Michael spreads his arms, lifts his face toward the ceiling, and spins. I laugh and spin with him, like the music will carry us away, until I careen into his body, dizzy and drunk on the moment. He grabs my hand and twirls me under his arm, then twirls me in reverse until the front of my body is pressed up against his. He releases my hand and loosely grips my waist. I put my arms around his neck hesitantly and look up at his handsome face, a face that makes me feel known, makes me feel home. He may have his faults, but he’s trying. And maybe I can help try harder because his people, all this surrounding us, is worth it.

As our gazes lock, our laughter dies down. Michael’s eyes glitter caramel and chocolate beneath his thick dark lashes. His Adam’s apple bobs, and I wonder what it would feel like against my lips. Guitar-calloused fingers skim my cheek, cup my face. I no longer hear the music or feel the shift of dancers around us. The only sound is the echoing thump of my heart in my ears.

Thump, thump.

The press of his tall, lean body against mine pulses warmth through me. I feel sexy and fierce and reckless. I tip my face toward his, and now our mouths are so close that I breathe in his shaky exhale.

Thump, thump.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, and—ever so lightly that I almost miss it—he presses a kiss to my cheek.

Thump, thump.

So soft, like the wings of a butterfly passing by, and just as fleeting.

The touch is gone as soon as it began.

“You look radiant tonight,” he whispers in my ear, words tinged with a tender note of regret. And then he releases me and steps away, instantly disappearing into the undulating crowd. I’d almost doubt it ever happened, but the spot where his lips brushed my skin is branded with the sting of a newly inked tattoo.

The noise comes crashing back, and I’m standing alone on the teeming dance floor, my heart warring between excitement and disappointment, my body keyed up and frustrated.

I mentally clutch at the already fading memory. I don’t normally let myself want Michael, but I’ll allow it for the next few hours. Until I have to return to the reality of why I can never have him. Why I can never have any of this life.

Georgie breaks away from a nearby clump of dancers. “I saw that little dance with Master Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Promiscuous.” She yells to be heard. She swats at my arm. “How long have you been drooling over that particular slice of cake?”

“Drooling?” I respond, “More like starving.” I roll my eyes. “Forever, it seems.”

Her eyes are sympathetic but glinting with the conspiratory excitement of a good secret.