Page 28 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“West Coast Swing?” Jessica glanced from the neon sign of Rosie’s Rhythm Room to Ali, surprise evident in her expression. “This is your big surprise?”
“Too weird?” Ali asked, suddenly aware of the potential gap between her planning and execution. Last week’s confident idea felt less brilliant now that they were standing in the parking lot, live music already drifting through the propped-open doors. “We can grab dinner somewhere instead if?—”
“No,” Jessica interrupted, squeezing Ali’s hand. “This could be fun.”
Ali exhaled, relief loosening the knot in her stomach. The past three days of secret planning—furtive phone calls to the dance studio, Fenna’s emergency wardrobe intervention, rescheduling clients—had been worth it just for the spark of genuine curiosity in Jessica’s eyes.
“I should warn you,” Ali said as they approached the entrance, “the instructor made me promise not to reveal my true dance background.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Internationally renowned for my unique combination of enthusiasm and total lack of rhythm.” Ali held the door open with a mock-formal bow. “There’s a reason animals don’t judge me. They can’t dance either.”
Jessica’s laugh—still rare enough to send a flutter through Ali’s chest—carried them into the converted warehouse space.
Inside, Rosie’s Rhythm Room was everything the website had promised: a gleaming wooden dance floor, clusters of mismatched vintage tables surrounding it, and a small stage where a four-piece band was warming up.
The crowd was delightfully eclectic—twentysomethings in vintage-inspired clothes, senior citizens who’d probably been dancing since the big band era, and every age in between.
“This is wonderful,” Jessica said, surveying the room with appreciation. “Not at all what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Ali guided them toward an empty table near the edge of the dance floor.
“Something more...” Jessica hesitated, searching for the word. “Pretentious, perhaps? Or aggressively hip? This feels genuine.”
A server in a 1950s-inspired uniform appeared and they ordered drinks—a local craft beer for Ali, a gin and tonic for Jessica. As the band launched into their first number, Ali watched Jessica’s attention shift to the couples already claiming the dance floor.
Unlike the swing dancing Ali had seen in old movies, this style was more grounded, more fluid. The partners remained connected by subtle hand contact, moving in and out of each other’s space as if connected by a rubber band, stretching apart and then drawing back together in a continuous flow.
“It’s beautiful,” Jessica murmured, her eyes following an elderly couple who moved together with an easy synchronicity that suggested they’d been dancing together for years.
Despite their age, there was something undeniably sensual in the way they maintained that constant connection, their bodies responding to each other’s subtle cues.
“The instructor said they’ve been coming here for thirty years.” Ali nodded toward the couple. “Life goals, right there.”
She caught something flicker across Jessica’s face before her composure returned—too quick to identify, but enough to make Ali wonder what chord she’d struck.
“They certainly make it look effortless,” Jessica said after a moment, voice neutral.
Ali decided not to press. Instead, she sipped her beer and pointed out another couple—two women in their thirties who moved with obvious skill. “Teresa and Diane. They run the beginner classes on Thursdays. They’re the ones who promised I wouldn’t be the worst dancer they’ve ever taught.”
“Bold claim,” Jessica teased, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Based on what evidence?”
“I sent them a video of me dancing at Fenna and Kristi’s wedding. They said as long as I wasn’t that drunk tonight, we’d be fine,” she said, teasing.
“And are you planning to get that drunk tonight?”
Ali shook her head solemnly. “Absolutely not. I need all my limited coordination for this.”
Jessica’s gaze shifted back to the dance floor, her expression turning analytical as she observed the patterns. “There’s a clear structure to it. The way they maintain connection through the hands...”
“Of course you’d see the patterns immediately,” Ali laughed. “While I was busy watching the pretty movement, you’re breaking down the mechanics.”
Before Jessica could respond, the band concluded their number, and the bandleader stepped to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to slow it down for our beginners’ lesson.
If you’re new to West Coast Swing or just need a refresher, come on down to the floor, and our instructors will walk you through the basics. ”
Ali stood, extending her hand to Jessica. “That’s our cue.”
For a moment, Jessica hesitated, and Ali could see the internal debate playing across her features. The ingrained caution battling with the desire to step outside her comfort zone. Then her expression cleared, and she took Ali’s hand with a decisive nod.
“Lead the way, Dr. Ritchie.”
They joined about a dozen other couples on the floor, forming a loose circle around Teresa and Diane. Up close, the women were even more striking—Teresa tall and willowy with a shock of silver-streaked black hair, Diane more compact with close-cropped blonde curls and an infectious smile.
“Welcome, everyone! I’m Diane, and this is my wife, Teresa,” the blonde announced. “We’ll be taking you through some West Coast Swing basics tonight. Who here has never tried this style before?”
Ali raised her hand immediately. After a moment’s hesitation, Jessica raised hers as well, though not quite as high.
“Fantastic!” Teresa clapped her hands. “Fresh victims! Let’s start with understanding what makes West Coast Swing unique. It’s a slotted dance, which means the follower moves in a straight line, while the leader creates an elastic connection between you.”
The instructors demonstrated, Teresa “anchoring” at one end of an imaginary line while Diane moved toward and away from her, their arms extending and contracting with fluid grace.
“The basic pattern is a six-count,” Diane explained. “Walk, walk, triple step, triple step. Leaders, you’ll guide your partner down the slot, then back, maintaining that elastic tension throughout.”
They broke down the movement, counting out the rhythm, then had everyone try the footwork without partners first. To Ali’s complete lack of surprise, Jessica picked up the steps immediately, her natural grace making even this simple pattern look polished.
Ali, true to her warning, managed to lose count during her first attempt, her feet tangling on the triple step.
“I did warn you,” Ali said as Teresa kindly reset her feet into the correct position.
“You did,” Jessica agreed, her eyes warm with amusement rather than judgment. “But you’re better than you think.”
“Your kindness is exceeded only by your dishonesty,” Ali replied cheerfully. “But it’s appreciated.”
The instructors then paired everyone up, demonstrating how the steps worked with partners. To Ali’s surprise, Diane asked for their preferred roles rather than assuming based on gender or height.
“I should definitely not be the leader,” Ali protested, gesturing toward her feet. “My coordination issues would condemn us both.”
“Sometimes the least likely leads turn out to be the best,” Teresa suggested with a wink. “It’s about communication, not control.”
“If dancing is about intimacy, then you’ll get more of a thrill if I lead,” Jessica said, her voice almost a low growl as she stared into Ali’s eyes, causing her to almost come on the spot. Fuck, how did I manage to get with a woman who is so hot??
As they took their places in the “slot,” Ali facing Jessica with their right hands joined, left arms relaxed at their sides, Ali was suddenly aware of their proximity, of Jessica’s subtle perfume, of the warmth radiating from her body.
“Ready?” Jessica asked softly, and Ali realized she’d been staring.
“Not even slightly,” she admitted. “But when has that ever stopped me?”
The band began a slower version of the swing rhythm to accommodate beginners. Jessica extended her arm slightly, creating tension in their joined hands—the signal to begin. Ali stepped back as Jessica stepped forward, their bodies moving in counterbalance.
The first few attempts were awkward, both of them too focused on foot placement to find any flow.
But gradually, as they repeated the pattern, something began to click.
Jessica’s leading hand became more confident, providing subtle guidance.
Ali found herself responding instinctively to these cues, moving forward when Jessica created space, stepping back when she felt gentle compression of their connection.
“You’re a natural at this,” Ali said, genuinely surprised by how quickly Jessica had got the hang of it.
“It’s similar to the partner dances I learned growing up,” Jessica replied, guiding Ali through another basic pattern. “Though more enjoyable.”
Ali missed a step, momentarily thrown by this revelation. “You know how to dance? And you let me make all those jokes about my terrible dancing without mentioning it?”
The corner of Jessica’s mouth quirked upward. “Your jokes were accurate about your dancing. I didn’t see any reason to deprive you of material.”
Ali pretended outrage. “Now I understand why you’re such a successful investment banker. That poker face could bankrupt nations.”
Jessica laughed, the sound uninhibited in a way Ali rarely heard.
“Country club upbringing,” she explained as they completed another pattern.
“Ballroom lessons were mandatory. According to my mother, every young lady should know how to dance. It helps you make the right connections. If I was a boy, she’d have made me take up golf. ”
“And did you? Make the right connections?”
Jessica’s eyes met hers, unexpectedly candid. “Not until recently.”