**Dance With Me**
Lily had caught George’s eye the moment she started working at the office. A slim blonde with striking hazel eyes, she turned heads—especially his. The women in the office were instantly divided. Some swore her hair was dyed—”No one has hazel eyes with natural blonde hair!” Others insisted her eye color came from contacts. Weeks passed, her roots never showed, and then she started wearing glasses at her desk. Why glasses if she had contacts?
The office charmer, Jake, noticed Lily too—but unlike shy George, he wasted no time. Coffee breaks became café dates, and soon he was offering her lifts home in his flashy car. George’s heart twisted with jealousy. How could he compete? Jake was charming, effortlessly funny, and knew how to make women melt with a single compliment. His only flaw? Once he won a girl over, he lost interest. This time, his target was Lily, leaving scorned Rebecca crying in the loo and plotting revenge.
George, meanwhile, was… well, George. A burly, rosy-cheeked bloke with square glasses and a wardrobe of oversized jumpers. His surname—Bean—did him no favours, either. Shy as a church mouse, just like his literary namesake. But he had one superpower: computers.
“George, help! My laptop’s frozen!”
“Bean, you legend! That report took me all night—you fixed it in ten minutes. Drinks on me!” (Spoiler: the drinks never materialised.)
George didn’t drink. He preferred the thanks from the girls—cheek kisses that left him red as a postbox.
Officially, he was “Alistair,” but “George” had stuck after someone’s throwaway joke. He protested—”It’s Alistair!”—but the office just chuckled. “Suits you, mate,” Jake said, clapping him on the back. Was that a compliment or mockery? George could never tell.
He wasn’t some wealthy heir like his novel counterpart. His mum, Margaret, had raised him alone. When he’d asked about his father, she’d been blunt: “Wanted a baby before my clock stopped ticking. He was barely out of uni—no point ruining his life.” So she’d named her son after her father and got on with it.
George grew up quiet and clever, tinkering with computers while other boys gamed. Soon, he was earning—not much, but enough. Margaret took out a loan to buy him a proper setup. “Anything for my boy,” she’d say, feeding him endless pies that settled firmly around his waist.
By uni, George was coding for proper cash. Margaret retired, dedicating herself to feeding him more. He ballooned. Sports? Never. Screens? Always.
Then came Lily. The first girl he’d ever fancied. He lost sleep. Downloaded her photos. Stared. She didn’t notice.
One morning, George “fixed” Lily’s computer—after sabotaging it.
“Help!” she begged as her screen froze. He took his time, deleting the very program he’d installed. Lily chewed her lip. Finally, he stood.
“Can’t do it?” she sighed.
“Done.” George adjusted his glasses smugly.
“Oh my God, thank you! Ask for anything!”
“Anything?” His stare made her backtrack.
“Within reason,” she laughed nervously. “Dinner? Cinema?”
“I’ve seen every film—even the unreleased ones,” he said. “The office Christmas party’s coming. Dance with me?”
“With you? Can you even—? Fine. I promise.”
At the party, George waited. The moment the music slowed, he approached—only for Jake to swoop in, whisking Lily away. George left early.
The next day, Lily found him. “Why’d you leave? I’d have danced with you.”
George pushed up his glasses. “I get it. I’m not Jake. I thought you were different.”
“You’re kind, you’re brilliant,” she said hurriedly. “But maybe lose the jumpers? Try contacts? Women notice looks first—would you have fancied me if I were plain?”
Silence.
That night, George studied the mirror. She was right. Step one: no more pies. Margaret wept over his uneaten pastry. “Not hungry,” he lied, then fed the office the next day.
“Now I see where the extra stone came from,” Jake said, shovelling in his third.
Diet alone wasn’t enough. George scoured fitness blogs—all jargon and gym selfies. Then he spotted an ad: *Ballroom dance classes—all ages welcome.*
A woman’s voice answered his call. “Come tomorrow at seven,” she said warmly. No mockery.
The next evening, he stood before Laura—a curvy woman, older than he’d imagined. “Thought you’d be younger,” he blurted.
She laughed. “Shall we?”
The empty hall was a mercy. Laura taught him basic steps, praising every attempt. By week three, his trousers sagged.
“You’ve lost weight!” Jake grinned. “Got a girlfriend, Bean?”
Soon, George bought new clothes, swapped glasses for contacts, even let Laura pick smarter shoes. “Like Jake’s,” he murmured, admiring himself. “Think a girl might fancy me now?”
Laura hesitated. “You’re learning for a girl?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll love it,” Laura said—but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
At the spring party, Lily approached. “You look different. I owe you that dance.”
George floated home, then bolted to the dance studio. Laura was still there.
“Well?”
“I wowed them,” he grinned.
“And Lily?”
“Stepped on my feet twice,” he admitted. “But you—you taught me. I owe you everything.”
“George, I’m older—”
“Does it matter?” He kissed her. “Post my story online. Say dance changed me. Your classes will sell out.”
Days later, Laura’s phone buzzed non-stop. George kept dancing—and proposed within months. Margaret sulked at first (“She’s *how* old?”), but loneliness softened her.
In the end, George had set out to win one woman—and found love with the one who taught him how.
Moral? Chase a dream too hard, and you might miss the happiness right beside you.
