I expected the week to drag on, considering I was still battling episodes of nausea and a definite lack of appetite. When I did feel hunger pangs, my taste was finicky at best. But I hadn’t accounted for the serious amount of responsibility that would keep me busy and distracted. I went back to work, and my students seemed particularly excitable and not on their best behavior. I chalked it up to being so close to the holidays, but it made things difficult for me.

 

On top of that, I had Ginger most of the time. There was laundry, food, and bathing for her, not to mention her need for actual attention. I underestimated how draining all that could be. I didn’t resent the time and energy I spent on her. It just came as a shock, and I wondered how on earth Dawson had balanced being part of the Valves with raising a young girl, especially as an infant. I could barely handle two of the three meals a day and a nightly bath.

 

I was also tasked with getting ready for Christmas. I had a daughter to buy presents for, and my sister would be coming before then, so I had to figure out a present and dinner for her, as well. I also had to determine sleeping arrangements since I only had one guest room, and I didn’t want to relegate anyone to the couch.

 

All of it added up to Friday coming much sooner than I’d anticipated. I wasn’t the least bit ready, and when Dawson texted me to let me know that Ginger would be going straight home with one of her friends, I nearly panicked. My stomach was out of sorts, I hadn’t decided what I was going to wear, and I hadn’t thought about how quickly I’d become attached to having Ginger around all the time. The idea of letting someone else – and that someone not even being her father – take care of her for an entire evening and night made it hard to breathe.

 

I’d have to get over that, but the reaction was strong and emphasized everything else I was feeling. After school, I rushed home, determined to look my best for my last date, and I hopped in the shower. Dawson had texted again, saying he would pick me up at six, and I was already short on time. Clean and fresh, I went through several outfits, only to find I’d lost a significant amount of weight over the last few days, at least one dress size and two sizes in jeans. Nothing fit right.

 

I had to rig something up, and I chose a lavender dress that didn’t fit like a bag, still retaining some shape on me. I found a wide silver scarf and fashioned it into a sash that gathered the loose waist behind me with the knot I tied, and it looked fairly natural and much better fitted. I wrinkled my nose at my bare legs and decided a pair of black leggings with black ankle boots would work well. After all, it was cold outside, and it wouldn’t be particularly outlandish.

 

Satisfied that I didn’t look like a wraith, I went to the bathroom and started with hair and makeup, taking my time to assure my eyeliner and mascara were perfect, and I dried my hair and styled it, braiding it and wrapping it into a bun out of the way and still stylish at the top of my head.

 

It left my face a little void of adornment, and I had to dig out some silver earrings, leaves that dangled, and some matching bangles for my wrists, but finally, the outfit seemed complete. I took a deep breath, realizing I had already used up a lot of my reserves, and I took a seat at the kitchen table with a hot cup of green tea infused with ginseng. I needed all the strength I could get.

 

As I drank and thought about the evening, I felt invigorated again. I hated the idea that this would be like saying goodbye, but I forced that thought away and tried to focus on the fact that I was going to be with Dawson, and no one could take the joy of the night away from me, including my own neurotic subconscious mind.

 

The knock at the door made my heart flutter, and I jumped out of the chair a little too fast, making myself dizzy. I had to force myself to eat something tonight, or I wouldn’t have the strength to enjoy what I wanted so badly from Dawson. I walked slowly, gaining my balance, and when I opened the door, I felt a rush of desire swell up over me. He stood there in black jeans that fit so tight I could see the imprint of his cock inside them and a black collared shirt with a bolt of silver lightning down each side. His boots were newly shined, and his cocky smile was the one I had grown used to before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

 

“Hi,” he said simply.

 

I couldn’t hold back the grin of appreciation that tugged at my lips, and I moved aside so he could come in. “Hi yourself,” I replied, glancing at his ass while I closed the door. It looked amazing in those jeans, and I considered asking if we actually had to go out. I would have been perfectly happy staying in, getting naked, and memorizing every last inch of his body. But I wanted it all, and I was going to have it.

 

“You look incredible,” he growled, drawing me into his arms the moment we were both inside and gazing down at me hungrily.

 

“So do you,” I told him and welcomed his lips on mine. But as I felt my arousal building inside and his manifesting physically, I knew I had to put an end to this before I got lost and let my resolve wash away in the flood of desire. I pulled back and told him, “We should save this for later.”

 

He gave a reluctant nod, his jaw clenching. “In that case, we should get going. I’m hungry, and I have to feed one appetite or another,” he joked. I reached for my coat, and as he helped me put it on, he added, “Besides, I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

 

I shuddered with the same anxious anticipation. “Join the club,” I muttered. But I led the way out the door and then locked it behind us, following him to my car and passing him the keys. I was in no condition to ride his bike, and I didn’t feel like driving. He understood the arrangement and took the wheel without protest or question. “So, where are we going?” I asked as he cranked the engine and let it warm up.

 

“Someplace I haven’t been since I was a kid,” he said with a mischievous grin.

 

I didn’t know if I was prepared for whatever it was that put such an impish look on his face, but I definitely wasn’t going to complain about anything, as long as I had Dawson to myself the whole night.

 

He drove toward downtown, and I played guessing games, asking if it was an arcade or an old movie theater or a mall. He wouldn’t give me a straight yes or no to any of it, and we both laughed. It felt good to have such lighthearted conversation. We’d been bogged down with intense, deep discussions that ended in heartache all too often lately.

 

But a wave of nausea ended my playful streak, and I grew quiet, trying to swallow it before it threatened my evening. I wanted the banter and the mirth and the joy that we’d just found to last. I didn’t want it to feel like goodnight. I wanted it to feel like any other night, only better.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, noticing that I wasn’t bouncy and light.

 

I nodded. “I’m okay. I’m still struggling with aftereffects of being sick. But I’m fine. Just forgive me if I need a minute here and there to get better.”

 

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye but seemed to accept my explanation, which was good. I didn’t want to talk about it any further. And even if he’d thought about pressing and asking more questions, we had arrived…somewhere. He parked on the street and came around to help me out, taking my elbow and guiding me toward a dark building without a sign. I thought we were going to round the corner to somewhere that looked less ominous, but he stepped in front of the door and reached to open it.

 

I stared at him with a skeptical look, and he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Trust me, baby.”

 

I did. After everything we’d gone through, and all the times I’d doubted, he’d come clean, and he’d never truly lied to me, only held back in his sense of propriety, trying to keep me safe. So, I let him lead me inside, and I found myself inside a well-lit bar. It was older, the furnishings and décor a little weathered and dusty, but it was cozy.

 

There was a live band and a tiny dance floor, surrounded by tables and booths with billiards off in the back. The bar was across from the small stage where the band played, and I noticed the bartender was busy and lively, though he was an older man with gray and white hair. His smile was infectious, and the other patrons seemed to agree, laughing and enjoying themselves. I saw several very young couples, some I couldn’t imagine being old enough to drink, but I saw others of all ages. In fact, one of the couples on the dance floor doing the two-step were probably in their seventies.

 

“What is this place?” I asked Dawson, my stomach easing with the genial atmosphere.

 

“Like I said, I used to come here when I was a kid.” He nodded to one of the waitresses as she motioned us over to a table, and once we were seated with menus, he explained, “Back in the day, before I was old enough to drink, I used to come here for a beer from time to time. Chuck served anyone he saw as an adult and just warned us that, if any cops came in, we should discretely get rid of any alcohol before they started asking questions. I haven’t been here in a long time, but it’s like a home to me, and I wanted to share it with you.”

 

I was touched that he wanted to share part of his past with me, and I looked around, seeing license plates, beer signs, and various paraphernalia from old gas stations and cigarette advertisements and whatnot posted on the walls. “It’s a neat little place. I wouldn’t have even known it was here.”

 

“That’s the point. You’ll never find it if someone doesn’t show you the way. It keeps things intimate here.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “It’s got everything. Atmosphere, liquor, good food, good company, music, and dancing. You can’t really ask for more than that.” His eyes were soft as he gazed at me, and I realized there was one thing – someone you loved to share it with. I knew he’d left that part unspoken on purpose.

 

I turned my hand over, grasping his, and I couldn’t look away from his gaze for several long minutes. I had to assume the waitress noticed the spell cast over us because she didn’t approach until I finally broke eye contact and looked down at the menu in front of me. She took our drink orders and walked away, and I actually considered the items on the menu, expecting to find typical bar food.

 

To my pleasant surprise, there were some excellent home cooking dishes like chicken and dumplings and some more gourmet items like eggplant parmesan and baked ziti with ground pork and four kinds of cheese. “Someone really likes to cook here,” I commented.

 

“Every recipe on the menu came from Chuck’s wife,” Dawson told me, not even bothering to open the menu. “I’m going with my old favorite. Chicken fried steak smothered in country gravy and served with a loaded baked potato and fried green beans.”

 

My mouth watered just hearing it and, for the first time all week, I was truly ravenous without a hint of sick stomach. I glanced back over the offerings and finally rounded back to the chicken and dumplings, which said it was ‘chock full of country vegetables and served with cinnamon apple slices and a side salad.’ I had the sudden feeling I could put every last bite of it away.

 

We placed our orders, and Dawson chuckled. “I knew if there was any chance of you getting that appetite back, it would be here.” He stood and held out a hand to me. I stared at it like some foreign object, not quite sure what his intentions were, but he turned toward the band. “Come dance with me.”

 

I didn’t dance. We didn’t dance. Well, I might dance around my house, but not in public, and I felt the nerves creeping into my throat. “Dawson, I…”

 

“For me?” His smile faded, and I couldn’t say no to the plea in his eyes. Swallowing past my fear and realizing I couldn’t be any worse than some of the others I saw get out there, I took his hand and let him guide me to the dance floor. He held up a finger to ask me to wait and went to say something to the singer as they finished a song. Then, he came back, and I narrowed my eyes at him in suspicion.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a request to fill. This fine gentleman wants to dedicate a song to the woman he loves, who he says is his rock to cling to in a storm. Don’t we all wish we had that?” The crowd cheered and clapped, and I gazed in question at Dawson, whose smile nearly split his face in half.

 

Now, I didn’t listen to a lot of oldies, especially the kind that crossed genres between pop and country. But I knew this song from the start, and I felt tears prickling my eyes as he led me into a two-step. I listened to the words and felt the intensity of his gaze telling me they were meant for me.

 

Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?
Would you be my partner every night?
When we’re together it feels so right.
Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?

 

I might have stepped on his toes once or twice, but he was a good leader, and I didn’t have as much trouble as I would have thought following. I was simply too overcome with emotion to pay close attention to the steps. I was floored by the feel of Dawson’s embrace as he held me tight and carried me around the small dance floor in a way that made it feel like it was an enormous ballroom.

 

When the song ended, he bent and kissed me, a long and sensual coupling of mouths, and I could hear the romantic cheers and sighs around us. I knew they wanted us to be together forever. I recognized the energy that sparked in the air, and for that moment in time, I could pretend we weren’t going to disappoint them.