If Hannah hadn’t already been attracted to him, that would have been enough to tip the scales in his favor. Any man who took the time to be so kind to seniors would make her heart flutter. Dallas made it stampede.
Rudy, it turned out, was an excellent dancer.
“Hands above the waist,” Dallas warned him, shaking a finger.
“She’s a foot taller than me. How am I supposed to do that?” Rudy, whose hands were already steady at her waist, complained. He winked at her and she laughed.
The rest of the afternoon, she had so much fun. Marsh wasn’t interested in dancing from a wheelchair—he was too dignified for that—but he enjoyed watching her dance with Dallas.
They danced a few more times together, and got the staff involved too, before Dallas glanced at his watch. “Sorry everyone, but we’ve got to be going. We have dinner reservations for seven o’clock.”
“It’s barely four,” someone protested.
“Yes, but the restaurant isn’t in Grand.”
Now he had Hannah’s attention, too. Where were they going that it would take them three hours to get there?
They returned Marsh to his room, with Hannah pushing his wheelchair while he chatted with Dallas, then left him seated by the window, half asleep. The late summer sun beat at them as they crossed the parking lot to the car. Dallas carried his jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Where is this restaurant?” Hannah asked.
“You’ll see.”
They followed the I-94 along the Yellowstone River for twenty-five minutes until they reached the turnoff for Forsyth. Dallas parked the AMG at a curb near the high school with a rather shocking disregard for its safety, given his opinion of the neighborhood where she lived and this wasn’t much different. Music rumbled through the air. It appeared to originate a few blocks to their left.
“There’s a street dance tonight,” he said, sounding almost apologetic, which fired her curiosity. “A local band is playing. I thought we’d check it out for a few hours, then have dinner at the Dirty Glass Alehouse.”
The local band turned out to be a group of high school seniors who hadn’t yet decided what they wanted to be when they grew up. Their playlist featured everything from Mongolian death metal to a Disturbed-inspired interpretation of Johnny Cash. They were talented, although somewhat uncertain about their musical career path in life. The enthusiastic bass from the woofers pounded at the chest in a way that staved off any potential need for defibrillation. Even though the band was at the far end of the street, speakers mounted on the sides of buildings guaranteed ruptured eardrums for all.
Dallas took her hand so they couldn’t be swept apart by the group of gyrating teenagers working their way up the street. “Not quite what I envisioned when I was invited to this,” he said. “While I’m a huge fan of death metal personally, my headbanging days are long behind me. It can cause brain damage, not to mention what repeated exposure to loud music does to your hearing, so professionally, I’m obliged to be somewhat opposed.”
He’d been invited. That explained why he’d sounded so apologetic—although he had no need to worry. She thought it was sweet that he followed through on his commitments. She clung to his hand, half afraid to let go for fear he’d get wrapped up on the music and forget she was with him. She had no idea how he kept everything straight.
“You have the weirdest interests,” she said.
“Says the woman who brews maple beer.” He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her out of the path of two oncoming men carrying cans of soda, although judging by the fumes, the labels were lying. “I’m sensing this isn’t your thing.”
“It’s too soon to say. I can’t remember the last time I went to a night club, let alone a street dance that features… what is this? Death metal folk country?”
“No idea. We’ll give it a few more minutes. If you still aren’t enjoying yourself by the time we reach the end of the street, we’ll move on to dinner. The band invited me out of a sense of obligation because I agreed to sponsor the event, not a burning desire to have me attend. They won’t mind if we take off.”
Hannah’s heart melted. Dallas had sponsored a street dance for a group of high school students simply because he was asked. That had to be the sweetest, most generous thing she’d ever heard. The crowd and the music dissipated into little more than white noise.
“I love everything about this,” she said sincerely. “I say we close the joint down.”
His laugh could be seen in his eyes. “Let’s not get all crazy. Hearing loss is permanent and the danger is real.”
They stayed for an hour. When the band took a break, Dallas introduced her to them and it was immediately apparent the lead singer had a serious case of hero worship for him that was beyond cute. She also learned the music they played was called country death. Who knew there was such a thing?
By the time they reached the restaurant, the boys weren’t the only ones who were hero worshipping Dallas. Hannah, too, thought he was amazing. So much so, in fact, that caution stepped in to give her a stern talking to and remind her of a few things. She’d been single for less than a year, and while it was okay to enter into an adult relationship with Dallas, she might want to dial back on the infatuation a bit and refocus more on the fun.
*
Dallas
Dallas followed Hannahand the waitress to a quiet booth at the back of what had once been a pub but was now a five-star restaurant, according to Yelp.
He didn’t especially care about its rating as long as the food was good and it didn’t play death metal. Country music either, for that matter. He’d never listen to Johnny Cash or Waylon Jennings the same way again. Thank God Hannah was such a good sport.