The Last Dance

It truly was a lovely wedding. The late afternoon sun painted the garden in warm hues, weaving through the canopy of towering oaks draped in twinkling fairy lights. The smell of fresh blooms filled the air, carried by a warm breeze sweeping through the garden, brushing against Margaret’s skin—a soft, fleeting, almost familiar touch.

Laughter shimmered across the open air, lantern glows gleaming off the faces of the smiling guests, flushed with love and champagne. A band played from a small stage, the singer’s beautiful voice serenading the dance floor full of young couples as she sang gentle tones into the microphone.

She was the oldest person in the room—by far. The guests were young and vibrant, radiating the kind of joy that only came from believing that time was infinite. No one had made her feel unwelcome, of course. They had been kind, their smiles were warm, their greetings gentle and kind, and yet there was the undeniable truth that she didn’t belong here that lingered in the air.

Still, she didn’t mind. She was happy. She had known Will since he was a little boy. She’d watched him grow from the boy who used to spend summer afternoons sitting by her feet as he drank in her stories with wonder in his wide eyes, who had once asked her if she had ever been in love and listened with rapt fascination as she talked about James, into the fine young man dancing in the heart of the dance floor with his beautiful bride, Olivia, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Olivia’s ivory dress flowed with each step she took, her smile radiant as she looked lovingly at her new husband, both of them lost in their own world.

Margaret smiled at the sight. Will deserved this kind of happiness.

The live band continued to play softly in the background, serenading them with a slow, dreamy tune, and Margaret closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling the music sipped into her. The melody reminded her of another place in another lifetime, of warm hands twirling hers across the dance floor, of promises whispered at night under the stars.

Then the song ended, and the music shifted, giving way to something familiar, something that froze her in her place and sent a shiver through her soul.

It was a song from another lifetime, one she hadn’t heard in years—decades. Yet, the melody washed over her, settling into her bones as if time hadn’t passed at all.

Margaret closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the scene had morphed into a memory—wall sconces and low-strung lights casting a warm glow over a dance hall, music drifting and echoing slightly across the hall from where a crooner with a smooth voice sang into an old-fashioned microphone, the scents of perfume and cologne, of polished wood and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke filling the air. A gentle breeze floated by, bringing with it an even more familiar smell of cedarwood and musk. James stood before her, looking as young and handsome as the night she’d last seen him, a hand outstretched toward her.

“Dance with me,” he said, with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. His eyes—his beautiful hazel eyes—always warm, always filled with mirth.

She couldn’t resist a smile back, even through the tears threatening to spill over. She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her close. Their fingers laced together, his arm curved around her waist, her other hand on his shoulder, and the rest of the world faded away, just like they always did when he held her in his arms. The melody of their song, “The Nearness of You” by Hoagy Carmichael, wrapped around them, and they moved in slow, practiced steps, swaying in time to the soothing tune.

She rested her cheek against his chest, memorizing the feeling the strong, steady beating of his heartbeat. The way his fingers rested on the small of her back, the way he smelled of cedarwood and musk, with the faintest hint of lavender from the field that surrounded their home.

“Don’t leave,” Margaret said, for the hundredth time that day.

“I have to.” James shook his head. “I told you. This is my duty, Mag.”

Her throat clogged up as she looked up at him. “What if you don’t come back?”

“Don’t say that.” A frown etched in between his brows. “I’ll come back. Of course I will.”

It was wishful thinking, but one she wanted to believe more than anything. The music continued to swirl around them, and Margaret imagined freezing the moment and pressing it between the pages of a book to keep it safe.

His hand around hers tightened. “Maggie.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his even as the boulder in her throat swelled.

“Let’s not talk about tomorrow. Let tonight be about us.”

The music swelled, her throat along with it, and he smiled that familiar crooked, infuriatingly beautiful smile. “Dance with me. Just for tonight.”

Margaret hesitated before finally nodding, and they shared a smile. She closed her eyes and let the music wrap around them, her body swaying gently in his arms. The world outside the dance hall ceased to exist—only the two of them remained, moving in sync, his hand warm and reassuring against hers. The war was taking him away tomorrow, but tonight—tonight was theirs.

His lips brushed against her forehead, light and soft as a passing breeze.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words a gentle caress against her skin.

She opened her eyes.

The dance hall—with its warm glow, polished floor, crooning ballads, and warm arms wrapped around her—had vanished. She was back at the wedding, the past dissolving like mist at sunrise. She blinked against the burn in her eyes, feeling the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin, his soft, loving gaze forever etched in her memory.

Around her, laughter and music filled the air, guests twirling across the dance floor, blissfully unaware of the world from a lifetime ago she had just stepped into in the span of a single song. Margaret sat still, hands trembling faintly in her lap as she stared at a world that had moved forward without him.

A gentle breeze drifted past, carrying a familiar scent of lavender that made her heart ache.

“Dance with me.” A whisper sounded, so faint she could have imagined it.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her head, half-expecting to find him there—standing, waiting for her just beyond the lights. But no one was there. Just the wind, coiling around her and murmuring against her skin.

A warm voice broke through her thoughts. “May I have this dance?”

Margaret blinked, looking up to find Will standing before her, a smile on his face, extending a hand just like James once had.

She hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, letting him lead her to the dance floor. The music swirled through the air, and Will guided her through slow, steady steps. It wasn’t the same, of course, it never would be, but love—love didn’t fade. It had a way of lingering, of shifting and changing and finding new places to exist.

Another lavender-scented breeze brushed against her skin as they moved. Margaret closed her eyes, and for a moment, she allowed herself to remember, to feel him and his presence, and his loving gaze on her, smiling from afar.

Maybe, just maybe, he had never truly left.