We walk into the high school and I hold my breath.

The earth trembles with the sound of thumping drums, piano keys, and brass. Either that or tiny earthquakes have taken hold of my nerves and refuse to let go.

Music echoes down the hallway from the gym and I feel my stride shorten with each step.

Will notices and slows down to hook his arm around mine. It soothes me but as we pass through the beaded curtain into the gymnasium, I close my eyes.

Two hours ago, this place was empty. Tables lined the walls with pure white tablecloths. Red and blue cups stacked near a mountain of ice and fruit punch. Buckets of chocolate kisses. Patriotic decorations around a dance floor. Peaceful, quiet, and perfect. A real feather in the party planning committee’s cap.

But none of that will matter to those who despise me.

And they’re all probably here.

“Hi, Jovie!”

I open my eyes on Natalie’s smiling face. She holds a cigarette box in her arms, hanging around her neck with a thick strap wrapped. Her halter dress is white with a blue sash wrapped around her waist. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell of the World War II era.

“Hey…” I greet.

“Oh, my gosh! You look gorgeous!” She stares at my dress and slaps Will in the arm. “And you. Very handsome.”

“Thank you,” he says. “You look like you’re having fun.”

She raises her voice to combat the music. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages!”

I scan the room over her shoulder. Nearly three-hundred said they’d show up and by my estimation, about half of them have so far. Most people shimmy around the dance floor, limbs flailing wildly to keep up with the music’s quick beat.

I gulp.

“Well, I have to keep mingling or Sara will scold me,” Natalie says, raising her box to Will. “Candy cigarette?”

He grins and snatches a tiny carton from inside. “Don’t mind if I do.”

She twists around and walks in the other direction, squeezing back into the crowd from whence she came.

Will pinches a candy stick between his lips and swings out in front of me. “Now, see here, madam,” he says, his voice tainted with an old city accent. “How’s about we turn that frown into an O…”

I snatch the wobbling cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t do that.”

“Jovie…” He tilts his head in amusement. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I bite the tip off the cigarette but instantly regret it as the cheap, chalk-like candy stains my tongue. “Ack…”

Will leans down to look me in the eye. “Just ignore them.”

I raise a brow. Of course, he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I’m trying,” I say.

He slides his arms around me. “Look at me,” he says. “Do I look worried?”

My lips move up on their own. “No.”

“You guys did a great job with this.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods, looking around. “And just look at their faces. They think so, too.”

My eyes drift from person-to-person. A few have noticed we’re here. I expect hushed whispers and harsh expressions but they all nod at me with kindness. Every single one of them.

It’s unsettling, to say the least.

“Let’s get a drink, eh?” he asks, guiding me towards the refreshment tables. “Wait for a slow song…”

“I’m not dancing.”

“Lucky!” he says, recognizing the hive of red hair standing behind the table.

She throws on a smile for the two of us and raises her blue cup. “Evening,” she says.

Her eyes wander downward to the ring on my finger and she lifts a silent, smug brow while Will pours my cup of fruit punch. I wait for her to say something snarky about how quickly I abandoned my plans. Staying for now? Yeah, okay. Sure, kid.

She doesn’t know it’s not a real engagement. I still intend to leave Clover at some point.

Don’t I?

Will hands me a cup and I nod a thank you. I taste the red sugar water as I glance around again. People still stare at me — I’m Jovie Ross, after all — but it’s like they know something I don’t. Like I’m the latest member of some happy cult.

But that’s what I wanted, right?

I turn my focus to the band instead. There’s seven of them, all rocking a different instrument from drums to the trombone to the piano. I watch the pianist tickle the ivories and I smile at the intensity on his face.

“Nice song,” Will says.

I glare at him. “No.”

He throws on a smirk as he takes a drink from his cup.

“And here she is!”

I wince, hearing the familiar voice of Coach Rogers beside us.

“Hey, Coach,” Will greets, looking about as tortured as I feel.

He gestures around. “Do you see it?” he asks me. “Do you feel it?”

I pause. “Feel what?”

“That, Ms. Ross, is an easy eight-point crowd and I heard that you had a lot to do with making this little shindig possible. I think we just might hit an 8.5 tonight—”

“Coach,” Will interrupts. “Stop profiling the town.”

“It’s essential.”

“It’s unethical.”

Coach ignores him and looks at me instead. “Keep it up, Jovie.”

“Okay,” I say, forcing a chuckle.

He walks off and Will doesn’t stop glaring at him until he’s well out of sight.

The music slows down and he instantly perks up.

“Now, this…” he slides my cup from my hand and sets it down on the table behind us, “is what we need.”

I dig my heels into the floor. “I said no—”

“Dancing,” he finishes. “Right, I heard you and yet…”

He takes hold of my wrist and walks us toward the center floor.

“Will.”

“You just have to sway,” he says. “You can sway, right?”

I sigh with rolling eyes. “Fine.”

He grins wider and pulls me in, placing firm hands on my hips. “That’s my girl.”

I extend my arms over his shoulders and we sway on our feet, barely lifting them off the floor. The minor embarrassment of the act quickly vanishes as I gaze up into his eyes. It’s strange. We’re completely surrounded on all sides by people probably staring at us but it feels like we’re the only people here.

The music draws me in again and I look once more at the band leader sitting at his keyboard. His fingers glide along the keys, pounding them with swift, elegant precision and I can’t stop the smile from latching onto my lips.

“What are you thinking about?”

I blink back to Will. “What do you mean?”

“That’s like the third time you’ve looked at that piano player,” he notes. “Do I need to be worried?”

“No,” I say, chuckling.

“Or jealous?” he adds. “Because I can puff my chest out and flex if you want.”

I shake my head. “No, he just reminds me of someone I used to know.”

Will pauses, his eyes casually trying not to show the excitement hidden in them. He hesitates but finally asks, “Who?”

My mind wanders back as I stare at the pianist again. For the first time since I came back to Clover, I feel a piece of myself expanding. It’s like I’ve lived and breathed inside a tiny box for weeks. I wondered how long it would take before I dared crack it open.

“I was in Seattle,” I say, drawing his full focus. “I was broke — completely broke — but I had this dollar store harmonica and a glass jar, so I stood on a corner downtown and started playing it.”

“You can play the harmonica?” he asks.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I faked it. I thought I was faking it pretty well…” I pause, immersed in the memory, “until this guy walked up to me. He was tall and older with this silver-speckled beard. Kind of reminded me of my dad… Anyway, he grabbed my shoulder and said, ‘oh, honey sweetie, you’re never gonna get laid playing that thing.’”

Will laughs.

“Then,” I continue, “he bent down, picked up my jar of pennies and lint, and made me follow him down the street.”

His eyes twist with a protective vibe. “Then, what’d he do?”

I smile. “He took me to this dueling piano bar. It wasn’t even open yet but we just waltzed inside like he owned it. He sat me down on the piano bench, ordered this huge plate of nachos from the staff at the bar, and he taught me how to play.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Well, he taught me how to play Chopsticks.” I chuckle. “Then, it was Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and then a few bars of Moonlight Sonata. Turned out, he actually was the owner. He let me stick around the rest of the night and watch the show.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“It was amazing,” I say, remembering the thick smoke and pale, blue lights. “Afterward, he saw me still sitting at the bar, drinking nothing but water because it was free. He walked up, shook my hand, and asked me who I was. I told him I was Jovie from Clover, Kansas. He said, ‘Well, Jovie. I’m Bernard and I’m from Des Moines.’”

Will squints with suspicion. “Then, what’d he do?”

“Then… he took me back to his place, gave me a big blanket from his closet, and let me sleep on his couch.”

Will relaxes but his focus never leaves my face. “That was nice of him.”

I press my lips together, wondering how much more I should say but the words spill out anyway. “I stayed there for two weeks.”

He senses my hesitation but curiosity keeps him asking. “Two weeks?”

“Every night, he’d come back and stuff his tips from the evening into my glass jar. I asked him not to but, at the same time, I really needed the money, and he knew that.”

“Did…” His voice falls.

“What?” I ask.

“Did he ever try anything…?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he was gay.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, the men coming and going from his room were a big clue.”

Will laughs. “Fair enough.”

I look to the pianist again. “I’ve never really been a big believer in anything,” I say. “Life was rough at the time but somehow, I stumbled on him right when I needed to.”

My heart aches, utterly infected by the broken box inside. I look up into Will’s eyes, so full of love and concern for me.

All the pain and uncertainty of the last several years bleeds away, leaving me feeling limp in his arms. Even through everything, he’s still willing to stand beside me. To hold me up when everyone else would push me down.

I want to be close to him again. Closer than this.

“And…” I say, “that’s about it.”

“What is?” he asks.

“Where I’ve been.” I inhale a deep breath, letting it course through my limbs and back. “I spent four years wandering from place-to-place. I’d stay in one city long enough to scavenge enough money to fill the tank of my car and then I’d hit the road. Sooner or later, it would run out and I’d do it all over again.”

I search his eyes for judgment and shame. They show neither.

“Why?” he asks.

“I wanted to see the world,” I tell him. “The world outside of Clover and I did. I saw so much and I loved almost every moment of it, but… no matter where I went, I always did the exact same thing.” My chest clenches. “I’d walk down the street, alone and scared, and I’d look for you. I knew how impossible it was to actually see your face in the crowd staring back at me but I still did it everywhere I went.” My lip trembles. “I did everything I could to distract myself but nothing worked.”

I feel a warm tear slide downward but Will wipes it away with his thumb.

“I woke up one day and I couldn’t do it anymore,” I say. “I couldn’t stand that crushing disappointment I felt whenever you weren’t there. So, I drove home again so it wouldn’t be so impossible anymore.”

My head falls. I try to breathe but my lungs feel small and weak, shriveling up inside of me. Nausea teases my gut. Guilt threatens to knock me over. God, I can’t even look at him.

“Jovie,” he whispers.

I almost resist the feel of his hand on my cheek but I let him draw my eyes up again.

He gives me a gentle kiss. I lose track of time as he pulls me even deeper into his embrace. The music continues but we stopped dancing long ago.

When his lips finally fall from mine and his eyes open wide, he offers me a smile of warm comfort.

“Thank you,” he says.

I tremble in his hands. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you—”

“Shh.” He hugs me tighter. “It’s okay.”

“You must think I’m an idiot.”

“Are you kidding?” His lips press against my forehead. “You’re my Jovie.”

I exhale with relief, draining a little more of this emotion and pain from my system. It’s not everything but it’s enough for now.

Baby steps.