‘I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair to you,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s daunting if you haven’t danced before.’
‘Thank you for acknowledging that. And it must be frustrating if the person you’re teaching doesn’t get it and you think it’s because they’re not paying attention.’
She understood that? He echoed her words. ‘Thank you for acknowledging that.’ He looked at her. ‘I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot.’
‘Literally.’ She smiled at him.
Genuinely, this time. So he made the effort to smile back. ‘Shall we start again? And maybe you’ll find it easier if we’re in hold and I’m leading you.’
‘You feel too close,’ she said, ‘in hold. I’m not used to being that close to someone I barely know.’
And that worried her? Did she think he was going to come on to her? ‘Is this where I do the Johnny Castle line about my space and your space?’ he asked lightly.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I love that film. But I’m never going to dance like Baby. If you make me do steps on a tree-trunk, I’ll fall off and break my ankle.’
‘Firstly, we’re sticking to a dance floor. No tree-trunks. Secondly, Baby and Johnny weren’t dancing ballroom. And, thirdly, you need to forget what you think you can’t do and trust me.’
‘I don’t know you. How can I trust you?’
Fair point. He didn’t trust her, either. He didn’t trust anyone. ‘What was that you were saying about fake it until you make it?’ It came out slightly more caustic than he’d intended, and he felt a throb of guilt when she flinched.
‘OK. I’ll pretend I trust you.’
‘Good. Back in hold, then.’ He squeezed her right hand. ‘You start with the leg on this side. Your right. One step back.’
It was a truce, of sorts. Polly decided to accept it.
‘Left leg back the same amount.’
She followed his instructions carefully.
‘Now a tiny step to the side with your right leg—’ he squeezed her right hand again ‘—and then bring your left leg across to join it so your feet are together.’
Step, step.
‘That’s it. You’ve just done your first basic.’
She coughed.
‘What?’
‘Well done?’ she prompted.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Polly, it was four steps. If you want a “well done”, you have to earn it.’
She should’ve expected that. ‘Right.’
‘And now we’re going to do the next one—this time, you’re the one who moves forward. Ready? Forward, forward, side, side.’ He talked her through it—and it actually worked. She hadn’t stood on his toes or tripped. You need to forget what you think you can’t do and trust me. Maybe he was right. Even if he didn’t smile.
‘We’ll do a forward and a back now, to make a complete set.’
She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised or thrilled that she managed eight whole steps without tripping. And it was all thanks to him talking her through it. Being patient. Making more of an effort.
‘Now, let’s look at the rhythm. It’s slow, slow, quick-quick. And it’s a lot easier to do it to music, so let me go and sort that out.’
Polly watched Liam walk over to the corner of the room, where a music system was set up. There was something about a dancer’s walk: neat, beautiful. She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the G-word—not with the connotations that word had for her—but it would describe his movements perfectly. He might be grouchy, but he had style. And how.
He connected his iPod to the system, flicked a switch, and the first few bars of the music flooded into the studio. She didn’t have a clue what the beat of the song was. But she was going to have to trust Liam not to let her go wrong.
He took her hand and led her to the far side of the room. ‘We’re going to do the steps I just taught you, for the whole length of the room,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded.
‘Here we go. Slow, slow, quick-quick; slow, slow, quickquick.’ He talked her through the steps.
And it felt as if she were floating.
She’d never, ever experienced anything like this. And when he guided her effortlessly round the corners and danced her all the way back down the room again …
‘Wow,’ she said when the song ended. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do that.’
At the beginning of their lesson, he’d had his doubts, too. But she’d worked hard. Made the effort. And, from the look of wonder in her eyes, he was pretty sure that she’d just got what he loved about ballroom dancing. OK, it was tiny, as far as breakthroughs went, but it was a start. Part of him wanted to pick her up and spin her round. But the sensible side of him remained in control. Just.
‘Told you so,’ he said laconically.
‘Smugness,’ she said, ‘is not a good look on you, Mr Flynn.’
It was the first time she’d really answered him back—teasing, confident, and incredibly sweet. Liam couldn’t help responding to the glint in her eyes: he smiled at her.
Polly stared at Liam in surprise. It was the first time she’d seen him really smile. A genuine, full-wattage smile that left her knees temporarily weak.
And it flustered her so much that she tripped at the first step of the next song.
‘Concentrate, Polly,’ he said, the smile gone again. ‘We’ll keep going until you can do this without having to think about the steps or which leg’s which.’
And he meant it. They didn’t stop for the next hour.
Then he allowed them a brief break for a late breakfast of a bacon sandwich and a coffee in the café round the corner. Polly spilled the tomato ketchup everywhere, but Liam didn’t comment. He just ushered her back to the studio afterwards and made her go through the steps over and over again.
By the end of the session, she wasn’t having to think any more about which was her left and which was her right, when to go forward and when to go back.
‘We’ll stop there for today,’ he said at the end of the song.
‘Uh-huh.’ Polly didn’t trust herself to say any more. Just in case her disappointment at his lack of praise showed.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight sharp. I’ll send you a list of songs this evening. Listen to them, pick the ones you like best and we’ll use them in training.’
‘OK.’
She was at the door when he said, ‘And, Polly?’
She turned to face him, expecting another order.
‘Well done.’
It took a moment to sink in, and then Polly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him or throttle him. The man was infuriating.
But he’d actually praised her. And, given that he’d told her she’d have to earn it, it meant a lot more than the ‘you were marvellous, darling’ she