Lydia smiles and her wrinkles soften. “Erma predicted my marriage with Anthony. More than forty years now. She saw it while he was still fighting in Vietnam. He came back, missing both legs, touchy as a bear roused early from hibernation. For five years we fought Erma’s prediction. He wouldn’t dance with me.”

Will nods. “That’s hard.”

“It was. But finally, we both got our heads and hearts straight. He danced with me, and that was it. Six kids, seven grandkids, and more than forty years later, I’m more in love than ever. I’m thankful Erma saw my soul mate in Anthony. He’s the only dance partner I can imagine spending my life with.”

“So you believe in the soul mate predictions?” Will asks.

Lydia waves her arms. “Me and the two hundred and seven couples I taught wedding dances to. You’ll be number two hundred and eight.” She winks at us.

Oh no.

“Lydia, thank you, but you misunderstood—”

“Tut, tut. I won’t hear it. You two are naturals. Lessons from me or I’ll be terribly offended.”

“No, I mean were not—”

The door swings open and half a dozen two and three-year-olds run into the studio, squealing and stomping, their moms trailing behind. Our time is up. Lydia waves goodbye as the toddlers surround her.

“So, are you convinced yet?” I ask Will when we’re on the sidewalk. “About Erma’s predictions,” I clarify.

He leans his head back and lets the sun bathe his face with light. When he looks back at me, his gaze is thoughtful.

“If I say yes, you’ll hold me to our bet? I have to stay out of your love life?”

My stomach turns over, like it’s falling out of the old oak tree.

“Yes,” I say, and my stomach feels like it hits the ground.

Will shrugs. “Then no. I’m not convinced.”

His words from the studio hang between us.

Why do you believe I’m not your soul mate?

13

Will

“I have a question,” says Jessie.

“Alright.”

We’re leaving the hardware store, where Mr. and Mrs. Kwan told us how their son found his soul mate because of Erma. They’re ecstatic to finally have grandchildren. Before that, we stopped to chat with the town sheriff. He was grabbing a coffee and told us about his match almost twenty years ago. The gruff and hardened sheriff wanted me to understand that Miss Erma’s word was akin to the law. And also, that this town made certain Erma wasn’t bothered by newspapers, journalists, cuckoo birds, crazy love seekers, or general nuisances.

“You’re still not a believer? Even after the Kwans and Sheriff Rodham?”

“I’m not convinced.” If I believe in this, it means I’ll have to keep my word, leave her alone and watch her marry my brother. “Was that your question?”