“It’ll be done in a minute,” she said, peeking through the doorway. She was still wearing that baggy sweatshirt that covered her figure, but she looked more refreshed than he felt. “Do you want some tea?”

“I’d love some tea,” he said brightly. “And a gallon of water as well.”

She laughed. “You’ll have to make it,” she said. “I don’t know how to work the kettle and I think I might have broken it last night.”

Aiden retrieved his now-dry T-shirt from the fireplace and walked to the kitchen, ruffling her messy hair as he went. “We’ll see what we can manage,” he said with a yawn.

In the small kitchen space, he moved around her, examining the kettle and filling it up with tap water. When he plugged it up, she scooted around him to pull the pizza out, setting it on the stove. The well-timed dance between the two of them didn’t go unnoticed by Aiden. He swiftly grabbed her in his arms and pulled her close to him. Her reaction was a startled laugh that brightened her eyes. “What are you...”

He raised one of her arms high and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. “Do you dance?”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes twinkling. “Not without music,” she said. “And not waltzing.”

“But you’ve danced with a man?”

“Well, since they invented a dance called the twist, women have had the freedom to dance with partners without intricate steps.” God, she is a keeper. Aiden noticed Antonia’s feisty wit emerged the more she relaxed.

“You mean you don’t wear corsets and foxtrot with a chaperone nearby?”

She rolled her eyes. “I do not.”

“Then I’m going to teach you a quick two-step,” he said. He led her around the kitchen as she tried not to step on his toes. “One and two and one and two...”

“Oh my god, this is silly,” she giggled.

“You never know when it might come in handy,” Aiden replied. “Least that’s what my mam told me when she signed me up for classes.”

Antonia kept her face down, staring at their feet as they moved together. “How old were you?”

“I was eight,” he said with a rueful smile. He was the only boy in his grade who was dropped off for dance classes while the others were learning how to fight in a boxing ring. Now that he was older, he understood his mother was making an early attempt to lead him from a different path than his father. He smiled at the memory and realized the skill proved to be mighty helpful with women.

“My mom made me take piano lessons when I was eight,” she said with a chuckle.

“That is also very helpful,” he said, trying to twirl her. She tripped over her own feet and stumbled against him. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

She glanced over her shoulder with a demure smile. “Yes, that’s definitely it.”

As he released her to check on the teakettle, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. “Sorry, hold on,” he said. “It’s probably my mother.”