Dance with Me
Emma had caught George’s eye from the moment she started working at their London office. A stunning blonde with hazel eyes, she stood out effortlessly. The women in the office were divided—some insisted her hair was dyed, claiming natural blondes never had hazel eyes, while others swore her eye color came from tinted lenses. Weeks passed, and her roots never showed. Sometimes she wore glasses at her desk, which only deepened the mystery. Why glasses if she wore contacts?
The office charmer, Jake, noticed Emma too. Unlike shy George, Jake wasted no time wooing her—lunchtime coffees, rides home in his flashy car. Each gesture twisted George’s heart with jealousy. How could he compete? Jake was handsome, effortlessly charming, with jokes that made women melt. But he had a habit of losing interest once he’d won someone over. This time, his target was Emma, leaving Sarah—his previous flirtation—plotting revenge in the office toilets, wiping away tears.
George, on the other hand, was large, softly rounded, with rosy cheeks and thick-rimmed glasses. His ill-fitting clothes and surname, “Bexley,” didn’t help. Timid and earnest, he reminded people of a character from a classic novel. But George had one talent: computers. Any glitch, any edit—he fixed it.
*”George, help! My screen’s frozen!”*
*”Can you tweak this video?”*
His fingers flew across the keyboard, and in minutes, the problem was solved.
*”Cheers, George!”* Lucy or Mia would peck his cheek, leaving him flushed.
*”Bexley, you’re a genius! I’d have been here all night. Drinks on me,”* a colleague would promise—and forget.
George didn’t drink. He preferred the girls’ gratitude.
His real name was Geoffrey, but “George” had stuck after some office joke. He hated it.
*”Relax, mate. It suits you,”* Jake would say, clapping his shoulder. George could never tell if it was a compliment or mockery.
He wasn’t some wealthy heir. His mum, Linda, raised him alone. When he asked about his father, she was honest: *”I wanted a baby before time ran out.”* Small, plain, and determined, she’d had him young, naming him after her dad.
George grew up quiet and clever. While boys wasted hours gaming, he studied computers, even earning pocket money fixing them. Linda took out a loan for a proper setup, bursting with pride when he landed a tech degree and a good salary. He didn’t drink, didn’t club—just worked. Linda retired early, filling their flat with home-cooked meals and cakes. George ate and grew rounder.
Like any mother, Linda dreamed of a daughter-in-law and grandkids. She set him up with friends’ daughters, but George showed no interest—until Emma. He lost sleep, saved her photos, stared for hours. She never noticed.
One morning, he sabotaged her computer.
*”Help!”* Emma begged when her screen froze.
George played the hero, “fixing” the issue he’d created. Emma bit her lip, impatient.
*”Done,”* he finally said.
*”Really? Thank you! Ask for anything!”*
*”Anything?”*
Emma backtracked. *”Within reason.”*
*”The office Christmas party. Dance with me.”*
*”You? Can you dance?”* She hesitated. *”…Alright.”*
At the party, Jake swept Emma away before George could speak. He left early.
The next day, Emma apologised. *”You left before our dance.”*
George adjusted his glasses. *”I get it. I’m not Jake.”*
*”You’re kind, clever—but lose the glasses. Maybe hit the gym? Looks matter, George. Would you fancy me if I weren’t pretty?”*
At home, George studied the mirror. She was right. He refused Linda’s pies, handing them out at work instead.
*”Now I see why you’re cuddly,”* Jake said, wolfing down a third slice.
Dieting wasn’t enough. George researched exercise but hated running. Then he spotted an ad: *”Dance classes for adults.”*
A woman’s voice answered his call—warm, encouraging.
*”Come tomorrow,”* she said.
The next evening, he entered a studio, expecting a slender young instructor. Instead, Laura was sturdy, older, with a dancer’s poise.
*”I thought you’d be… thinner,”* he blurted.
She laughed. *”Dancing’s for every body.”*
They began. George stepped on her toes, but Laura praised him.
*”You’re a natural.”*
He imagined dancing with Emma.
Night after night, he trained. His trousers loosened. Jake noticed first. *”Someone’s smitten.”*
Soon, George bought new clothes, swapped glasses for contacts. Laura helped pick shoes.
*”Like Jake’s,”* he mumbled, studying the mirror. *”Would a girl fancy me now?”*
Laura’s smile faltered. *”You’re learning for a girl?”*
*”Yes.”*
*”She’ll adore you,”* Laura said, eyes drifting away.
At the office’s spring gala, Emma approached. *”You’ve changed. I owe you that dance.”*
George’s heart leapt.
He asked Laura for advice. *”Wear black. Unbutton the cuffs. No one dances better than you.”*
*”But Jake—”*
*”Jake’s all flash. You? You *dance*.”* Her gaze darkened.
*”What’s wrong?”*
*”You’ll stop lessons once you’ve got her.”*
George had no reply.
At the party, he waited. Emma glanced over but didn’t approach. Then a slow song played.
He offered his hand.
They moved gracefully—spins, dips—while others gaped. When the song ended, applause erupted. Emma stared, intrigued.
*”Teach me,”* Jake said, clapping his shoulder.
George left early.
*”Going already?”* Emma called.
*”I’ve somewhere to be.”*
He took the Tube to Laura’s studio. She brightened when he entered.
*”Well?”*
*”I stunned them.”*
*”And Emma?”*
*”She stepped on *my* feet.”* He laughed nervously. *”But you—you made me believe I could.”*
He kissed her.
*”George, I’m older—”*
*”Does it matter?”* He grinned. *”Want students? I’ll post about how dancing changed me. Your class will fill.”*
A week later, Emma cornered him. *”Where’d you learn to dance like that?”*
*”A woman taught me. I love her.”*
George kept his word. His posts brought Laura dozens of students. He kept dancing, even proposed. Linda disapproved at first—until she pictured loneliness.
George had learned to dance for one girl. Instead, he’d found love where he least expected. Happiness, he realised, finds you when you stop chasing it.
