Page 4 of A Perfect Christmas Dance (Kringle, Texas #7)

Nina hadn’t expected him to accept her invitation, and honestly, she couldn’t believe she dared ask him to dance.

But when he set down the dishes he carried and reached for her hand, tugging her toward him with a playful grin, she didn’t care how awkward she sounded, because here she was, in Ryan Danvers’ arms, two-stepping through her grandparents’ bakery kitchen in time to George Strait.

His grip was warm and steady as he pulled her closer, one hand settling on her waist and the other hand holding hers with just the right amount of pressure. The upbeat rhythm of “Christmas Cookies” filled the bakery, the rollicking tune bouncing off the tiled walls.

Ryan led her in a lively dance, his boots shuffling on the kitchen floor, his laughter joining hers. He guided her around the shining pots and pans hanging from cooking racks and twirled her with a mischievous smile.

A giggle bubbled up inside Nina as he spun her out and then pulled her back toward him.

She couldn’t believe she was dancing to a song about Christmas cookies in her kitchen with the man of her fantasies. It was surreal, ridiculous, and absolutely perfect. Nina hadn’t been this close to a man she had such a mad crush on in… well… ever.

The feel of his belt buckle bumping her hip bone and his thigh sliding between hers as he led her sent her hormones rocketing off the charts. She liked the feel of Ryan. His hand, his shoulder. Every bit of him.

But something in his eyes left her wondering if her Christmas wish should stay a secret between her and Santa.

Maybe this dance was enough, a fleeting moment she could cherish, but once he released her, would she ever get this close to him again?

Oh, who was she kidding? She hadn’t dated much since college, and she’d graduated four years ago. Work kept her busy. And those few dates? Casual. Conversations over burgers or chicken-fried steaks from opposite sides of a table. A movie. Walks around the town square.

Those dates hadn’t involved a man grinning at her like she was special, his intense eyes locked on hers as he dipped her. The sudden move yanked a gasp from her lips and sent her grabbing on to his shoulders for balance.

He was quick, though, righting her in an instant and drawing her near again, still keeping time to the quick tempo.

She never imagined he could out dance Patrick Swayze, his steps light and sure, guiding her around the kitchen like it was a huge dance floor and not a small space crammed full with baking equipment.

“I’m starting to think you were just waiting for an excuse to show off your moves,” she teased.

He grinned down at her, his hand at her waist. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you could keep up.”

She peeked up at him through lowered lashes. “I think I’m doing pretty well, don’t you?”

“You’re doing great.” His gaze held hers. “You’re more than keeping up, Nina.”

She stared into his eyes and her heart stuttered.

The song ended, the lively tune fading into a quieter, slower melody, Frank Sinatra’s “The Christmas Waltz.”

They stilled, his hand still at her waist, hers resting on his shoulder. Neither of them moved away. The air between them charged with something unspoken, something…

Unnerved by the look in his eyes, Nina stepped back, brushed her bangs from her eyes, and looked away. “Thank you for the dance.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “My pleasure.”

The bakery fell quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint sounds of the town outside filtering in. The air between them pulsed with energy and a touch of Christmas magic.

In the storefront, the door opened, and the bell jingled.

“You’ve got a customer,” he murmured but didn’t move an inch.

“Yeah,” she said.

He didn’t let go of her hand right away. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a slow, gentle motion that sent shivers shooting down her spine. “I should get going.”

She nodded, her pulse racing.

He gave her a small, crooked smile and dropped her hand.

Nina felt the loss keenly, the distance between them too vast, too empty. He glanced around the kitchen as if waking up from a spell.

“Thanks for a nice time, Nina.”

“Anytime, Ryan.”

“Hello? Yoo-hoo. Nina, you here?” a voice called from the front of the bakery.

“Coming,” she called out. To Ryan, she said, “You can leave through the back exit.”

“Thanks.” He tipped his hat, and then he was gone.

Leaving Nina hungrier than ever for a man she wasn’t sure she could ever have.

* * *

Ryan stepped from the rear entrance of the bakery into the alley, the brisk air cooling his flushed skin.

He glanced back at the lighted windows—why? Was he expecting to see Nina watching him leave? But the glass reflected only his own conflicted expression.

Ego check, Danvers. It was just a dance.

Whew. Ryan left the alley and ambled around the corner to the street where he’d parked.

His pulse was still doing the two-step long after his legs had stopped. What had he been thinking? He went back in for her delicious turkey and avocado sandwich, not to spin her around the kitchen like some kind of a Christmas fool.

But she’d asked him to dance.

Why?

He’d noticed Nina before. Who wouldn’t? But noticing wasn’t the same as letting himself feel something. Now those feelings rushed in all at once, and good grief, they left him reeling.

Ryan leaned against the hood of his truck and blew out a breath, collecting himself before he climbed in and drove back to the Double D.

Nina Ellis was full of life, too talented to be tied to a town like Kringle, never mind that her family roots sank deep in the soil. And him? He was just a man doing his best to keep his head above water, weighed down by responsibilities and sad memories he couldn’t shake.

“Ryan Danvers!”

Dang it.

He knew that voice all too well. Putting on a smile for propriety, Ryan turned to see Mrs. Claiborne heading toward him, her bright-red coat swaying in the breeze.

The older woman carried several shopping bags, her petite frame almost hidden by her oversized load, but her blue eyes, sharp and knowing, peered out from under her wide-brimmed hat.

Ruth Claiborne had been his Sunday school teacher, his mother’s good friend, and practically a third grandmother to him and Jenny. He’d grown up under her watchful eye, and even now, she had a way of making him feel like a little boy caught sneaking extra cookies at the church picnic.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Claiborne.” He pushed away from the truck and moved toward her.

She shifted the bags, her hands clutching the handles. “What are you doing out here, sneaking around the back of the bakery?”

“Who said I was sneaking out the back of the bakery?”

She arched her eyebrows and gave him The Look. The one she gave the kids who fumbled their bible verses.

“Here, let me help you with those.” He reached out.

She hesitated for only a second before relinquishing the shopping bags. “Thank you, Ryan. My car’s down the street. I ended up buying more than I thought, and those sacks were getting heavy.”

He took the load from her, and it was hardly a strain compared to the hay bales he hauled on a daily basis. “What are you doing carrying all this alone? Where’s Freddie?”

She waved a hand. “Freddie’s got a domino tournament. He’s in the finals with Garrett Ellis. First prize is a weekend trip to South Padre Island.”

“You don’t say.”

Her eyes twinkled up at him as she adjusted her red fedora. “Besides, I’m not helpless, you know. I could have managed, but why turn down willing muscle?”

“True.”

She linked her arm through his and guided him down the sidewalk. “So, what were you really doing in the bakery? And don’t you dare try to tell me you were buying baked goods because before you took on my burdens, you were empty-handed.”

Dang it, he had been empty-handed and after he’d promised Nina he’d pay for his lunch and buy some blueberry cinnamon rolls. He’d gotten so addled by their dance, he’d forgotten.

Ryan’s cheeks warmed as he glanced back at the bakery and told the truth, just not all of it. “I went in to talk to Nina about the big order I placed for our annual Christmas party.”

“Something wrong?”

“Yesterday’s storm blew off the barn roof and I had to take the cost of repairs out of the party budget.

I asked her if she would take payments. Didn’t want to, but…

” He shrugged, his gaze dropping to the sidewalk.

“Turns out Nina’s suffering too with those big box stores moving in closer to Kringle. ”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Claiborne looked pensive. “I see. You and Jenny have always been so generous, hosting that party every year. Your parents would be proud, but you shouldn’t have to shoulder the financial burden for the entire thing.”

“The party’s our family’s Christmas gift to our friends and neighbors.”

“And it’s a much-appreciated tradition… oh, here I am.” She stopped beside her Cadillac. “You know, your parents would want you to be happy, Ryan. They’d be proud of you keeping the ranch going, but they’d also want you to have a life. And by life, I mean dating.”

Ryan’s chest knotted. “I know. It’s just…”

She opened the back door, and he settled the bags down in the back seat. “Yes?”

“It’s complicated.”

Mrs. Claiborne reached up to pat his cheek. “In case you’re not picking up on what I’m putting down, I’m talking about Nina. You’re single. She’s single. You’re both young and good-looking…”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be if you don’t go deciding what’s best for Nina without even asking her, and don’t think you’re not worth loving just because you’re carrying a heavy burden. A burden shared is a burden halved.”

The accuracy of her words jolted him, and Ryan forced a smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“Well, since you’re not planning to sweep Nina off her feet, how about helping at the church? We’re setting up for the Christmas pageant and we need all the hands we can get. There’s a potluck afterward…” She studied him expectantly.

He might be busy, but it wouldn’t kill him to be charitable. Especially to a woman who’d been so good to his mom. “What day?”

“The setup is Thursday afternoon at three, then the potluck at six. Since you’ll be working, you don’t have to bring any food unless you want to swing by and pick up something from Nina.” Mrs. Claiborne winked and then shot a glance over her shoulder at Ellis Early Eats.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” he said, not commenting on picking something up from the bakery.

“You’re a good man, Ryan Danvers, but please don’t let the past steal your future.” Mrs. Claiborne’s eyes took on a sad, faraway expression.

He nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thanks for the advice.”

She hopped in her car and tooted her horn at him as she drove away.

Mrs. Claiborne might be right, but knowing and doing were two different things. How could he let himself hope for something more when the cost of losing it would break him all over again?