Next to Me by AnnaLisa Grant

tells me as I open the door.
    “It’s my favorite, so that’s perfect.” I smile and let Landon open doors for me as we make our way outside.
    “I thought we’d take a cab there, and then maybe you’d let me take you for a walk after.” He smiles at me and I’m distracted for a moment. He crooks his head as if to ask me again and I’m brought back to the moment.
    “Can we walk now?” I smile hopefully at him.
    “Yeah,” he smiles, pleasantly surprised at my suggestion.
    We’re quiet for about a block before I have to break the silence. It’s hard to concentrate on anything with Landon’s scent lingering in the air and him walking so close to me. I’m trying not to be alarmingly distracted by him, but it’s difficult.
    “Carina said it was your first time at the studio, but it clearly wasn’t your first time doing the Salsa. How long have you been dancing?” I ask.
    “You picked up on that, did you?” There’s that smirk. Must…look…away. “My mom was a dance teacher. She used to take me to her studio with her when I was little. I watched in between coloring. Then when I got older, she made me learn all the dances she taught. Everything from Salsa, to Swing, and even some ballroom dancing.” A soft expression covers his face as he recalls those days with his mom and my heart swells a little.
    “So how long has it been since you danced or took a lesson?”
    “I haven’t really danced in about seven or eight years. I moved to Chicago about a month ago and thought I’d give it a shot. I was actually pretty surprised at what I remembered,” he tells me as we continue to walk.
    “Well, you were pretty great for a guy who hasn’t danced in that long,” I say.
    “I knew you were watching me,” he teases.
    “I was only watching you because you looked like you were so nervous you were going to pee your pants. I didn’t know if you were going to fall on your face and, as a nurse , I would have been obligated to help bandage you up!” I say in my defense. It’s only partially the truth, though.
    “I was only nervous when you looked over at me,” he says quietly. “I told you I was immediately drawn to you, Jenna.”
    I smile shyly at him and watch the curb as we cross the street. I try to think of something clever to say, but Landon puts his hand on the small of my back as we cross the street. Now I’m too consumed with the warmth of his touch.
    “How long have you been dancing?” he asks.
    “I used to dance when I was little, then I took a break after my mom died,” I tell him.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Can I ask how old you were when she passed?” He’s walking and looking at me with concern at the same time. It’s nice.
    “I was ten. She had breast cancer and it was pretty aggressive. It took a
    while after I she died for me to be ready to get back into dancing. When I did, I danced all the way through high school and after.”
    “What about your dad?” he continues.
    “He died a while ago. Can we not talk about my depressing past, please?” I beg. This is about the time I stop giving information about my past. It’s generic enough. I mean, lots of people lose their parents. Lots of little girls take dance.
    “Sorry. I just…I just want to know you, Jenna,” he tells me with a bit of an apologetic tone.
    “It’s ok. I want to be known.” Did I just say that? And mean it?
    We continue to walk and talk about various things. He tells me he grew up in Miami, which explains his mom’s love of Latin dance, but that he went to college in Michigan. He has an older sister who still lives in Miami with her husband and kids, whom he adores. His grandparents played a pretty heavy roll in his life. With his mom being Latina, it’s very much a part of their culture. They both passed away several years ago. His grandfather had a heart attack while scuba diving, which I think it pretty remarkable for a 70-year old man. Landon’s face shows his sadness when he tells me that his