“Dance with me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I can’t dance.”
“Who says you can’t dance? Of course you can. It’s easy. Watch.”
He moved in a way that was a cross between a shuffle and a hop. It bore no resemblance to any dance she had ever seen.
“You look like you’re trying to scratch an itch you can’t reach. Or like someone has dropped ice down your back.”
“Well wouldn’t you know – this is the itchy icy dance. It has similarities with the Charleston but it’s less technical. Try it with me.”
He put out his hand.
She took it.
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