Page 55 of The Lost Guardian

It would be a tragedy not to dance to music like this, with a woman like that.

He refused to second-guess himself this time. Santi tilted the last mouthful of chicha past his lips—for courage—caught her midnight eyes, and held out his hand.

Ali looked surprised, but her fingers were already sliding into his, heat nearly scorching. He allowed his body to slip into the familiar rhythm of salsa, leading Ali through the basic steps. When she matched him in skill, as he suspected she always would, Santi prepped her for a spin.

Her face lit up with joy, and it was so staggering Santiago almost tripped over his feet. Stern, serious Ali laughed as she twirled. He swapped their positions next, leading Ali in a double turn as she traveled around him.

When her eyes found his again, Santiago’s heart skipped several beats. Because there was something different in them now.

Ali peered up at him, smile wide and voice breathy, and said, “You can dance.”

Santiago spun her three times around, just for a moment to compose himself. She tilted her head back and laughed. Somehow, it outshone the music.

“I can.” He smiled when she was back in his arms.

“How?” Ali asked, following his movements. She was so close to him now, the scent of brown sugar and honey washing over him. He gently tossed her left hand up, and she ran it through her hair in turn, tousling ink-dark curls.

I was right, Santi thought. It’s her hair that smells like sugar.

“My mom taught me,” he finally answered. He wasn’t embarrassed by the fact—actually, he was immensely proud that his parents had so thoroughly shared this piece of culture with him.

One of his earliest memories was watching his parents dance in their living room, the light of the setting sun casting halos around them. He had loved it when his mother decided it was his turn to learn. But saying the words out loud, and to Ali, made him feel oddly vulnerable. Maybe because he was so proud?

“She did a great job,” Ali murmured, pressing closer to him, and suddenly Santiago’s racing heart had nothing to do with his confession. Ali’s face was very close to his now, candlelight casting shadows over her cheeks. He stared, transfixed, as they, too, danced in between her freckles, like the dark space between constellations.

The music changed, an upbeat tempo that had people whooping and cheering around them. As if conjured, an elderly man appeared at Ali’s elbow, bowing to her in invitation. His wispy white hair was thinning in patches, all the more noticeable because he barely reached her shoulders. When Ali slid smoothly from Santi’s arms into his, he rewarded them with a gummy smile and a good-natured wink.

Santiago wasn’t surprised to see that he danced with a fluid vigor far younger than his years.

Before Santi could slip back into the fringes of the celebration, his hand was seized by a pretty young woman with braids in her hair. He moved into step with her, falling back into the joy of the social dance.

He watched from the corner of his eye as, mid-shine, Ali was swept away by a younger, taller man. Her elderly partner swatted at the boy in mock-protestation, but his hand was quickly caught by another woman eager to join in on the fun.

The young man spun Ali beneath his arm with more enthusiasm than finesse. She compensated without seeming to think about it, catching the rhythm on the next beat and flowing seamlessly into the dance.

She was quick on her feet and graceful in a way that seemed innate. Santiago hadn’t asked where she learned to dance, but it was clear that she didn’t just enjoy it, she was good at it. Great, even.

In the short time he had known her, Ali had been all sharp focus and guarded determination, carrying the weight of his legacy alongside him without complaint. Now, with music swirling through the square and laughter rising around her, those hard edges melted away. She threw her head back at something another dancer said, and the people around her seemed to brighten beneath the radiance of her smile.

Santiago found himself smiling, too.

Someone tapped his shoulder before he could lose himself completely.

His partner gave him a quick curtsy as she traded places with an older woman who grinned as she took his hands. Her movements were slower but no less certain. Santiago laughed and leaned into her, earning an approving nod when she saw he was capable of leading.

When the music shifted again, so did their partners.

Ali was dancing with a little girl now, no older than seven, who could barely contain her excitement. Ali matched every exaggerated step with theatrical seriousness before letting the child twirl beneath her arm. The girl’s delighted squeal carried clear across the festivities.

A strange warmth settled in Santiago’s chest, along with a twinge of something that felt a little like regret.

It wasn’t that he minded other people dancing with her.

Well. Maybe he minded a little.

But not because he wanted them to stop making her laugh. If anything, he wanted to bottle the sound of it, to keep it safe for all the days ahead that might ask too much of them.

He just wished, a little selfishly, that he were the one doing it.