Crime (h.s. au)

Chapter Forty Three

"Did you ever celebrate when you were younger?" she wonders, and I shake my head as I take a bite.

"No, never," I tell her and her eyes look into mine. "My father didn't celebrate anything. Not birthdays or holidays."

"That's awful. I mean, we always did until my father died. But still; you should have at least experienced it," she says, taking hold of my hand. The gesture is out of comfort, and I appreciate it.

"It's alright. It was all I knew so I didn't mind much," I explain, her fingers taking hold of her wine glass. I bite my lower lip as I look at her, her eyes glancing to look at me again.

"Could you tell me about your holidays?" I ask, trying to learn a little about her younger years. Mine weren't glamorous, but I'm sure hers were. The time before her father died seems to be pushed back in her mind too, and I'm hoping they're better memories.

"There was a lot of presents. Being the only child, I was spoiled to no extent. My dad loved seeing me happy and he did everything he could to see me smile," she starts, her features breaking into a beautiful smile. She lets my hand go so we can continue eating.

"My mom was much the same. She tried to get me to enjoy little things in life; not take everything for granted. On Christmas, I always remembered singing those silly songs and spending each moment thinking Christmas was the greatest holiday in the world," Ava says, a hint of sadness in her voice. But she sits up straighter and takes another bite, my eyes attentive on her as I eat.

"One of the best memories I have from Christmas was when my dad..." she trails, pushing her hair behind her ear. A soft smile plays on her lips, "he tried teaching me to do the waltz, you know, the Christmas waltz."

I smile, not having any idea about a Christmas waltz. I'm sure it's a song and seeing her talk about it, causing her gray eyes to shine, makes me want to know more.

"He always danced to it with my mom and when I was around fourteen, he told me he was going to teach me. That's the best memory I have, was when he danced with me on Christmas," Ava shares, my hand setting down my fork.

"It sounds like a great memory," I grin, her head nodding. She takes a sip of wine and sets the glass down, my eyes catching hers. I stare at her, unable to help myself. The plump pink lips, the rosy cheeks, and her bright eyes are all encompassing to how beautiful she is.

"It is. And I try not to think about it all too often. Makes me sad to think I won't ever get to dance with him again," she elaborates, and I take her hand.

"Think about it as a good memory though. Don't let it make you sad," I try, and she bites her lower lip. I don't try to stop it, but rather watch as she nods her head.

"I know. It's hard for me to think that way. After everything, my father is a touchy subject, good memory or not," she responds, and I brush my thumb across her knuckles. I wish there was something I could do to help her; take the pain away.

"Play it for me," I say, her eyes locking on mine. I've never danced in my life but I'm sure it's not that hard. All I want is to bring back the good memory, hopefully this can help.

"What?" she asks, and I stand up.

"Play it for me. I've never heard it," I say, her hand letting go of mine. I can see she doesn't know what's going to happen, but she gets up anyway. I follow her into the living room so she can turn the song on at the stereo, her body taking a seat on the couch.

The soft music starts to play and I listen to it, not recognizing the melody. I've never really listened to Christmas music, but I've heard a few songs on the radio.

My hand extends to Ava and she looks at it, her eyes then flickering up to me. It's clear she's unsure of what she wants to do, but she takes my hand. Her soft fingers wrap into mine and I let her place her hand on my shoulder. My arm wraps around her waist and I keep hold of her hand, holding it close to our chests.

No words are spoken but I keep my eyes on her, her eyes staring at my chest before she looks up at me. Her lips are slightly parted and I hold her close, wishing I could hear her thoughts. It was a stretch to even consider dancing with her, but I can't read her expression.

Then her arm moves over my arm to hold me closer, my chin resting on her temple. My eyes close and I just sway us lightly, not sure how to move. But how relaxed she is and how she's allowing me to hold her, makes me feel I'm doing something right.

I turn my head slightly, pressing my lips to her hair. She takes a deep breath and she rests her head into my neck, my head gently resting on hers. The feeling running through me is so foreign and I'm unsure what it is. All I know is the woman I'm holding is a woman I have grown to care about more than I thought I could.