“May I have this dance?” A large, tanned, calloused hand protruded on my view. I followed the hand upward with my eyes along the man’s chiseled forearm, not missing the upraised white pucker of a scar on his wrist. Finally, my eyes reached his face. Handsome, beautiful, fearsome, commanding, gentle, laughing, loving, all these things and more. I didn’t know what to say. He stood patiently waiting for my answer. I squared my shoulders, at once proud to show off my skill in the art of dance. I demurely laid my soft palm on his rough, but gentle one, standing in a fluid motion. His eyes crinkled as if amused, sparkling with jollity.

We took our positions on the floor. I couldn’t tell whether or not there were other dancers, but it didn’t matter. The music began. He stepped off in a strong lead. I followed smoothly, letting my talent in the steady waltz shine through. I was proud of myself, to be sure, but didn’t think it was unwarranted. I worked hard to become proficient. My thoughts were so full of myself that I didn’t notice him change the steps or hear the music increase in tempo ever so slightly. In the midst of my self-admiration I suddenly, unexpectedly stumbled.

The music sounded all wrong, like the strings were out of tune, just barely flat, or the musician’s fingers had shifted unnoticeably on his instrument, causing a shift in the sound, but only the tiniest bit.

He looked at me questioningly, pausing in the dance to let me get my bearings. I refused to meet his gaze, arranging myself into position, and beginning the waltz again – or so I thought. I moved forward into the lead, but he just stood in place. I finally looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” I snapped. I regretted it almost instantly, but shoved the guilt aside in my irritation.

His eyes flashed with pain. “Dancing with you.” He replied simply, in the most tender voice I’d ever heard. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness right then, but my pride gripped at me tenaciously and I shoved down the apology.

“Why didn’t you start waltzing then?” I demanded hotly, even more annoyed, but more at myself for not being able to let go of my arrogance than at him for confusing me.

His eyes darkened with an emotion I didn’t understand. “The waltz is over. Didn’t you hear the song end?” There was no condescension in his tone when he asked me, yet I bristled and yanked my hands from his.

“Of course I did!” I lied, furious. “But you weren’t doing it right! You made me mess up!” I nearly shouted. Now I was angry at being found out. I didn’t know the dance he had lapsed into. It was strange, but smooth and sweet, and easy medium tempo. I’d never seen or danced it before.

His eyes laughed for a second, then turned sober. “I’m sorry, would you like me to teach it to you?” His hand opened, upraised for mine, and his face brightened, a warm smile on his lips.

I stubbornly crossed my arms. The music was still off-key in the background. “I want to waltz. I don’t like that dance.” I ground my teeth angrily, waiting for him to assent.

But he just shook his head slowly and took a step forward, hand still pleading for my company. “The waltz is over, my love. We have to dance the next song. We can’t go back.” He reached his upturned hand to me, almost touching me now. “Let me teach you this one, please? I promise you’ll love it. It’s beautiful. My father and I and the musician wrote it together, just for you.”

But I was still haughtily sure of my talent, unneeding to be taught any longer. I stepped back once, putting space in between us and shook my head vehemently. “My favorite is the waltz. I want to dance the waltz.” My mouth set in a stubborn line, not to be moved.

His hand dropped, the sorrow returning to his beautiful features. His eyes caught mine tentatively. “Please? Just try it?” His voice pleaded softly, though his demeanor was still kingly and authoritative. I narrowed my eyes, scowling at the floor. He took in a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly. “All right.” My pride jumped victoriously. I had won! A smug grin lit up my face as I stepped forward to him, ready to waltz again.

But he didn’t offer his hand to me. He didn’t look up. He slowly stepped back, pain contorting his face. “But we cannot dance again.”

I gaped in surprise and confusion.

“We cannot waltz. We cannot go back.” He repeated. “We can only move forward to the next dance. If you don’t wish to, I won’t force you. But then I cannot dance with you further.” His eyes begged me to understand, to accept his former offer, to let him teach me the unfamiliar dance.

I couldn’t say anything at first, just watched him back away to a table and sit in the lone chair that had been set there. He watched me from this distance, still silently asking of me his question. The anger returned. Fine. If he was going to be stubborn, then so was I. I could hold out. I’ll show him.

I spun on my heel and noticed that indeed there were other dancers on the floor. The music was more bearable now, but less gentle and appealing. I didn’t care. The song permeated my brain, striking new chords in me I didn’t know existed. I became excited, feeling free…and something else. Something was missing. I turned around and saw him still sitting in the same chair, the same expression of unhappiness on his face. But it…had he been that far away? I shrugged it off as a new song began. This beat was rhythmic and throbbing. I grabbed the nearest man and smiled at him. He grinned back without question, pulling me into the dance, swaying and spinning. I laughed, pushing all thoughts of the man in the chair out of my mind.