I want to laugh like this every night and have kitchen-counter sex and cuddle in bed and play chess and share cupcakes and never stop.

In the grand scheme of things, maybe a rogue yes isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.

Jamie takes me by the hand and walks me into the living room. Reaching for the TV remote and syncing his phone, he turns on a classical music playlist.

“Hoo-boy,” I groan. “We’re really doing this. It’s going to be a disaster, I’m warning you.”

“I’m not worried.” String music fills the apartment. He draws me close. “Shouldn’t take long at all.”

—

Not that I doubted Jamie’s competency as a pediatrician, but now there is officially no debate that he’s good with children.

Because I’m being one.

I stomp my foot and let out a high-pitched whine that gives the string instruments a run for their money.

“Bea, it’s all right. Dancing takes time and practice—”

“We’ve been time-and-practicing for thirty minutes, and I’m worse than when I started.”

Jamie is not a good liar. Which is why he pinches his mouth and says nothing for long, awkward seconds. “You’re not worse. You’re—”

“Terrible. Clumsy. Awful. I’ve crushed your feet countless times. I probably broke a toe—”

“Beatrice.”

Stern-Jamie voice makes me freeze, but it also makes certain parts of me very, very warm. “Y-yes?”

His hand rests heavy and low on my back. “Take a breath. More than one, preferably.”

I do. A long, slow inhale, then exhale. Followed by another.

“Good.” He clears his throat. “Right. So, I’m going to make this both easier and more difficult.”

“What? That makes no sense.”

“It will.” He tucks me tight against him, so that our bodies touch. Chest. Hips. Thighs.

And now I’m aware of every inch of him.

“Ah. Okay. I’m following.”

Jamie breathes in deeply from his nose, his eyes holding mine. “Think of it like lovemaking.”

“What?” I squeak.

A deep blush stains his cheeks. “I told you. Easier and more difficult. Bear with me. When two people are together . . .”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“It’s like that,” he says quietly, his hand splayed wide on my back, drawing me closer. My fingers sink into his shirt. I am five foot seven inches of longing. “Their bodies find a rhythm, a give-and-take that’s right for them. Understand?”

I nod quickly. “I think so. I mean, yes.”

“So let me lead at first. Follow my rhythm, then you’ll find your own, I’ll adjust to that, and then we’ll be . . . dancing.”

My grip tightens on his shoulder. “Promise?”

His eyes hold mine as he sweeps his thumb in a soothing trail along the base of my spine. “Promise.”

Jamie seems to be waiting for the right moment in the music, and we stand still. Staring at each other. Bodies fused.