1927. Young women are thriving with their newfound independence and having fun.
Except that isn't the case for free spirited Brooke Dashwood. Being an heiress to a wealthy company run by her overbearing and temperamental father, she must live by th...
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"Dance can be interpreted in many ways!" Julian shouted in complete exhilaration.
I grinned nodding my head, unsure where he was fully heading with this but still was going to listen. Usually, driving home was never this much of a thrilling experience.
Living on an estate that was way out of the city, I only had the pleasure of passing crops and fields until I saw grand and glorious mansions that were built dating back to the 1700s.
But for today—unlike those other dull times, Julian was right by my side and convinced poor Ronald we take a different route with the same duration for commuting, to ensure I didn't find myself into deeper hot water than I surely already was now if I didn't get back on time.
So now, we had the luxury of passing various diverse neighborhoods I had never come across in all my nineteen years on this earth, but was still enjoying very much.
As his gorgeous green eyes met mine with an anticipating gaze, he carried on. "Now you see that group of kids over there, spinning each other on their front sidewalk?" He questioned. I nodded again but remained attentive, noticing a few happy young African American girls and boys not a day over 12 all hanging together doing exactly as he said on my side of the road. "In the dance world, with a nice little arm candy and a few more steps, we would call that 'The Lindy Hop.'
I quickly bellowed out a laugh and shook my head. It was the oddest thing I had heard. I had to know more. "The what?!"
Chuckling along at my skepticism, Julian shrugged. "The Lindy Hop. You take a nice hopper as a partner and drag them onto the dancefloor when the music's just right, and the two of you just start to prance around like nothing else in this world matters."
Just imagining having his incredibly strong arms and hands around me at all was enough to make me squeal with delight. Now I needed to learn that somehow.
"Should I be taking notes?"
"Yes, yes you should." He playfully tisked his teeth at me shamefully.
Well that was a bummer. I didn't have a pen nearby. "I have a good memory instead!"
"Ugh, I guess that'll have to do. Brooke, this is serious stuff here. I take my craft to extreme heights, and only the best in the world that are like me can achieve those measures." He explained, crossing his arms like it was such a disrespect.
I rolled my eyes and giggled, leaning back against my passenger side window in the back and turned my full body toward him. "Is there a dance called 'the conceited charming choreographer' next?"
"There could be—but what I'm really paying attention to right now is you calling me so charming and perfect."
"I never said perfect." I assured him, even if I did think that too.
"I'm personally paraphrasing here. Besides, I can read your mind sometimes." He smirked before looking back out into the unknown. My face nearly turned flushed.
