Open Heart One Shots (Choices)

May I Have This Dance?

Summary: Is there anything more romantic than slow dancing in the kitchen on a do-nothing day?

Ethan Ramsey stared at the announcement for this year's homecoming dance tacked onto the noticeboard in the hallway. His hands itched to snatch a flyer to peruse later, but he kept them tightly fisted to his sides.

There was a reason he'd ditched the whole thing last year, he reminded himself morosely.

He couldn't dance and wasn't about to embarrass himself in front of the entire school. Plus, there was the whole awkwardness of asking a girl out. They tended to travel in packs, and getting one alone long enough to ask her without her friends staring and giggling nearby was as impossible as travel to Mars.

It was a pipe dream, he thought in dismay but unable to unglue his feet. He wasn't in a position to go, and that was that. Besides, who decided that participating in homecoming dances and proms was a right of passage for high schoolers?

Hollywood, that's who. Twentysomething actors playing high school students didn't make it all so. It was a fallacy, as most things in life were.

"Wow, you look fierce. Did you have a fight with someone?"

Ethan glanced sideways at the concerned voice of his neighbor and friend, Miranda Clarke. He inwardly grimaced at being caught boring a hole into the noticeboard.

She'd been the nerdy girl with braces and pigtails all through elementary and middle school. At the start of freshman year, he did a double take when she greeted him at the bus stop, no braces in sight, her blonde hair in a waterfall behind her and a pretty headband sparkling under the sun.

Miranda might look different now, but she was still one of the smartest and nicest people he knew. She also understood what it was like to be abandoned by a parent, or both parents in her case.

"Not a fight," he said, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard by others, and inadvertently eyed the flyer.

"Ah," she said, following his gaze. "I didn't think school dances were your thing."

"They're not," he muttered, feeling the redness splash across his cheeks.

Miranda's eyes softened in sympathy, and he felt sorry for lying to his friend.

"It's okay to change your mind, Ethan," she said, lightly touching his arm. "No one's going to care if you attend a dance one year and skip it altogether another. This isn't about what anyone else wants, just you."

"I know that," he protested, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Miranda had a habit of lecturing him when he was being cagey.

He straightened away from the wall and shrugged, adopting an air of indifference. "It's moot anyway since I can't dance."

"Can't?" Miranda placed a hand on his elbow to stop him as he turned to go. "Or don't know how?"

Ethan sighed, his lips parting to deliver a well-versed white lie. But this was Miranda, and they'd known each other all their lives. She'd just hound him on the way home until he told her the truth.

"Don't know how," he admitted reluctantly. "I can't exactly ask my dad to teach me, can I? He has enough to worry about."

"You could ask me," she suggested.

Ethan watched her warily. "You'd be willing to do that?"

She laughed. "Of course! That's what friends do."

Suddenly, her face turned serious, and she stared at a spot behind him, a light red staining her cheekbones. "Maybe after, you could ask me to homecoming? Only if you want to," she added quickly when he froze like a deer in headlights.

"I would like that," he said quietly, thinking about it for all of five seconds.

The bell rang for the next period, and he cleared the gruffness in his throat, raising his voice above the noise. "Thanks, Miranda. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Ethan," Miranda smiled. "If you're not working today, we can have the first lesson after school. Around four, your house?"

Dance lessons and a date to homecoming, he marveled as they parted ways to head to class. The year was suddenly looking much brighter.

Twentysomething years later...

"I want to spend the day with you doing nothing. And by nothing, I mean..."

Ethan grinned as Cassie Valentine leaned on the kitchen island and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

It was the first Sunday since his return from Brazil and Cassie's first official sleepover. There hadn't been time for that before he left a couple of months ago. But now that they'd decided to give this relationship a real chance, they wanted their private moments to be less stolen and more intentional.

"In case you haven't noticed, the day is half over," he said, pretending disinterest as he rinsed a skillet and stacked it in the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes from a late brunch. "If only you'd woken up earlier, we could have had so much fun."

"Sunday mornings are made for sleeping in," Cassie's brows knitted in exasperation. "Especially after the week I had. And I thought intern year was bad."

"You'll adjust," he commented unconcerned, pressing a button to start the dishwasher's cycle before grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter.

"What?" he demanded when he looked up to see Cassie watching him with amusement in her eyes.

"Nothing," she said, coming around the kitchen island to stand before him. She glanced at the wipe cloth in his hand. "I had no idea you were so domesticated, Dr. Ramsey."

He smirked, caging her in his arms. "I'm a man of many talents, Dr. Valentine."

The sun was high in the sky, the glare of its rays bouncing off the treated glass. Soft music drifted from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner, casting a magical spell over the kitchen and its occupants and lending an air of romance.

"But can you dance?" Cassie whispered, caressing the nape of his neck with her fingertips.

"What brought this on?" Ethan arched one brow in curiosity.

"Since we're getting to know each other," she pulled his head down, "you should know that I love to dance, especially slow dancing in the moonlight." Her green eyes sparkled, and her lips curved into a soft, dreamy smile. "Or in a sun-dappled kitchen on a lazy Sunday afternoon."

The music changed to something slow and romantic, and Ethan found his lips hovering above hers, heart pounding with potent anticipation.

"So? Can you?" she murmured.

"Yes."

Cassie closed the distance between them, gently pressing her lips against his, and he fell into the moment.

"May I have this dance, Cassie?" Ethan asked, sliding his hand into hers.

"I would love to, Ethan."

He placed one hand on her waist, splayed his fingers and tugged her close. Cassie rested her hand on his shoulder, and he led her into a slow dance, their bodies swaying to the rhythm.

He followed the moves he'd learned all those years ago, dancing in the living room with Miranda. And when Cassie laughed as he dipped her low, Ethan sent a silent thanks to his friend for giving him this.