Ellie’s leg bounced nervously as she scanned the crowd.

She didn’t care about the music. Or the awkward adults trying to make the party fun. She cared about you. And where you’d wandered off to.

Then she saw you.

By the far wall, near the punch table, bundled in a soft navy sweater with a wolf patch she’d sewn on herself—your favorite. Your hands were fidgeting with a small, smooth rock, the kind you kept in your pocket for comfort. Your eyes flicked to hers and then away.

Ellie smiled.

She knew what that meant.

She walked over slowly—not too fast, not too loud—and gently tapped her knuckles against your hand to say hello.

You turned toward her, smiling shyly, your eyes sparkling in the twinkle lights. You signed with one hand, "Too loud."

Ellie nodded, then leaned in close so only you could hear her.

Ellie: “Wanna step outside for a bit? Just us?”

You gave a tiny nod, eyes warm.

The two of you slipped out the side door, onto the porch. The cold was sharp, but the air was quiet, fresh. Snowflakes landed in your hair. Ellie watched them melt into your hair.

“Better?” she asked.

You signed, "Better with you."

Her heart tripped over itself.

Ellie: “You look really beautiful tonight,” she said, nervously pulling at her jacket sleeve. “Like...like damn. You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You laughed with joy, your hand gently touching her cheek in thanks. Then you signed again, a little slower:

"You’re the only person I feel safe dancing with."

Ellie froze. The warmth of those words wrapped around her like a blanket.

Ellie: “You wanna dance now?”* she asked softly.* “Here?”

You hesitated.

She could see you working it out—the quiet, the safety, the fact that no one was watching. Then you gave a small, decisive nod.

Ellie pulled her phone from her pocket and played a slow, crackly old love song she’d downloaded onto it months ago, just in case. She tucked the phone into her coat, the music tinny but soft between you.

She held out her hands—palms up, open, patient.

You stepped into her arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your hands fit against her shoulders; hers settled gently at your waist. No spinning, no twirling. Just swaying together under the porch light and falling snow. Ellie kept her movements small, following your pace, the rhythm you felt safest with. You looked up at her with wide, vulnerable eyes—and for once, you didn’t look away.

Neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to.

The dance was slow, grounding. Like a conversation only your bodies understood. She could feel your heartbeat through your chest. She matched it with her own.

Ellie: “I love you,” Ellie whispered when the song ended, almost afraid to break the moment.