Owen convinces Claire to dance with him to "bring it on home to me" and tells her that the song reminds him of her (prompted by the starmora scene I can't get out of my head 😭) ❤
I knew that scene would translate to Claire and Owen sooner or later. Frankly, they don’t dance enough in fics… We gotta fix that!
Owen’s hand curled around Claire’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks, the echo of her heels on the parking lot pavement coming to an abrupt halt.
“Dance with me,” he purred, pulling her toward him.
Claire’s eyebrows arched, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked up at him, trying to read him in the pale light of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk some twenty feet away from them. However, his featured were hidden in the shadows, and the smirk she knew was there was something she felt rather than saw.
“Here?” She asked, glancing around the mostly empty parking lot, their car being one of only three occupying the space, the dark shop windows staring back at her, long closed until the morning.
The night was warm, the breeze blowing from the ocean a few blocks away tasting of salt, and the air was filled with the gentle whisper of the waves lapping the wet sand, swallowing the cries of the seagulls. The breeze ruffled her hair, throwing stray wisps in her face and tugging at the skirt of her dress. Above them, the sky was an endless black canvas, and handful of stars sprinkled over it glimmered like diamonds on velvet.
“There’s no place like here, no time like now,” Owen said, snugging her against his chest, one hand on the small of her back, leading her in slow circles.
Claire laughed, following him without missing a beat. “What’s gotten into you? You hate dancing.”
“Not with you, I don’t.” His hand closed around hers resting on his chest, and he brushed a light kiss to her temple. “This song reminds me of you, Claire,” he whispered, his breath soft on her cheek as they fell into an easy step.
There was music streaming from the open windows of the restaurant they’d just left, but it was only when Owen mentioned it that she recognized Sam Cooke’s Bring it On Home To Me, her smile widening by the moment, her mind flooded with the memories from so long ago they felt like they were from some other life.
It had been years, decades even, since she’d last heard that song, but her father used to love Sam Cooke. He owned most of his albums on vinyl, and many a Sunday started for Claire with watching him put one on, his face transforming, a dreamy expression clouding his expression, pushing away every other care in the world. She remembered her mother laughing as he twirled her around the living room, remembered watching them, contented and happy, until she and Karen were dancing, too, to the sweet sound of the low husk of Sam Cooke’s voice filling every corner of the house.
She allowed her eyes to flutter shut and rested her cheek on his shoulder, surrendering to the flow of the melody that seemed to have seeped right into her skin and was running in her bloodstream now. She could feel the warmth of his body through the thin cotton of his shirt, her heartbeat thumping against her chest, reverberating through her entire body, all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, mixing with the rhythm of the song until she wouldn’t tell them apart.
“How is it about me?” She asked, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, and maybe they looked entirely ridiculous, dancing in the middle of the parking lot of a Friday night, and a small part of her was somewhat self-conscious about it, but the bigger part of her was so happy, so at peace in this moment that she wouldn’t want to stop even if the whole world was watching.
“Well, you are here and you’re my home,” he replied, giving her a sudden spin and then dipped her back so low the ends of her hair almost touched the ground, making her dizzy and knocking all wind out of her, before gathering her up and against his body again.
She gasped, and Owen’s smile grew wider.
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Grady,” Claire teased him breathlessly, lightheaded with exhilaration, feeling like she could soar right into the sky.
He settled them into a slow sway, arm wrapped firmly around her, holding her close, their feet barely moving, and his hand roaming lazily over her back as Sam Cooke’s vice continued to float into the night. “Oh, you have no idea,” he murmured in half-promise and half-warning.
She lifted her face, found his eyes, willing the music to never stop. “Show me.”
His hand let go of her hand, his knuckles sliding under her chin and his mouth hovering over hers,“Hm, where do I start?”