted someone who was going to crawl into bed with her tonight. Someone who would lower the stakes on her sadness and discomfort. Because what would this fleeting feeling really matter if there was someone who could roll his eyes at Doug? Who made sure her drink wasn’t empty. Who looped an arm around her neck from behind and whispered in her ear. Who wanted to leave with her.

She just wanted someone to want to leave with her.

“Mary?” Richie was saying, obviously concerned, leaning toward her.

She shook her head, horrified when the backs of her eyes started to tighten. No. Not now. No crying right now.

“Mary,” a different voice said into her ear. An exhilaratingly familiar voice. A two-toned voice. A voice made up of two voices mixed into one. A man with so many different facets he couldn’t be contained by one sound.

He didn’t loop an arm around her neck the way she’d just been fantasizing about, but he did put two of his heavy fingers on the inside of her elbow and press in, just a bit, to get her to turn toward him.

And turn she did.

She’d never seen this look on his face before.

Oh, Christ. She knew that look. That was a you-might-not-know-it-yet-but-I’m-kinda-the-man kind of look. That there, ladies and gentlemen, was a knee-knocker.

Mary gaped up at him. What was happening? Was he about to kiss her?

The hand that was on the inside of her arm trailed down until palm met palm. He gave her a gentle tug that had her half stepping into him.

“Dance with me,” she watched his lips say.

Dance with him? With John? Never in seven million years would she think that John Modesto-Whitford was a bar dancer.

“Oh,” she said, thrown off by his unexpected mood and still conscious of Doug on one side of the bar. “I... I don’t know.” She dug her heels in.