Pas de Deux: Entrée

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They approached each other on a slippery concrete walk. Their eyes met. Though she was usually unflappable, she missed a step. He was sometimes oblivious, but noticed, reaching for her elbow, sliding his hand to the meat of her tricep, steadying her wobbling frame. She blushed, a warm pink starting low and blooming high. In that moment of contact, it seemed to her that he would never let her down. Even as her legs splayed and her arms stood akimbo in the earthquake of feminism that cracked glass ceilings and rocked couples to a new generation’s music, she trusted him.

 

Disaster Averted

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“What if I said yes?” Kat propped herself on the breakfast counter.

 Grant slipped a spatula under the edge of her omelet and flipped. “To onions? Too late.”

“No, to marriage.” She pushed dark bedhead curls from her furrowed brow.

 “Oh, that. Co-ordinate benefits. Joint checking. Widow’s pension if you get lucky and I don’t.” He stopped in mid lift. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“The couple in Paris. That stupid game. I know you now.”

A burnt smell. “Don’t distract me.” Grant slid the eggs to a cherry red plate. He pivoted. “Then, kiss me, Kate.”