The party is going great. I stand there giving out fruit punch to the residents of the old folks home, Belleview. I turn to my side, flashing John Ambrose a small smile as I hand another cup of punch off to an older gentleman.
“Oh come on, Lara Jean, have some fun! Get up and dance!” says Dolores, an older woman who has become one of my friends. She knows Margot from when she volunteered here, so I’m following in her footsteps. Dolores has given me a gorgeous, floor-length, teal dress with three layers of tulle. I had felt like a princess when I descended the stairs to the party. It made me feel better after what happened between Peter and I. We had broken up due to Gen and him hanging out behind my back.
Now, I let out a small, but reserved laugh. “I can’t. We decorated and organized this party for you all. Plus, I have to serve the punch!” I say brightly, laughing a little.
“Lara Jean, we can serve our own punch! Come on out here and dance, honey!” Dolores exclaims, shooing us away from the drinks table. I shake my head before turning to John Ambrose.
John Ambrose was the fifth recipient of my love letters. He moved away in the sixth grade. But it turns out he also chose to volunteer here at Belleview. I remember I felt so shy and embarrassed to see him, knowing he had read my letter. Now he shrugs before starting to walk away from the big glass bowl filled with fruit punch. I roll my eyes before following him, and my hands wrap around his suit-covered bicep as I follow him onto the ballroom dance floor. We laugh awkwardly together as everyone begins cheering. We begin to dance, laugh, smile, and have lots of fun together. I get lost in the happiness, forgetting about the troubles that will be awaiting me once I step through those large, oak, double doors of Belleview.
After a while of dancing, my feet begin to hurt. The sparkly silver heels I bought specifically for this event are beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. “I’m going to sit down. I don’t think I can feel my feet anymore,” I say with a laugh.
John Ambrose laughs and then nods at me, turning around and dancing with two older women. I turn around and search for a place to sit down, eventually finding a lone, empty couch in the corner of the room. I hurriedly walk over, ready to take my high heels off. I sit down and let out a small sigh of relief before reaching down at the soft, teal tulle of the dress to reach my heels underneath. I slide off my right heel hurriedly, moving onto my left foot and sliding that heel off as well. I set them down on the couch beside me, resting against the comfortable, suede fabric. I brush my fingertips over the material, watching it go from lighter to darker. Looking up, I easily spot him, laughing and talking with a group of senior citizens. Tired, with my social battery low, I shut my eyes. My ears were filled with 60’s music, laughter, and feet walking on the hardwood floors of the ballroom.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps grows closer and closer to me, eventually stopping right in front of me. I open my eyes, looking up and locking eyes with John Ambrose.
“Hey, Lara Jean, are you okay?” he asks sincerely.
I nod slowly. “Yes, I’m fine. My feet are still feeling a little sore, is all. I’m not quite used to wearing heels yet,” I say softly, smiling at him. He reaches his hand outwards to hover in my face, offering it. I hesitantly grab his hand before he pulls me to my feet, the bare bottoms of my feet touching the cold, hardwood flooring. He brings me to the double doors that lead into the backyard of Belleview, looking at me before pushing them open. He runs outside as snow falls and sticks to the ground. I laugh before following him there, the ground feeling warmer than the hardwood floors inside. With my feet beginning to numb, I join him by his side, playing in the falling snow like little kids.
We both lie down, making snow angels in the soft yet cold snow. Laughter fills the air outside. The music grows softer and softer as our laughs grow louder and louder. I sit back up and look over at him before tumbling over onto my side and holding my stomach while dying with laughter. His nose has turned red from the cold air outside, making him look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. His hair is disheveled from playing and lying in the soft, cold snow.
“What? Is there something on my face?” he asks with a smile, rubbing his hands over his face.
“No, no, there isn’t anything on your face. You just look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!” I say with another laugh, sitting up straight and looking back towards him. He shakes his head at me, turning away before whipping back suddenly and softly throwing a small snowball at me. He completely misses me, and I begin softly laughing again.
He begins brushing the snow off his jacket as he stands up, embarrassed. He reaches his hand down, offering it to me. I take it, standing up and placing my hands on his shoulders, his hands at my waist. We begin dancing to the faint music from the ballroom inside, laughing softly together. He steps back, his left hand in mine as he twirls me, spinning me back to meet his face before leaning in and kissing me gently. My eyes widen in shock before they drift closed and I return his kiss. After what seems like forever, we both pull away with big smiles.
“We should probably go back inside. It’s cold out here,” I say with a big smile. He nods, leaning in and pecking my cheek with a quick kiss before following me inside to the bustling party. I go home in that evening, falling asleep peacefully.
Everything that happened with Peter isn’t on my mind, no. Instead, my dreams are filled with that moment, that kiss, and John Ambrose McClaren.
