“I’d hope for forty-five, but thirty-five would do it.”

“Nice.” She was right about the chicken, too. “What if I bought the other one? Hired you?”

“Well, Jesus, Ford, you haven’t even seen it.”

“You have. And you know what you’re doing-about houses and picnics. I could use an investment, and this has the advantage of a fun factor. Plus, I could be your first client.”

“You need to at least look at the property, calculate how much you’re willing to invest, how long you can let that investment ride.” She lifted her champagne glass, gestured with it like a warning. “And how much you can afford to lose, because real estate and flipping are risks.”

“So’s the stock market. Can you handle both houses?”

She took a drink. “Yeah, I could, but-”

“Let’s try this. Figure out a time when you can go through it with me, and we’ll talk about the potential, the possibilities, your fee and other practical matters.”

“Okay. Okay. As long as we both understand that once you’ve seen the property and we’ve gone over those projections, and you tell me you’d rather buy a fistful of lottery tickets than that dump, no harm, no foul.”

“Understood and agreed. Now, with the business portion of tonight’s program out of the way.” He leaned over to kiss her. “Do you have any plans for the Fourth?”

“The fourth what? Blini?”

“No, Cilla. Of July. You know, hot dogs, apple pie, fireworks.”

"Oh. No.” My God, she thought. It was nearly July. "Where do people go to watch fireworks around here?”

“There are a few options. But this is the great state of Virginia. We set off our own.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the signs. You all are crazy.”

“Be that as it may, Matt’s having a cookout. It’s a short walk from his place to the park where the Roritan band plays Sousa marches, there’s the world-famous pie-eating contest, won four years running by Big John Porter, and other various slices of Americana before the fireworks display. Wanna be my date?”

“Yes, I would.” She leaned over the picnic debris, linked her arms around his neck. “Ford?”

“Yeah.”

“If I eat another bite of anything, I’m going to be sick. So…” She leaped up, grabbed his hands. “Let’s dance.”

“About that. My plans were to lie here like a dissipated Roman soldier and watch you dance.”

“No, you don’t. Up, up, up!”

“There’s just one problem. I don’t dance.”

“Everybody dances. Even Spock.”

“Not really. Well, yes, he does,” Ford admitted as Spock got up to demonstrate. “I don’t. Did you ever catch Seinfeld? The TV deal.”

“Of course.”

“Did you see the one where Elaine’s at this office party, and to get people up to dance, she starts it off?”

“Oh yeah.” The scene popped straight into her mind, made her laugh. “That was bad.”

“I make Elaine look like Jennifer Lopez.”

“You can’t be that bad. I refuse to believe it. Come on, show me.”

Those gold-rimmed eyes showed actual pain. “If I show you, you’ll never have sex with me again.”

“Absolutely false. Show me your moves, Sawyer.”

“I have no moves in this arena.” But with a heavy sigh, he rose.

“Just a little boogie,” she suggested. She moved her hips, her shoulders, her feet. Obviously, to Ford’s mind, to some well-oiled internal engine. Clutching the bear between his paws, Spock gurgled his approval.

“You asked for it,” he muttered.

He moved, and could swear he heard rusty gears with mismatched teeth grind and shriek. He looked like the Tin Man of Oz, before the oil can.

“Well, that’s not… Okay, that’s really bad.” She struggled to swallow a snort of laughter, but didn’t quite succeed. The disgusted look he shot her had her holding up her hands and stepping quickly to him. “Wait, wait. Sorry. I can teach you.”

This time, Spock snorted.

“Others have tried; all have failed. I have no rhythm. I am rhythmically impaired. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Bull. Anyone who has your kind of moves horizontally can have them vertically. Here.” She took his hands, set them on her hips, then put hers on his. “It starts here. This isn’t a structured sort of thing, like a waltz or quickstep. It’s just moving. A little hip action. No, unlock your knees, it’s not a goose step, either. Just left, right, left. Shift your weight to the left, not just your hip.”

“I look and feel like a spastic robot.”

“You don’t.” She shot Spock a warning glance, and the dog turned his head away. “Relax. Now, keep the hips going, but put your hands on my shoulders. That’s it. Feel my shoulders, just a little up and down. Feel that, let that go up your arms, into your shoulders. Just up and down. Don’t stiffen up, keep those knees loose. There you go, there you are. You’re dancing.”

“This isn’t dancing.”

“It is.” She put her hands on his shoulders, then slid them down his arms until they held hands. “And now you’re dancing with me.”

“I’m standing like an idiot in one spot.”

“We’ll worry about the feet later. We’re starting slow, and smooth. It would even be sexy if you took that pained expression off your face. Don’t stop!”

She did a quick inward spin so her back pressed into him, and lifted an arm to stroke it down his cheek.

“Oh, well, if this is dancing.”

Laughing, she spun back again so they were front to front. “Sway. A little more.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted her lips to a breath from his. “Nice.”

He closed the distance, sliding slowly into the kiss while his hands ran down her back to her hips.

“Feels like dancing to me,” she whispered.

He surfaced to see he was facing in the opposite direction, and several feet away from where they’d started. “How’d that happen?”

“You let it happen. You stopped thinking about it.”

“So, I can dance, as long as it’s with you.”

“Just one more thing.” She danced back with a provocative rock of hips, and began unbuttoning her shirt.

“Whoa.”

“I believe the celebration called for naked dancing.”

He glanced in the direction of his closest neighbors. Dusk had fallen, but torches tossed out light. He glanced down at his dog, who sat, head cocked, obviously fascinated.

“Maybe we should move that event inside.”

She shook her head, and her blouse slid down with the movement of her shoulders. “In the grass.”

“Ah, Mrs. Berkowitz-”

“Shouldn’t spy on her neighbor, even if she could see through that big black walnut tree.” Cilla unhooked her pants, kicked off her shoes, which Spock retrieved and carried territorially to his ratty towel. “And when we’ve finished dancing naked, there’s something else I’m going to do on the grass.”

“What?”

“I’m going to give you the ride of your life.” She stepped out of her pants, continued to sway, turn as she ran her hands over her own body, marginally covered now in two tiny white swatches.

Ford forgot the dog, the shoes, the neighbors. He watched, all of the blood draining out of his head as she flicked open the front hook, opened her bra inch by delicious inch. The torchlight glimmered gold over her skin, danced in her eyes like sun on a pure blue sea.

When the bra floated to the ground, she ran a fingertip under, just under the low-riding waist of her panties. “You’re still dressed. Don’t you want to dance with me?”

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Can I just say something first?”

She trailed her fingers down her breasts, smiled at him. “Go ahead.”

“Two things, actually. Oh Christ,” he managed when she lifted her hair, let it fall over those glowing shoulders. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And at this moment? I’m the luckiest man in the known universe.”

“You’re about to get luckier.” Tossing her hair back, she started toward him. She pressed her naked body to his. “Now, dance with me.”