Just One Look
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 15
The few days that followed were great.
Rachel and I exchanged texts all the time—memes, recipes, jokes, random thoughts. She even sent me a picture of the ugliest smoothie ever created, claiming it was ‘delicious, despite appearances’, and I believed her. I found myself looking forward to our morning gym sessions with embarrassing levels of anticipation. A couple of months ago, if someone had told me I’d be excited to exercise, I would’ve choked on my donut, laughing.
But it wasn’t the exercise.
It was the person I exercised with.
Rachel was ... lovely. Not just pretty, though she was that, too, in this effortlessly radiant kind of way, but also funny, intuitive, and maddeningly kind. The kind of person who helped people not for praise or points, but because that’s just who she was.
Was I reading too much into it? Was she just being nice because she felt sorry for me?
I didn’t think so. She didn’t strike me as the type to hand out pity texts or fake friendship. We talked on the phone. We went shopping. We swapped protein bar brands like some people swapped playlists.
She made me feel good about myself. Confident. Which might’ve explained why I’d had a very vivid dream about her one night. And by vivid, I mean naked-Rachel-pinned-to-the-wall vivid. Dream Rachel had been ... very vocal.
That’s probably why I was slightly flustered walking into the community center for our first dance class.
She spotted me first.
“Hey, Pete!” Rachel waved, walking over with a smile that hit me like a warm breeze. She rocked up onto her toes, almost bouncing. “I was hoping you didn’t change your mind.”
Why did she have to look at me like that? Why did my face immediately heat up? Could she tell I’d dreamed about her?
“Hey.” I nodded, my mind flashing straight back to dream-Rachel. “You were great, by the way.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Sorry—I mean, you look great. That’s what I meant. You look great.”
Her eyebrows went up, amused. “Uh ... thanks?” She grinned. “You too. Nice outfit.”
“Appreciate it, I bought new, fitting clothes,” I said, trying not to look like I wanted the floor to swallow me. I cleared my throat and decided to reset the conversation. “So ... you ready to get your toes crushed? I’m warning you now—dancing’s never been my strong suit.”
She leaned in a little, mock-whispering, “I figured. That’s why I wore reinforced shoes.”
I laughed, grateful for her easy banter.
Then the instructor walked in.
A tall, no-nonsense woman in her fifties, hair in a perfect silver bun, and an expression that suggested she could silence a room just by breathing. She clapped her hands once, sharply.
“Pairs,” she commanded. “We’re starting with a basic box step. Grab your partner.”
Rachel turned to me with a grin. “Guess we’re doing this.”
She took my hand, and I shivered at her touch. She led me towards the middle of the dance floor and pulled me closer.
“You’re going to regret this,” I told her.
“Believe me, that’s not possible,” she whispered.
She stepped closer, and I stopped breathing. I was afraid that if I did, I would moan. I could feel her. All of her pressed against me.
This wasn’t the gym. This wasn’t texting or shopping or joking around about smoothies. This was close—hands-on, eye contact, her palm warm in mine.
“I’m not going to lie,” I murmured, as we stepped into position. “I’m about to be terrible at this.”
“Good,” she said, looking straight into my eyes. “I like a challenge.”
Her smile turned mischievous, and my pulse did a ridiculous little backflip.
“Follow my count!” the instructor barked.
“One, two, three...”
We started moving, awkward and clumsy, but with every step, something softened between us. Her hand steadied me, and her laugh when I messed up made me want to keep trying, just to hear it again.
“Try not to think so hard,” she whispered. “Feel it.”
“Feel it?” I muttered. “Rachel, I can barely count to three right now.”
“Good,” she said again, grinning. “That means it’s working.”
I stepped on her foot. Twice. But she didn’t let go.
Our instructor, whom I mentally referred to as The Enforcer, strode past us with a critical eye. “Keep your frame, partner. Don’t limp around like a soggy noodle.”
“Is she talking to me?” I whispered.
“She’s definitely talking to you,” Rachel said, biting her lower lip to hold back a laugh. “Come on, soggy noodle, stand up straight.”
“Okay, Ginger.”
We adjusted our stance. Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder, her other tucked in my palm. We were close. Too close for me to pretend this was casual anymore.
Her eyes met mine, and for a second, everything around us—The Enforcer, the ceiling lights, the shuffle of other couples—faded.
“You’re doing better than you think,” she said, softly.
I almost smiled, but I was too focused on not stepping on her foot again. “Thanks. You make it easier. You make everything easier.”
“Do I?” she asked, her voice teasing but her eyes serious.
“You do,” I said, more honest than I meant to be.
The instructor clapped again. “Now, we rotate partners!”
My hand tightened instinctively around Rachel’s. “Wait—what?”
Before I could protest, she was whisked away by a wiry older man, and I was left facing a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. I tried to keep my focus, but every time I rotated away from Rachel, my eyes found her again.
She smiled over her partner’s shoulder at one point, mouthing, “You okay?”
I nodded. Sort of.
After a few rotations, we were paired again. I exhaled like I’d just made it back to shore.
“Oh, thank God,” I said. “That was traumatic.”
Rachel laughed. “I saw you dancing with Marlene. She is in my yoga class. She looked like she was calculating your net worth.”
“I think she judged my soul and found it lacking.”
We fell back into position. This time, I moved more confidently. I wasn’t great, but I wasn’t panicking. Rachel seemed to notice.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” she said.
“I’m learning from the best.”
We danced in silence for a few moments. Something shifted between us—not just rhythm, but something deeper. I wasn’t thinking about the steps anymore. I was just ... with her. Holding her. Moving with her. Smelling her perfume. Feeling the warmth of her hand in mine.
She looked up at me. “Pete?”
“Yeah?”
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