“So, will you?” says the beautiful, blue-eyed mountain, clambering over the tiered seats.
“Will I want?” says Ameli.
“Dance with me,” asks Leo.
“I’m struggling to see you as the dancing type. I’ll have to risk my toes.”
“Are you willing to risk them?”
“Do you really want to dance. This isn’t some bet with your rugby friends?”
“Yeah, because my rugby team is a front for a bunch of hardcore ceilidh dancers.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” says Ameli, standing up, “But I’ll risk it.”No way would Ameli pass on a chance to dance with Leo.