Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (9 page)

Oh no.
Smoldering heat rose from her neck to her face.
Why did I let Iris talk me into giving him my number?
She turned her head, glancing toward the crowd of her friends again, but it was too late. She knew he’d seen her blush.

The anxiety of being onstage resurfaced. The euphoria over winning the contest and the anticipated satisfaction of making Bill and George grovel in apology tomorrow faded as she struggled to come up with an escape plan. Could she manage to do it without Kenny noticing? Maybe if she simply avoided eye contact, he’d lose interest and she could slip away.

Birdie’s slim fingers tugged on her arm, and her voice filtered through the din. Birdie was saying something about needing help from men to break the record—or not needing them…. Birdie tugged on her arm, smiling. “Do you think so, Rosalie?”

“What?” She tried to refocus. What had Birdie been saying?

“Did we need help for what we did this afternoon?”

Rosalie turned her attention back to the crowd and faked confidence she didn’t feel. “Nope, Birdie, we didn’t need any help!”

The room hushed, and numerous pairs of eyes focused on her—a mix of surprise and pain.

Birdie’s eyebrows scrunched; then she rose on her tiptoes to whisper in Rosalie’s ear. “Uh, Rosalie, maybe you heard me wrong. I asked you if we could’ve done it without the help of our sisters.”

Rosalie gasped, embarrassed heat flooding her cheeks. She scanned the faces, seeing their confusion, wishing she could take her words back. She leaned toward the microphone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She couldn’t help but look at Kenny, to see his response. A sympathetic grin filled his face.

“That’s all right, sweetie!” Iris called out. “We knew what you meant. You’re our Rosie the Riveter!”

Kenny clapped along with the others, then coiled his fingers into his mouth to release a shrill whistle.

Rosalie leaned in toward Birdie. “This is why I hate being in front of people. Never turns out good,” she mumbled.

Birdie squeezed Rosalie’s hand as the cheers followed them from the stage. “It’s okay, sweets,” Birdie said. “They knew what you meant.”

Rosalie slinked through the crowd of ladies, also trying to find a place to hide from Kenny.

“Rosie, come and sit with us!” Clara called to her from the booth she shared with two other women.

Rosalie eyed the booth, then the door, then the booth where Clara was saving her a seat. She couldn’t leave now, after what she’d accidentally said. They’d think badly of her for sure. She hurried over and slid into the booth next to Clara.

Nick took the mic again. “We know all you ladies are tops when it comes to building airplanes, but I have an extra-special request. Our lead singer’s out of voice.”

Nora waved apologetically from her table.

“Any of you riveters own a smooth set of pipes?” Nick glanced around the room. “C’mon, this could be your big break.”

“Lanie’ll do it!” Iris pushed the girl away from Kenny and toward the stage. “She’s got a great voice.”

Lanie blushed and dithered, but the spark in her eye told Rosalie she relished the chance to take the limelight. It didn’t take much persuasion to get her behind the mic.

Nick gaped at her for a moment of awkward silence before stepping away to make room for her. As he reached for his bass, he fumbled over the microphone’s cord, almost tripping. So unlike the usually suave Nick.

Finally, he seemed to pull himself together, whispering something to Lanie just before the band started up with the newest hit: “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

Rosalie remained at her table, content to watch the others dance until enough time had passed that she could leave without hurting anyone’s feelings. But as she rose to head toward the door, she felt the electrifying presence of someone behind her.

Kenny’s voice sounded in her ear. “She’s got some pipes, don’t you think, Rosalie?”

Rosalie whipped around in surprise, almost upsetting the soda he was holding.

With one quick motion, he swooped it out of the way to avoid spilling it. Then Kenny chuckled. “We’re not having much luck with Cokes today, are we?”

Kenny led Rosalie over to a small, round table next to the dance floor. He set down his Coke and offered Rosalie his best smile.

They’d started off on the wrong foot this morning. Did she regret their inauspicious beginning as much as he did? She did send her phone number via courier, so that was a good sign. Maybe she’d just had a hard morning.

Tonight her piercing brown eyes didn’t seem flighty, and neither did the fact that she’d broken the national record for setting rivets in a shift. Only a focused, decisive woman could do that.

He wiped his palms on his slacks, tipped up his chin, and offered his elbow. “Wanna?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think…” Her gaze slid to her friends, who bobbed their heads in wide-eyed encouragement. One of them even flashed a thumbs-up, causing Rosalie to flush pink. A very becoming pink.

“C’mon—just one dance?” He knew she wanted to. She would have already blasted him with a resounding no—just like this morning—if she didn’t.

Kenny dared to reach out and take her hands. They were small but strong. He pulled slightly, and she followed as he led her to the dance floor.

He turned to face her and couldn’t help but see excitement in her gaze. Was it excitement over him or over being able to dance? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. At least she wasn’t mad or stomping away.

Kenny swung her hands from side to side in time to the music before easing her into a smooth three-step, silently thanking his sister for all the times she’d forced him to be her practice partner.

Rosalie’s eyelashes swept up as she dared a look into his eyes, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know what. He swung her around, and she seemed both surprised and pleased by the comfortable way he moved on the dance floor.

He pulled her around to face him again, pulling her closer to his chest than he usually did with his dance partners. “I’m not gonna tell you how much I enjoyed seeing you onstage. And I promise: no probing questions—at least not till later,” he teased.

Her perfect red lips spread into a grin. “You could ask, but that doesn’t mean I’d answer them,
reporter
.”

Lanie belted out “Shoo Shoo Baby” like she was one of the Andrews Sisters, and Kenny promenaded Rosalie into the center of the dance floor. Easing her into a Sugar Push, he pulled her to him, then unwound her gently back out, like a yo-yo on a string. She followed effortlessly, her hands gripping his lightly.

After a few more easy steps, like the Skip Up, Kenny thought he’d try the Lindy hop with Charleston variation. From the regular Charleston, Kenny continued holding her hand and then turned clockwise to come around in an outside turn, so he was in front.

Then on the first kick move he waited, wondering if she’d be able to follow. As if she’d been dancing with him her whole life, Rosalie did her own clockwise turn and spun around so she was in front, and they kicked their right legs in unison. Cheers rose up from her friends who were watching, and she only glanced over to them for a moment before turning her attention back to him.

Kenny squeezed her hand tighter as they continued the move two more times.

As the song wound down, Rosalie spun to face him. Her eyebrows flicked upward. “Is that all ya got?” She smirked.

Laughter burst from his lips at her unexpected challenge. Noting the determination of her chin, he imagined she had the same expression as she riveted, especially today as she had worked toward the record. The music kicked up again in a fast number.

“You want more?” he called over the tune. “I’ll show you more.” He pulled her to him, dipped his shoulder, and turned. He expected to surprise her, but she rolled over his back with grace.

“Whew!” she hooted as she landed.

Without a pause, Kenny swung her into a sidecar, her legs kicking first to his left, then right. “You wanna flip?”

Without bothering to reply, Rosalie hurled herself forward, coiling around his arm. She landed on both feet with a
Well, hotshot
,
what else have you got?
glimmer in her eyes.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Rosalie’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleamed. “You’re not so bad.”

Kenny rolled her to him, their bodies tight as their feet shuffled in rhythm beneath them. For an instant, he felt dizzy from all their spinning and twirling. Or was it the scent of her perfume?

As they glided past the stage, he caught a glimpse of Nick’s amused grin, and Kenny knew his friend was relishing the prospect of razzing his smooth dance moves.

Kenny tried to think of something witty to say. He wanted to tease Rosalie—to joke in the easy way Nick would. But his mind couldn’t get beyond the joy of just dancing with her.

Together, Kenny and Rosalie swung, jumped, and flew around the dance floor until the music wound down once again. Kenny glanced at his watch. To his astonishment, an hour had passed. The woman was tireless, and he loved every minute of it.

Finally, the band left the stage for their break. The other couples who’d been dancing moved toward the tables and booths, but Kenny remained, trying to catch his breath. He leaned over, hands to knees, panting.

“Uncle!” he managed to say between breaths.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, fanning her flushed face with her hand.

He gazed up at Rosalie, and it was more than the stage lights haloing her head that convinced him he needed to spend more time with her. Someone put a nickel in the jukebox, and “Hello Young Lovers” wound itself around the room as the lights dimmed.

Rosalie leaned over him, moving her face closer and chuckling as he again tried to catch his breath. “Worn out, huh?”

Kenny nodded as he straightened, noticing Nick leading Lanie by the hand onto the dance floor, where he cautiously pulled her into a slow dance.

“Me too.” Rosalie let out a slow breath.

“How ’bout a drink?”

“Just so long as it’s not a Coke.” Her lips turned up once more in a smile at their private joke.

A man could get lost in that smile.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled.

Nice, Kenny, you write for a living, and that’s the best you can do?

Rosalie glanced over to Nick and Lanie, and a thoughtful look passed over her face. “Actually, I’m more tired than I thought.” She let out a slow breath, and he noticed her shoulders slump. “Maybe I should go.”

“Just one soda? I can’t send you home thirsty.”

“Okay, as long as it doesn’t take too long.”

The refreshment line was long, filled with other winded dancers who had the same idea. Yet in her presence, he hardly noticed the passage of time. It seemed like mere minutes until he was guiding her to an outside table. Rain scented the air, and he prayed the clouds would hold their moisture for a little longer.

One block away, a stream of headlights flowed down Victory Highway. The Igloo was nestled just off the busy highway and the small shops. In the distance twinkled the lights of Victory Heights, a name that fit a neighborhood where many war-production workers lived.

“So.” Kenny swigged his Orangeade, savoring the cool refreshment on his parched tongue. “Now can I ask you a question?”

He caught Rosalie mid-sip. Her eyes took on a wariness as her lips parted from the straw. “Uh, it’s not about a certain friend of mine, who delivers brazen notes by motorcycle, is it?”

“No.” Kenny set his glass bottle on the tabletop.

“Good, because I’m not the kind of girl who—” she stammered, the vale between her eyebrows crinkling.

Kenny fought to hide a grin, enjoying her discomfort.

“I don’t know why I let Iris give you my number.” She exhaled.

“My question is not about the girl on the motorcycle.” Kenny sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. “It’s about the girl who sent the note. I—”

“Actually, why don’t we try this,” she interrupted before he could finish. “Why don’t I ask you a question first? Then you can ask me one.”

Kenny fingered the neck of his bottle. He knew she was trying to get him off topic, but he wasn’t afraid to play along. “Okay, shoot.”

She tapped her temple, as if trying to come up with something on the spot. “So how do you know Nick?”

“Well,” he started, “we grew up together. He sat behind me in third grade and always drove me crazy with his humming in class. I didn’t like him for years—ignored him mostly—until we were paired up in track for the relay race. With his speed and my endurance we won nearly every race in high school.”

“Really? I can’t imagine Nick being on a relay team. You can’t help but notice his limp. I assume he hurt it in the military?”

“Yes, he was injured, but he wasn’t in the military.” Kenny went on to explain Nick’s role as a contracted ambulance driver in France. “He was overseas even before Pearl Harbor, but his service doesn’t seem to matter.”

“I don’t understand. Why not?”

He explained about the fighting in France and Nick’s role in helping evacuate towns where the Germans wrested control, leaving destruction in their wake.