[ Edward steps forward like a man going before a firing squad, but the frame they have is good and she moves with him: stepping back once, twice; forwards once, twice. If it were a waltz she thinks he'd be counting in his head; as it is, he seems wholly focused on the whole act of.... moving, anyway. She's not sure she'd call this dancing, really.

But that's okay. He's out here, trying, and he was the one to ask her, which means he wants to be here, with her — a thought that settles in her stomach like a banked coal, burning and glowing in turns. She can't tell if she hates this or likes it. It's nothing like dancing with Raylan. If anything, it reminds her of parties during her teenage years... not that anyone asked her to dance then, usually. But she remembers seeing awkward couples swaying around the floor; sweating teenage boys and girls dreaming of a romance they'd never in a million years find in Purgatory. ]

Uh, yeah. Sometimes.

[ They aren't alone out here, but it feels like they are, like there's some soundproof, lightproof bubble around them. She's never really... felt that with anyone before. Maybe it's because they've spent so much time together. ]

Honestly, it's been a long time. People weren't exactly lining up to dance with me back home.

[ Part of that long, not very happy story she'd promised to tell him. He knows parts of it now, but not everything. Not all of it. The way he looks at her will change when she tells him she's cursed; she doesn't want to see it. Not yet. ]

But you never really did? I thought stuff like dancing was all part of the 'officer and a gentleman' package.

[ She's smiling now; this feels more familiar, despite the awkwardness of the movements. He just needs to relax, and talking will help. ]

What, you never took some banker's daughter to a ball, or anything?