55

MICHAEL

Dinner was autumn dishes lining every table around the place. Pasta salads, sweet curry soups, and artisan breads. Ember whispered that the breads were mostly overcooked and had the wrong flour, but there was one, a pumpernickel loaf with coffee, that she said curled her toes.

Otto and Adio sat across from Ember and I at a long table that also consisted of Rosa, the little Italian lady who pesters me at every turn, and her youngest son, Luca, who attends law school in Ottawa. I've met him a few times throughout the years. We've always got along fine.

But.

Luca gazed at Ember for approximately three of every four minutes while we ate dinner. Her cheeks stayed permanently red as she picked at her food, sending me amused glances every now and again.

Could I blame the guy? Absolutely not.

Ember Chapman is stunning. Her hair is wild and free around her shoulders, flowing like fire over her white shirt. Her lips are full and pink from biting them out of nervousness. Her eyebrows are full, darker than her hair, and almost touching in the middle. Her teeth are crowded, tilted. Her nose is big and straight, something she says comes from her French side. She says it bothers her when she looks in the mirror. I told her that any other nose wouldn't make her, her.

I could list every attribute that makes Ember Chapman beautiful, but it wouldn't matter. When all is stripped away, she is beautiful because she makes the space around her beautiful, too.

Luca must know what I mean since he's currently dancing with her in the centre of the hall.

I provide the music at the piano. Adio Rhoden sits beside the piano, a fiddle on his shoulder, one he's had since his childhood in Jamaica. Otto White is settled with us as well, a guitar in his hands. Together, the three of us play an old Irish reel, one of Adio's favourites. It's our yearly tradition. None of us need sheet music anymore. The reel is lively, and in my head, I can picture dancers with kilts tapping to each note.

I discarded my jacket a while ago, now just in my waistcoat and shirt. My hands fly over the black and white keys, my foot tapping beneath. Adio frays his violin bow hairs as he plays the melody, and Otto nods his head to the beat as he strums along in harmony.

The hall is alive with light and gold, streamers hung from the ceilings and walls, all the staff and all the residents here to experience the annual autumn dance.

As I play, my eyes travel over to Ember and Luca. They spin in a circle, dancing in and out of each other with their hands entwined. Ember's face is lit up in a breathless smile.

I miss a note.

I recover, but not quick enough to escape the irritation that bubbles under my skin.

I don't miss notes.

The reel ends, but Adio takes the liberty of going off on his own in a big finish.

The hall bursts into ravenous applause, stomping the ground, screaming in cheers, and calling for another and another and another.

Adio, Otto and I stand. After three counts, we bow.

"Michael, son?" Otto pipes up. I turn to him. He's wearing a cap and he has curled his white moustache toward the ceiling. "You ready for another song?"

I sigh, eyes on Ember and Luca talking over in the corner and decide to nod.

"Yeah. What's next?"

Adio leans in and whispers something in Otto's ear. Then, they both look at me.

"My hands are sore," says Adio.

"Mine too," says his other half.

"We're going to take an old man's arthritis break, yeah?" chimes Adio, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

The two walk away hand in hand, half limping, half shuffling.

Hm...

"I feel like I haven't seen you in hours!"

I spin to find a flushed Ember standing in a rumpled dress shirt and belted slacks, hair tucked behind her ears.

"You're a phenomenal piano player," she says, smiling. "I had no idea. I mean, not really. But you're very, very good."

My heart swells. "Yeah?"

She rolls her eyes with a grin. "Please. I think even Luca was jealous. He kept saying piano is the easiest instrument to learn, blah blah blah, it's not that hard, blah blah blah. He was getting on my nerves."

I raise a brow. "I'd like to see him try it."

"That's what I said," Ember informs me, chuckling slightly.

God, it's so nice to hear her laugh.

A soft classical song begins on the radio, leaking through the speakers in the ceiling. I look up past the streamers, past the gold, and find the small circle above us.

Across the floor, all the couples raise from their chairs and find someone to dance with. Wrinkled hands meet wrinkled hands, faces broken out into shaky smiles. The resident's eyes shine with pure joy and thankfulness this early November night.

Ember clears her throat and rests her palm out. "Want to dance?" she asks quietly, lips twitching into a nervous smile. "I might break your toes. Just a heads up."

"I can take it," I promise her.

We find ourselves in the centre of the floor between couples slowly swaying. Ember hesitantly reaches up towards my neck, fastening her hands at my collar.

"Is this okay?" she asks, eyes open and apprehensive.

"Are we in eighth grade?" I counter. I take one of her hands in mine and stretch it out to the side, resting my other one just above her hip. "That's better," I say, gaining some satisfaction at the blush in her cheeks.

"Don't let that hand wander," she warns.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say.

"Because we're friends," she adds.

"The best of the best," I agree.

I turn us in small, slow circles, stepping carefully. Ember does in fact step on my toes a few times, but I just laugh it off and watch her cheeks get progressively pinker, her skin flushed under all those freckles.

Adio and Otto slow-dance across the way, so I discreetly give them a thumbs up behind Ember's back when I catch their eyes.

Forever my wingmen.

"Luca is staring at you," Ember tells me, looking over my shoulder. I spin us around which makes her laugh lightly as she trips. But I've got her. She won't fall.

"Luca is staring at you," I correct, watching the young Italian man glare.

I smirk and send him a wink.

"Wow," Ember says, dropping her head to my chest as she laughs under her breath. "Guess we are in eighth grade."

Ah, she caught me. I smile as she meets my eyes again. "A little fun never hurt anybody."

We dance in slow circles as another slow song bleeds from the speakers, this one with some French lyrics.

"Do you know what he's saying?" I ask Ember. She frowns for a moment, listening.

"I'll leave words underneath your door," she says. "Underneath the moon that sings...where your feet pass by...invisible in the holes of wintertime...and when you have a moment alone..."

I spin us around slowly, waiting for her to continue.

"What's after?" I ask quietly as the song plays. There are beautiful melodies, a gorgeous piano accompaniment, and the singer's voice is gentle and silken.

Ember tilts her head and softly says, "Embrasse-moi quand tu voudras."

"What does it mean?"

She swallows roughly, eyes dropping to my mouth and back up again. "My French isn't that good anymore," she breathes out, attempting a light laugh. Her eyes focus anywhere but mine.

"I don't believe you," I say, pulling her closer, my palm flush against her lower back.

"Me neither," she barely whispers, head turned to the side.

Just then, both Adio and Otto wander to us and Adio smoothly steals Ember for the next song, one with more of an upbeat, that begins to flow from the speakers. He whisks her away as she laughs and grabs his hands.

"Your boyfriend just ruined my night," I tell Otto.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, son."

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