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Grit
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I didn't know how to waltz. I'd never slow danced with anyone, and I lost count of how many times I stepped on her toes, so at some stage she kicked off her shoes and I followed her lead. And she was mesmerising. Completely and utterly worth coming to a s**t hole like this for. After five slow songs we took a breather. She pointed to a table over by the window, and as soon as my arse hit the cracked leather seat I realised how warm it was in here. I slid off my jacket and leant back, my head against the cold glass of the window. It felt good. Refreshing, even.
'Here.' She placed a pitcher on the table, and I lowered my head, taking in the smile she offered me, bright brown eyes coming alive in a place filled with people old enough to be my gran
