**Dance with Me**
Jessica had caught George’s eye from the moment she joined the office. A striking blonde with hazel eyes, she stood out effortlessly. The women in the office were divided—some insisted her hair was dyed, others swore her eyes were colored contacts. Time passed, but her hair color never changed. Sometimes she wore glasses at work—why would she need them if she had contacts?
The office charmer, Connor, had noticed Jessica too, but unlike shy George, he wasted no time pursuing her—coffee runs, lunch invites, even offering her lifts home. Every gesture made George’s heart twist with jealousy. How could he compete? Connor was handsome, quick-witted, and effortlessly charming, though his interest never lasted long once he’d won someone over. This time, his target was Jessica, leaving his former admirer, Emma, nursing her pride and plotting revenge.
George, on the other hand, was stocky, round-faced, and awkward, with square glasses and ill-fitting clothes. His surname, Dawson, didn’t help—it suited him, much like his namesake from classic literature. But George had one talent: computers. He could fix any issue, troubleshoot any problem, and his colleagues adored him for it.
“George, help! My computer’s frozen…”
“Dawson, you’re a genius! I’d have been stuck for hours.”
The women kissed his cheek in thanks, making him blush. The men promised drinks they’d never buy. George didn’t drink—he preferred the women’s gratitude.
His full name was Geoffrey, but the nickname George had stuck, no matter how much he protested. “It suits you,” Connor would say, clapping him on the back. George could never tell if it was a compliment or a jab.
George wasn’t some wealthy heir—his mum had raised him alone. When he’d asked about his father, she’d been honest: she’d wanted a child before her youth faded. She’d been small, plain, and determined. Years later, when Geoffrey was born, she named him after her own father.
He’d grown into a quiet, clever boy, obsessed with computers. Unlike his peers, he didn’t waste time on games—he taught himself coding, even earning money fixing neighbors’ PCs. His mum, proud, took out a loan to buy him a better setup. After university, his career took off, and she retired, dedicating herself to cooking for him. Pies, roasts, cakes—George ate it all and grew heavier.
She’d tried setting him up with friends’ daughters, but none interested him—until Jessica. For the first time, he lost sleep, appetite, even downloaded her photos to gaze at for hours. She never noticed.
One morning, George arrived early and sabotaged her computer. When she panicked, he played the hero, “fixing” the issue he’d created. Grateful, she offered him anything.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The New Year’s party is coming up,” he said. “Dance with me.”
She hesitated. “With *you*? Can you even dance?”
“I promise,” she added, less confidently.
At the party, Connor swooped in before George could claim his dance. Heartbroken, George left early.
The next day, Jessica apologized. “You left too soon. I would’ve danced with you.”
George adjusted his glasses. “I get it. I’m not handsome like Connor. I thought you were different.”
“You’re kind, smart,” she said quickly, “but—lose some weight, try contacts, dress better. Women notice looks first. Would you have looked twice if I weren’t pretty?”
George stayed silent.
At home, he studied himself in the mirror. She was right. He refused his mum’s pies the next day, confusing her. “They’re perfect,” he lied. “I’ll have them at work.”
Diet alone wasn’t enough. He needed exercise but hated the gym. Then he saw an ad: *Dance classes for adults*.
He called, stammering his insecurities to the cheerful woman who answered. “Come tomorrow at seven,” she said warmly.
Her name was Laura. She wasn’t the slender girl he’d imagined—she was curvy, older, and patient.
“I thought you’d be younger,” he blurted.
She laughed. “Ready to try?”
They danced. He stepped on her feet. She pretended not to notice.
“You’re a quick learner,” she praised.
George returned every evening, practicing until his movements smoothed. Three weeks in, his trousers sagged. Even Connor noticed. “Losing weight, Dawson? Got a girl?”
George bought new clothes, swapped glasses for contacts. Laura helped him pick shoes.
“Like Connor’s,” he murmured, studying himself. “Do you think a girl might like me now?”
Laura faltered. “You’re dancing for *her*?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
She forced a smile. “She’ll love it.”
Before the office spring party, Jessica approached him. “You’ve changed. I remember my promise.”
George’s heart leapt. He consulted Laura on his outfit.
“Black shirt, sleeves rolled. Confidence is key. You dance better than Connor ever could.”
At the party, George waited. When a slow song played, he nervously led Jessica to the floor. To everyone’s shock, he spun her, dipped her—perfection. Applause erupted.
“Teach me,” Connor said, clapping his shoulder.
Jessica watched George leave. “Going so soon?”
“I have somewhere to be.”
He rushed to Laura’s studio. She lit up when he entered.
“Well? Did it work?”
“I surprised them all.”
“And Jessica?”
“She stepped on my feet,” he laughed. “But *you* taught me. You made me believe in myself.”
“Geoffrey, I rented this studio to teach. But adults only want trendy dances. I can’t afford the lease…”
George kissed her.
“Laura, I love you. Tomorrow, you’ll have students. I’ll write my story—how dance changed me.”
The next day, Jessica asked, “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“Someone taught me,” George said. “I love her.”
True to his word, George’s post went viral. Laura’s classes filled. He kept dancing, eventually proposing. His mum, initially wary, relented—she didn’t want to lose him.
George had set out to win one girl but found love where he least expected. Sometimes happiness finds you when you stop chasing it.
