Twenty-One

 

Grown-ups Gone Wild

 

The table was still echoing with laughter, the kind that come from inside jokes, secondhand embarrassment, and years of shared history. Nicole was trying and failing to change the subject while Matt leaned halfway across the table, milking every detail of their infamous London karaoke night.

That’s when Romeo came barreling across the dance floor like he was late for dinner, his little legs pumping, his brown hair slick from sweat as he pushed forward.

His tiny face was set in pure determination, like a soldier on a mission—dashing past Lily, who was tottering across the floor in her own little world, reaching for the air with little hands. The squeak of his sneakers echoed louder as he weaved between his brother and a few friends, their chatter muffled in the haze of his focus. The Guitar Hero music pulsed in the background, but Romeo didn’t even notice it.

When he reached the table, his eyes locked onto Ari, and without missing a beat, he grabbed her hand.

“Ari! Ari!” he panted. “You have to come with me. Right now.” His voice was serious, tugging at her hand with the kind of urgency that made it clear he wasn’t asking.

Ari blinked. “Woah, slow down, buddy. Did Lily poop again?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. I just need you to come over there.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, swirling a fresh glass of wine. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Ari turned slowly to face him, one perfectly sculpted brow arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked. “Nothing. Just didn’t think you were going to grace the microphone again.”

Romeo tugged harder. “She’s not singing. She’s dancing!”

Stephanie leaned forward, one brow cocked with suspicion. “Dancing? What dance?”

Romeo turned to her like she’d just asked the dumbest question in history. “Duh, Steph. The Hoedown Throwdown.”

Matt nearly spit out his drink. “Wait—the Miley Cyrus one?”

David looked at Matt like he’d said something sacrilegious. “No, dickhead. The Hannah Montana one.”

Everyone turned to stare at him like he’d just confessed a secret that should’ve definitely gone to the grave.

David shrugged. “I have kids, too. You think I survived years of Disney Channel without absorbing at least one dance number?”

Stephanie pointed at him, mock scandalized. “Wait, you’re telling me you know the Hoedown Throwdown?”

David cracked his neck like he was warming up for a comeback tour. “Hit with the elbows, lock it, and then polka-dot it,” he recited with smug precision. “It’s in the muscle memory.”

Jon was stunned. For all the years he’d know the guy, this was the last thing he’d expected to hear him say. And now here he was, casually confessing to being a full blow Disney dad with a black belt in tween choreography.

Ari pushed back her chair, already rising to her feet. “Romeo, lead the way. Time to show your father what I can do.”

Jon choked on a laugh. “Wait—hold up. You know this dance?”

Ari turned, her eyes narrowing. “You doubt me?”

Jon held up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you implied it.” She tossed her curls over one shoulder.

Romeo whooped and grabbed her hand. “Come on!”

As they headed toward the stage, Jon called after her, clearly trying to figure out what was going on. “Crash, seriously? You know this?”

She looked back with a smug grin. “Sure do. Cara and I would dance with Max’s daughter all the time.”

From across the room, Max raised his beer. “Guilty. Knew every move by heart. Still do, probably.”

David nodded, not missing a beat. “Same here. Backyard performances, full costume, props, rotating backup dancers. It was a thing.”

Jon turned slowly in his chair, staring at them both like they’d grown second heads. “What the actual fuck?”

Stephanie leaned in, gleeful. “This is the dad tax. You either pay in money… or in Miley choreography.” She patted his arm, her smile growing wider. “You paid.”

Matt was practically wheezing. “I swear to God, if David and Max go up there and do it with her, I will die.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then—

“Boom clap, boom de clap de clap,” Max said, rising from his seat and draining his beer.

David followed suit with a grin. “Boom clap, boom de clap de clap,” he echoed, rolling his shoulders.

“Oh no,” Jon said flatly.

Desiree stood too, grinning like she’d been waiting for her cue. “Scoot over, kids. The grown-ups have arrived.”

Ari stepped forward with Romeo, eyes beaming wide. She raised one hand in the air and shouted, “One. Two. Three!”

The opening beat dropped—and just for a second, time seemed to stretch. The room held its breath, and then BOOM. The five of them exploded into motion with surprising ease. Arms swung, elbows popped, hips bounced in what could barely be called a line dance. Max threw in a little spin that got a cheer. Lema added finger guns. Desiree—unsurprisingly—executed every move with sharp, terrifying precision, no doubt from her years of competitive cheerleading.

And Ari? She hit every step with an over-the-top flair that made it both impressive and completely absurd.

Jon meant to laugh. He really did. But then he saw her, and everything else faded away.

She was singing every word, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. Her long dark curls bounced with every step, wild and unapologetic. Her favorite worn-out jeans hugged her hips, the red Doc Martens stomping in perfect rhythm, and that white button-down—his, technically—hung loose and half-tucked, slipped off one shoulder like it had choreography of its own.

He was completely mesmerized.

Not just because of how she looked, though that alone was enough to undo him. It was the way she moved, wild and untamed, just like her. And her laughter.  God, her laughter, louder than the music, lit up the room like something holy.

It wasn’t just the way she danced; it was the way she let go. Like nothing else mattered but this moment, this song, this room full of people she loved.

And maybe that’s what got him. Not the dance. Not the shirt. Not the smirk.

But the fact that she could find joy in the middle of any moment and make everyone else feel it, too. 

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, totally unaware that he was staring.

Matt caught the look and leaned in with a smirk. “You gonna survive this little hoedown, brother, or should I ice your drink and your dick?”

Jon didn’t even respond. Just lifted his glass in silent surrender.

On the dance floor, Ari executed a perfect shoulder shimmy, then glanced out across the floor—and caught him.

That slow, knowing smile spread across her face like she’d just won a bet. Again.

She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at him, still dancing. “Caught you looking.”

Jon tilted his head and mouthed, “You started it.”

She winked.

From the edge of the dance floor, Stephanie held up her phone, already recording. “Oh, this is going straight to Uncle Obie.” With a grin, she whispered, “He’s gonna love this.”

By now the music had drawn the attention of everyone in the room.

Jake stood off to the side with Lily in his arms, swaying gently with her as she clapped along, giggling. Jesse and his friends, crammed around a table littered with empty plates and crumpled napkins, doubled over in laughter. Even John Sr. had wandered away from the poker table, sipping his drink in quiet amusement as he watched his daughters-in-law and grandson put on a show.

When the final beat dropped, they all froze in place—breathless, grinning, triumphant.

For a second, there was silence. Then the room erupted into cheers.

From somewhere in the back, Tico let out a sharp whistle. Even Cliff and Gunnar looked genuinely surprised as they clapped along.

Jon, still seated, shook his head in disbelief, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

Matt leaned over, slapping his arm. “Well. That tops London.”

“Thank God,” Nicole added. “Finally—something new to talk about in craft services.”

As the applause died down and the music faded into the background chatter, Ari made her way back to the table, her cheeks flushed and curls wild from the frenzy of the dance. She was still catching her breath, her laughter a soft echo in the air as she walked.

Without a word, she dropped herself into Jon’s lap, sliding her arms around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. The move was effortless, comfortable, familiar. She smelled like sweat and candied apples, her hair brushing his cheek as she leaned in. His hand moved almost instinctively, sliding up her spine and coming to rest at the hem of the borrowed shirt, his fingers teasing the fabric with a small, unconscious motion.

For a moment, the noise of the room faded away. It was just the two of them in the quiet after the storm.

“You should know better than to challenge me,” she said, smug and breathless.

Jon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting in an amused grin. “Oh, I know. But clearly, I don’t learn.”

Before she could respond with a snarky comeback, Carol’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“Alright, everyone, who’s ready for cake?”

A cheer went up from the kids and a few hungry adults.

Ari slid off Jon’s lap with a sigh and a wink. “Saved by cake.”

Jon caught her hand before she disappeared. “This night’s not over.”

Ari leaned in close, her lips just brushing his ear. “Not even close.”