How I'll Meet My Honey©

The first installment of a possible (copyrighted!!) story idea with a title that I'm extremely proud of:

She sits in a chair that’s pushed against the wall, pretending to check her phone.  Her friends are scattered around the room in various states of country dancing enjoyment.  She’s been there for a few songs now, and she begins to contemplate a trip to the drinking fountain—anything to escape this awkwardness.

He is just walking in.  His friends are all excited for a carefree night away from the pressures of school and work.  Once inside, they separate.  Wandering aimlessly through the crowd, he is stopped occasionally by people he knows, but the encounters are short.  He somehow feels that there’s something more important for him to do.

And then he sees her.  Her open phone illuminates her face, and he can see that she’s pretty in a quiet kind of way.  He takes a deep breath and begins walking in her direction. 

She closes her phone with a snap, making her decision.  The drinking fountain is out in the hall, away from the constant reminder of her wallflower status.  She shoves her phone into her pocket, but is surprised when she looks up to see him just reaching her.  A new song starts.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.  “Would you like to dance with me?”

“Sure,” she says, smiling back at him.  The escape idea is put on hold.

He leads her to an empty spot in the sea of people.  As they begin dancing, he asks her name.

“[Insert nice-sounding girl name here].  What’s yours?”

“[Now a boy name].”

Both are pretty good dancers, but every so often one of them makes a mistake and they both laugh.  She finds herself feeling comfortable in his arms.  He finds himself enjoying her smile and the way her hair moves when she twirls.

After the song ends, he thanks her for the dance.  She thanks him back.  She backs away and looks around for her friends.  They all gather to gush about the fun they've had and the guys they've met.  She laughs with them, grateful that the night has become a little happier.

     He asks a couple more girls to dance, but his attention keeps going back to the girl with the phone and the way her hands felt in his.  Another song starts—this one slower—and his interest in anything but her has run out.  He smooths his hair, straightens his shirt, and walks over to her group.